Changing Fashions In Underclothing .....

 

I wonder what it was that made our mothers, as one, insist that money spent on Decent underclothes was money well spent because of being unexpectedly run over by a bus.   Was it that more women were mown down without warning back in the days of their own youth?  And were buses actually to blame?  And more to the point did hospital staff really and truly gasp with horror when a bus injured patient’s undergarments were revealed and shown to be somewhat past their use by date?   Were they actually heartless enough to point it out to each other whilst drinking tea later in the canteen?   Did you notice the state of her Stays?   I rather doubt this scenario but according to my mother, and maybe yours, this was what I could expect if I ended up in the Accident & Emergency Department wearing anything but a dazzlingly enviable matching set of undies of pastel shade preferably recently purchased from Marks & Spencer’s.

 Although she did specifically nominate M&S when speaking to me,  secretly British Home Stores would have done equally well and this wasn’t entirely because they were a bit cheaper.   It also had to do with the fact that they had at some stage in Gravesend’s commercial past taken over the site previously occupied by Missings.   That particular stalwart of the Edwardian undergarment business in Gravesend was said to have provided everything the Modern Woman could possibly need in the way of Corsetry, with the most up-to-date models to choose from at exceptionally keen prices!   To some extent this must have been true because my Grandmother and various Aunts routinely took the 480 from outside The Jolly Farmers in Crayford to inspect their wares.   These journeys did not simply have undergarments in mind because Missings also ran an enviable line in Drapery and at one time Millinery as well.   My Grandmother was known to say that their window display was a Sight for Sore Eyes. 

Missings was long gone by the time I was old enough to buy my own clothing and already realise that I was destined never to have an entirely happy relationship with undergarments.   As a small child this was largely because during winter months I seemed to have to wear far too much of it - apart from an unbearably itchy vest and rather unnecessary petticoat the hideous Liberty Bodice loomed large to torture me for many years.   I’ve commented on this garment previously I know but anyone who has ever worn one will understand perfectly why it needs a revisit!     

Gentle Google research has revealed an astonishing I Love My Liberty Bodice exhibition that in early 2020 could be visited at Harborough Museum and tells the fascinating story of Leicestershire corsetry manufacturer Symington & Co who developed the new and much reviled garment for the next three generations from the beginning of the 20^th century.  Production only ceased in the mid nineteen sixties!   Apparently a particularly inventive and determined marketing campaign secured its position in the lives of British children although it seems that the idea for the garment originated in America.   Who were the museum-goers flocking to this event I ask myself and I even wonder if it was postponed or possibly even cancelled on account of Covid. 

As time passes it becomes more and more pertinent to critically examine why some garments were ever thought rational and the Liberty Bodice has to be one of them particularly as some clothing historians seem to see it as a precursor and training for the equally dreaded Corset.   I’ve never really understood the difference between Corsets and Stays and my mother, together with her sisters referred to the tightly laced pale pink piece of underclothing as either.   Versions of them seem to have been worn from at least the eighteenth century when visitors to England consistently commented on how even the peasants wore stays.   I wonder how they knew?     In France it appears that in general the lower classes seem to have gone without and even the middle classes might go stay-less for medical reasons.   However, in England they were a literal symbol of a woman’s uprightness and virtue whatever her background.   So tightly were women laced into them that it does seem to have contributed to the irritating habit of the Victorian woman to faint at the drop of a hat. 

My grandmother clearly thought that a loose corset was the sign of a loose woman and always commented in a derogatory manner as to the decency and degree of her acquaintances and neighbours stay-lacing.   That Dolly Flanagan is a trollop if ever I seed one, up at the Co-op and in the queue if you don’t mind bold as brass without her stays laced proper!    Even as she spoke I was on the side of Dolly, having witnessed my own mother’s agony with the tightness of her stays. Though she would have never been likely to venture from the house without them laced in the proper manner.

Old Nan could be quite didactic at times, surprising us with high minded ideas that did not sit easily alongside what we knew of her.   My mother called her Strait-Laced, but never directly to her face of course.    Aunt Maud said she well remembered the time years ago when Old Nan had taken four or five of her girls into Gravesend to Missings to buy a new hat for herself and for each of them a pair of the very latest in Stays though by then they were being described as Corsets.   It had been after a win at the races and she was feeling very flush.   They could choose between pink, peach or even white and afterwards they went for a fish tea in the High Street and had a walk along the prom.   I wondered why the Stays were referred to as a Pair like shoes and nearly asked but they’d started talking about those men who regularly stood outside inspecting the window display as if they were about to buy a piece of intimate apparel for their wives yet never did.   And no matter how many euphemisms they used my cousin Pat and I exchanged glances and rolled our eyes at each other to indicate how very mature and knowing we were.

I don’t recall when my mother gave up her Stays/Corsets and there was certainly no pressure on me to launch into the experience but she did suggest once I started work that I should buy a Proper Girdle as I had put on a few pounds.  Back in the 1950s unless you were being Professionally Fitted for such garments you really had to hazard a guess as to your size and invariably the size finally purchased became something of an issue and never fitted properly.  I didn’t know about Professional Fitting at the time and even if I had been fully informed I cannot imagine I would have engaged in it as I was far too embarrassed about my shape being less than perfect.    Consequently for several decades I was destined to never own comfortable underclothing and quite the worst offenders were Bras.

My first bra had originally been owned by my mother before her marriage.  I’m unsure if she ever felt at ease in it herself but by the time I inherited it at the age of fourteen it proved itself to be anything but comfortable and it was clear my needs were greater than a size 32A.   Nevertheless I was not to own the much coveted 36C for a year and a half which is a long time to cope with the discomfort.   I would have been dissatisfied before too long in any case because the latest In Thing at school were bras like those worn by such icons as Lana Turner and Jayne Mansfield, underwired and conical and variously known as the Bullet Bra.   It had to be worn under a tight sweater and then you could call yourself a Sweater Girl.

It wasn’t long before something called The Wonderbra began to grow to more than the germ of an idea in the mind of its creator.   A whole host of us flocked towards it, discarding those other old-fashioned items – stockings and suspender belts, as we did so.   Pantihose had arrived with a vengeance and although the men in our lives maintained a growing chorus with regard to what they saw as ideal female underclothing, we were in no way eager to pay much attention, especially if we had already burned our bras.   Following in the footsteps of Germaine Greer we had a hankering to become feminists especially once we realised that there was no actual need to be Australian to do so.  You could say that after years of upper body restriction a kind of hysteria was taking over. 

I did not actually go to the extent of bra-burning, preferring simply to hide the most  offensive garments in the very back of the underwear drawer, and my best friend and then flatmate Stella did likewise.   We agreed that had we had the minimalistic bosom area we both admired we may well have made a different choice.  Instead we invested in the very latest Wonderbras because they had a delightful push-up effect exposing the body to its best advantage or so we thought.   We did throw away our Playform Girdles though and frequently advised each other how sensible we were to totally ignore the sexist appeals voiced by toxic males regarding suspender belts.   However, despite our best intentions and although it had little to do with the progress in underwear design, in the final analysis we did not make ideal feminists.