Jumble Sales and Other Ways.

 Along with feeding us, clothing
 us was a necessary requirement. Jumble sales were hugely popular. They were usually organised by
 the wealthier ladies of the town
 and good quality items were to be found amongst the clothing heaped on trestle tables in one or another
of our church halls

It was great, free for all fun: jostling to get to the stalls, burrowing into mounds of clothes and dragging out anything that looked promising. Was it in good condition? Did it fit?  We needed a great big bag for all our wonderful bargains. Mum had an eye for quality. Even if an item was creased 
and a bit grubby she could see beyond that.

One of the prettiest frocks I ever had was a jumble sale find. When mum pulled it out it was crumpled and grey but she paid tuppence for it, took it home, washed and ironed it and lo and behold! it turned into a beautiful silk organza dress in soft shades of pink stripes, with tiny flowers embroidered on it and it's own silk petticoat. It looked brand new. How I loved that dress. Every time I wore it I became a fairy princess. I wore it and wore it until I grew too big, [and much less fairy-like] and finally it was splitting at the seams.

Wednesday was market day in Knaresborough. Wooden stalls were set up in the Market Place and traders of all kinds came into town to sell their wares. There were stalls with bolts of fine quality cotton and linen and piles of remnants, ends of rolls, which were sold off very cheaply. Mum bought a few pieces every summer and cut out and sewed frocks by hand for Barbara and for me. One year she made us two each; a white with red polka dots and and a yellow one.

Knaresborough Market by Joseph Baker Fountain [Mercer Gallery]

  At school one day, we were having a lesson about the weather. I happened to be wearing my yellow frock and, right out of the blue, the teacher called me out and had me stand on a chair in front of the class. She said my frock was the colour of sunshine. I blushed with pleasure.
  Mum was very pleased when I told her and quite proud. As for me, standing in front of the class for my dress to be admired made a nice change from being made to stand in the corner for talking when I should have been paying attention.

  I was hard on shoes. I wore the soles out in no time, but then, apart from a pair of sandals in summer and wellingtons in winter I never had more than one pair of shoes at a time. These I wore until either my feet grew too big or the shoes were beyond repair. Shoes were made of leather and could be

re-soled and heeled.

Dad repaired our shoes. He had all the tools for the job. A cobbler's last, hammers, pincers, tacks and nails, blocks of brown and black sealing wax, a waxing iron and sharp Stanley knives. He bought the leather a small sheet at a time and traced around the soles and heels of the shoes before cutting them out of the leather with a Stanley knife.Sitting cross- legged on the kitchen floor dad fitted the shoe onto the last and peeled off the worn out sole, replacing it with the new one, tacking it firmly in place around the edges. He then trimmed off any excess leather for a neat finish. The waxing iron was heated, rubbed on the block of wax and applied to the edges of the sole to colour and seal it. Then he did the same with the heel.
  I sat on the floor beside him, watching closely and marvelling at his skill: not speaking, in case he swallowed one of the tacks which he held in his mouth. When he had finished he polished the shoes until they were bright and shiny, smoothing the scuff marks. It was almost as good as getting a new pair of shoes.

  A girl I knew at school was swanking one day, saying that she had four pairs of shoes. I was sinfully envious. When I told my mother she said, 'Why lassie, what if she has got four pairs of shoes, she can only wear one pair at a time, the same as you'. Mum could always put things right.

  As my older brothers left school in turn and started to work we became a bit better off so although we still relied on jumble sales, mum's sewing and hand-me-downs my sister Barbara and I were treated to two new outfits a year. A summer one at Whitsuntide and a winter one in autumn.
 

There was a huge department store in Harrogate, at the lower end of Commercial Street, called D. G. Brown and Company. They stocked everything imaginable, including children's wear. They also ran a savings club for customers who paid in sixpence or a shilling a week, whatever they could afford, until they had enough money saved to make a purchase.

  Every week their agent, a gentleman called Mr. Thompson, called round to collect the money. The sum was noted down in mum's cash book and D.G. Brown's cash book then Mr. Thompson would sit down and have a cup of tea, a piece of cake and a chat. Barbara was a very bright, intelligent, talkative girl; never at a loss for words. After chatting to her for a while one day, Mr. Thompson said, " Your daughter could converse with the Queen, Mrs. Parkyn."

  After months of saving the big day arrived. Full of excitement and anticipation we caught the bus to Harrogate: we were off on our shopping trip to D.G.Brown's. It was wonderland to us, so much to choose from and all brand spanking new, no previous owner!

  We started with vests, knickers, a petticoat and then, best of all, a new frock. We tried on as many as we could before making our choice. Every couple of years or so one of us had a new red blazer with shiny, gold coloured buttons. If Barbara had outgrown her previous one and it was still in decent condition it was passed down to me and she got a new one. If it still fitted her I got the new one and it was her turn the following year. Our outfits were completed with white ankle socks and black patent leather ankle strap shoes. There must have been some extra cash one year because mum bought us each a lovely straw hat to wear to Sunday school.

Liberty Bodice

In autumn we were kitted out with  a woollen jumper and skirt, thick petticoats and liberty bodices  with rubber buttons.

 Two pairs of woollen stockings, held up, [with varying degrees of success] by elastic garters. The blazer rule applied to  new coats.

One way or another we were more than adequately clothed. I know now that if anyone went short and made do, it was mum. When I became a young mum myself and learnt some dressmaking I made dresses for her, though not by hand. My sister-in-law, Muriel, gave me her hand operated Singer sewing machine when she bought a new electric one. I used it for a good long while until I got an electric machine which gave sterling service for almost fifty years.

Singer 201 Circa 1960

 Sewing and dress making have given me untold hours of pleasure and satisfaction. Now Marks and Spencer clothe me and I relish an afternoon browsing around their store, [courtesy of various relatives who are kind enough to wheel me around, though  I can walk short distances.] Nevertheless, even the most enjoyable shopping trip and productive result can never  quite compere with the thrill and excitement of our twice-yearly visits to D.G. Brown and Company or the joyous rough and tumble of the jumble sales of my childhood.
 
Illustrations. Barbara Chounding.