The other day I was looking for knickers when I came upon these strange, worm-like creatures. This is not entirely true. I was indeed looking for knickers as I was preparing for a visit by a student who is researching 1930s underwear. But I found the worms in a box, which was supposed to hold two chemisettes. These are like double-bibs, made up of the upper front and back part of a blouse to cover a low décolletage. I presume in the 1930s chemisettes would have been worn underneath suits, but that needs a bit more research on my part […]
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The story of London Tweed
So this is how the story goes. In 1826 a London merchant decides to buy some cloth from a weaver in Hawick, a town in the Scottish borders famous for its cloth production. Very happy with his order, he decides to get some more but – crucially – misreads the weaver’s dashed handwriting. Instead of ‘twill’ this Londoner reads ‘tweed’, and assumes this new cloth must take after the River Tweed which runs fast and clear through the textile areas of lower Scotland. ‘Tweed’ and not ’twill’ has been the term used ever since.
A few weeks ago I found myself surrounded by fascists. I was on my way to the West End when at Tower Hill station a large group of French-speaking men with assorted girlfriends and wives (I presume) entered my tube carriage.
Rhinestones and Nylon Net
Ever since watching The King and I (1956 version) at a very impressionable age, I have been rather fond of dancing (and crinolines – but that’s another story). My grandmothers and I spent many happy hours marvelling at the clothes, hairstyles and make-up of the participants in the World Championships broadcast on television.