Open Writing

Yorkshire Lad by Tom Hellawell - Today’s dress styles amongst teenagers would probably have fitted well into the austere times of the Second World War -- faded and torn jeans, floppy tops and t- shirts, clumsy looking footwear -- a standard uniform dress to suit the regimented lifestyle of the period. Although, one wonders how such a fashion would have stood up against the heating system of those winter days, when one open fire provided the only means of warmth for an entire house, and that controlled by fuel shortages.

Be that as it may, the fact was that heavyweight clothing served as standard dress of the period.

I can only speak with some authority on the fashions for men. What women wore remains to some extent a mystery. But judging from the acreage of flannelette, lisle, elasticised, double-gusseted, pastel-shaded marquee-like envelopments displayed on washing lines, market stalls and in shop windows, the same heat-retaining principle was maintained.

Speaking from personal experience, I was restricted in purchasing power, as were many others of the same social standing, firstly by lack of finance and then by a limited supply of clothing coupons. With careful planning those two handicaps might be overcome. In my own case, however, there was one other development which could not be avoided, and that was my growth in stature.

From about the age of 12 until I was 18 or 19 I appeared to extend like a telescope. Only there was no going back. I couldn’t close up in telescopic fashion. As a result, jackets and trousers were left behind, as it were, when more and more of my limbs became visible. Trousers hung at what was described as ‘half-mast’, when observers would enquire, “Are them long-shorts or short-longs that you’re wearing?”

I have no idea what I looked like in short trousers, buy my grandma did. So that at the age of 13 I was bought my first pair of long trousers, part of a suit. It was brown, I remember, and as was the custom of those days, that outfit was to be worn on Sundays only. A pair of dark blue serge trousers quickly followed, and they were for everyday wear.

By the time I was 17 years old my then guardians decided that it would be a possible waste of money to buy me further outer wear since I would shortly be conscripted into the armed forces, and I could have altered physically upon my return -- provided I did return that is. Yet nature beat them, and I kept on growing. So, out of sheer desperation, it was decided I should have a pair of trousers, but only for work. The half-masted suits must remain.

Accordingly, I was marched to the local tailors where the situation was explained to the salesman there. I must have seemed like a gift from above to that chap, since he had been lumbered with a bespoke suit which, for whatever reason, the would-be purchaser had never completed the bargain. Only a slight alteration of the jacket was required, when I would become the smartest-dressed teenager in town. And I regarded myself as such.

I have no idea what financial transaction was arranged, but I came to possess the suit, and I loved it. It was navy blue worsted with a broad mercerised cotton stripe. And it was a ‘man’s suit’, the first jacket I had ever possessed with two breast pockets, two back pockets in the trousers and well-padded shoulders. The trouser bottoms were around 22”, almost naval style, and the whole ensemble wore like the proverbial pin
wire.

Maybe the suit grew along with me, or maybe I stopped growing. Whichever, I was still wearing it some five years later, long after I had been demobbed.

Thus I passed safely through the dreaded stage of having to wear a utility suit. Today an ensemble of that mode would be regarded as being quite in vogue, but in the 1940s it was alien -- no lapels on the jacket, no top pocket, no side pocket flaps, trousers without turn-ups and 19” bottoms. Such a fashion was in total contrast to the padded shoulders, known in the trade as KK pads, a trend to be adopted by wideboys and spivs. Some of the suiting colours were vivid, thanks I believe to the introduction of modern dyestuffs. Oxblood was one such shade, as was sky blue, each with white pinstripes.

There I was then, with my sedate but gentlemanly blue worsted, feeling far superior over the woollen-clad, garish coloured dress worn by some male members of the community.

Wouldn’t you know it though, that just when I was enjoying the primping and preening which comes with adolescence, the Country decided I was required in its defence. On top of the ladder I was perched when the contents of a little buff envelope marked OHMS sent me slithering down a snake, and I was back in heavy blue serge, which fitted where it touched on me. Once again it was half-mast trousers, and the same with jumper sleeves. The entire clothes stores of the British Royal Navy were devoid of a uniform which could fit my lanky frame, and it took 12 weeks before a made-to-measure rig-out could be constructed and when I could begin to feel respectable when on parade. Meanwhile my treasured bespoke civilian suit was carefully stored at home awaiting my return.

When eventually I was demobbed, I then of course became entitled to the free demob ensemble. For that, I had to travel to York.

For the majority of the recently released a demob suit was simply one uniform received in exchange for another. Khaki, Air Force Blue or Navy Blue, all were replaced with grey or brown chalk stripe, along with blue pork pie hat. Such was the feeling toward an outfit of that kind from the recipients that the area around the demob clothing centre was littered with the aforementioned hats, whilst those off-the-peg grey or brown chalk stripes were quickly relegated to working level and mills and workshops.

It was under such circumstances that my stature served as a salvation. Obviously, no peg held a suit that would fit me. Consequently, it became necessary to resort to a tape measure. This was followed by me being offered a swatch of cloth patterns from which I might select a potential suit-length. That I did. I forget the exact shade, but I know it wasn’t grey, nor did it contain a chalk stripe. Rather it bore a varying woven pattern with, I believe, an overall petrol blue colour, in pure worsted as opposed to the coarser fabrics which formed the bulk of ready-made outfits.

There was the customary wait for my tailor-made garments to be produced, but when eventually they made an appearance I realized with what preference I had been treated. The cut of the ensemble was Saville Row standard, no Montague Burton product. That two-piece suit was class, and I began to realize that I had received officer treatment in the preparation of my civilian dress.

I don’t say the demob suit took pride of place over the earlier described suiting. It didn’t. Indeed, no suit ever has throughout the many years since. But at the time it was a joy, a luxury for me to possess two sets of outerwear which fitted and allowed me to present myself with smug confidence to an obviously admiring public. Well, we all dream, don’t we?