My mother was a Mantle-machinist; that means she made the whole coat – she didn’t do piece-work…in fact she sneered at piece-work. Her skills gave her power; she worked to her own timetable and her boss let her away with murder, apparently. I vaguely remember the mention of a company called Silvers. (for security purposes I will give my parents new names). Mum can be Queenie and Dad shall be Father Ted – but he wasn’t Irish or priestly.

 

She made most of our clothes. One of my jobs was to rock the treadle for her sewing machine, though I don’t suppose I did it for more than a few minutes. I couldn’t wait to try on her creations, especially when the dresses had a beautifully long and wide sash that tied in a great bow in my back; there’s a red one in my memory that I never tired of twisting at the mirror to see. The first thing I did with a new dress was twirl to see how high the skirt went – I think I wanted to flash my knickers like Ellenor Powell in the tap-dancing video below; I adored skirts that fanned out around their waists but mine never quite did that. My mother kept my legs well-covered; when other kids were wearing clothes up their legs mine reached mid-calf! I knew I was different even then.

 

Queenie doesn’t appear much in my early childhood, probably because she was always in the background – she couldn’t have done anything too startling to get my attention or really star in my memoirs: my father was the star for opposite reasons; if I got to see him before bedtime that was a real treat – he worked long hours but I don’t know what he did then, after he left the Merchant Navy. When I was very young he worked on the Renfrew ferry. I was told a story about him taking me to work with him and telling me to sit quietly and don’t move – which I did, so I got to go several times. My brother only got to go once and he was barred because he wouldn’t stay still. That must be where I get my sea-legs from.

 

My brother was a holy terror and drove Queenie up the wall. We had a huge back garden with four poles to string washing across the green; after getting up and running after my brother a dozen times my mother tied him to one of the poles with a length of rope so he couldn’t escape out into the street; all she ever wanted was to rest in the sun with happy children around her, not bothering her or anyone else. I know that we were difficult.