Girlhood Memories

I guess I always enjoyed writing.  I can recall being a student at Girls Central School. I adored my English teacher, Mr. Rudyard Kipling (yes that really was his name).

We had been asked to write an essay on some character we had encountered. I chose old Bill Nye.  He was what we now refer to as a 'street person'.  He was a disreputable old guy who sported a long stringy gray beard. His pants were held up by a piece of rope.

I often did my homework at our sturdy dining room table, the only sound being the crackling of the fire in our little heater, and with my mother seated beside me, always ready to help.  She had been raised by British parents and still clung to many of her parents' verbal expressions.

With her eager assistance, I was soon going great guns on my essay about old Bill.  At one point she fed me the expression 'green grocer' to describe the Chinese fruit and vegetable store that Bill Nye frequented. A few days after I proudly handed in my completed story, Mr. Kipling asked me to remain after class.  He gently reprimanded me for not doing all the work myself - he said he knew I must have been helped with the story - I was too naive to realize my mother's old-fashioned British expressions gave away her involvement in the project.

Aside from memories of school, I well remember the delightful Saturday afternoons spent downtown with my girlfriends.  First, I'd have a long discussion on the phone with my friend Margaret, arranging what we would both wear, though sometimes I'd change my mind after I hung up the phone.  I could just feel Margaret's wrath coming to a boil, the closer she got to the corner where we met to go into town.  I was met by a scathing "I thought you were going to wear your RED skirt".  After she calmed down, we'd hop on the old street car and head into town where we'd meet up with our mutual friend, Bette-Jean. We treated ourselves to a coke or maybe a fruit salad and toast or hamburger - I don't ever recall having a cup of coffee.

We'd spend the afternoon window shopping and then, enticed into the stores by the beautifully attired mannequins, we shopped till we dropped, stopping only to check that the seams of our stockings (attached to our garter belts) were still straight.  There were times when I purchased two dresses in an afternoon as everything I tried on looked great on me (those were the days!).  In those days, most shops had lay-away plans and it was easy to build my wardrobe.  Nowadays I have difficulty finding something to camouflage and accommodate my bumps and bulges.

Christmas shopping was a time of magic.  The windows of our two department stores drew crowds.  There might be a miniature train weaving its way through snow-laden mountains, or tiny figures skating on a glistening lake.  These days, the indoor malls do a good job of creating a festive atmosphere, but it is not the same.

My girlfriends and I thoroughly enjoyed our carefree shopping expeditions and it was common for us to walk down the street together, all holding hands.  Fortunately for us, in those days street photographers were also part of the downtown scene and so our lovely memories are forever captured.

(I am in the middle, the other brunette is Bette-Jean, and the blonde is Margaret.)