MUSINGS FROM THE BOWER 31

What irks me about new handbags is why manufacturers insist on stuffing so much rubbish inside them. I realise they need to give the bag a bit of shape, but often I’ve pulled out so many handfuls of  crumpled paper, plastic bags, cellophane and  bits of cardboard that it’s beyond a joke. I’m a handbag fanatic, though it took a long while for me to realise it. My mother was content to have just a couple of handbags – a dark one for winter and a light one for summer, but somehow, over the years I’ve acquired lots. Many women throw out old bags as they get new ones, but mine are like old friends and I tend to hang onto them unless they are completely unusable. I feel sad when I need to dump a bag because the straps have snapped or the zip has broken.

When our local TKMaxx store opened, I discovered a treasure-trove of beautiful bags and I’ve found some bargains there – even, on occasion a designer bag. Usually, though, I can’t afford expensive designer bags, and to be honest, many of them look rather boring to me. I know women are meant to yearn for classic Gucci or Louis Vuitton handbags costing hundreds of pounds but I’d much rather settle for a pretty, colourful bag costing a fraction of the price. I love colour. I love kookiness – well, I was fortunate enough to have been a sixties teen, so what else could you expect of me?! Floral bags, furry bags, bags with tassels and chain trims, applique bags, abstract bags and bags printed with quirky designs – I love them.

One of my all-time specials is by Baby Phat, a cream and beige bag decorated with dragonflies, butterflies and flowers, as well as chains, charms and silver links, while another, by Fiorelli, is a super, bright multi-coloured ‘snakeskin’ bag that I love to bits and which goes well with anything. It is magnetic, and has various chains which stick to it. I can fiddle with it for hours. Another of which I’m fond is black but covered in vividly-coloured flowers and features a cane handle. A few years ago, in a boutique in York, I acquired a gorgeous evening bag decorated with dolly-mixture beads, and it came with its own matching purse. York also provided me with a beautiful evening bag in a Regency design, sparkling with crystals, which I bought at the Jane Austen Centre. I wish I could use these more but unfortunately they just don’t hold enough. I do like to lug a lot around with me – my daughter regularly accuses me of carrying around a couple of bricks.  I also have a bunny-decorated pink Playboy bag, a couple of bright-colours-on-a-black-background bags by XOXO and a large gold one for when I fancy a bit of bling.

Oh, of course I have plain coloured bags, too – sombre colours for when I need to ‘act my age’ (not often!) – and also bags coloured canary yellow, bright blue, lime and red. My current favourite is a two-tone cerise and deep pink affair with lots of zips and pockets, large enough for me to cram in all my bits and pieces. I still have some of my 1960s/70s treasures – a small beige shoulder bag embroidered with brown beads and featuring a long chain handle, a bright red patent bag that resembles a cube, a purple fabric bag with woollen straps, a faded blue denim bag with plenty of zipped pockets and a bag created from dozens of squares of brightly-coloured leather and suede. One of my bags is made from grey (faux) fur, and reminds me of a cuddly creature so has gained the name of Arthur. I like to use Arthur in cold weather, as he feels comforting! My very first handbag, which I was given when I was eight or nine, was a small light brown leather shoulder bag decorated with pyramids, camels and a swirl of blue sky. I loved it, and needless to say, still have it. A few years later, my aunt gave me my first evening bag, made from black velvet with silver embroidery and a little strap at the back to tuck your fingers under while you were dancing, so you could have your bag with you instead of leaving it on the table.

A quick peek into the handbag I’m using today reveals: a purse, a credit/loyalty card wallet, a wallet containing membership cards for various organisations, pack of tissues, hand gel, mirror, comb, couple of makeup items, keys, phone, Kindle, camera, notebook, three pens, two pencils, address book, asthma inhaler, diary, two pairs of glasses, gloves, ipod, tube of peppermints, perfume, calculator, manicure set and a chequebook (yes, occasionally I still need to write one). Oh, and a worry stone, complete with its own little draw-string bag!  When I go on a longer journey, I take my special ‘emergency’ bag, too. This is a clear zip-up pencil case that includes such things as scissors, sticking plaster, safety pins, sewing kit, tape measure, sellotape, short length of string, pencil sharpener, spare notebook, tweezers, shoehorn, small magnifying glass and a minute atlas of the world! With a bit of luck, I can cram it into my handbag.

A hundred years or so ago, women didn’t have such large bags as they didn’t need to carry so much with them, while in Victorian times a tiny reticule, just large enough to hold a few coins, a hanky and a couple of visiting cards was all that a lady needed. How times have changed!

MUSINGS FROM THE BOWER 30

Finally, this weekend, we had just a tiny glimpse of spring. With blue sky and sunshine, there was no way we could stay indoors so we decided to go and find some snowdrops to photograph. The beautiful gardens, created by Sir Frederick Gibberd, the planner of Harlow New Town, are situated on the outskirts of Harlow, and they had advertised that they would be open for three successive Sundays for snowdrop viewing, so that was where we headed.

The garden is charming, with a surprise at every turn – it is filled with sculptures and art works. Here are statues, urns, mobiles and other interesting items, such as a large, colourful metal bull. Mossy paths tempt you to follow them, and a stream reflects the trees overhead.  We didn’t venture into the woody depths, as they were extremely muddy, but even so, there was much to see.

Construction 11 by Tim Monks

Sir Frederick Gibberd was appointed master planner for Harlow New Town in 1946, and he must have been pleased with the result as he decided to live there. In 1955 he began to create the garden, in Marsh Lane. After the death of his first wife he later remarried. The new Lady Gibberd, being an active member of the Harlow Art Trust, had many contacts with sculptors and she and Sir Frederick bought or commissioned over eighty sculptures to enhance the garden. Sir Frederick died in 1984,while  his widow passed away two years ago. Now, the house is sometimes open as well as the gardens.

Bronze Dog (one of two) by Robert Clatworthy

The sculptures don’t dominate the garden, they enhance areas, or are weathered so that often, until you are almost on top of them, you don’t notice them. Amongst the pieces is a vivacious sculpture of a woman holding a baby. Another that caught my eye was of a woman holding a young goat. There were two bronze dogs, a shiny mobile, a bronze bull and a wooden deer, a stretching figure and even a head of Sir Frederick, perched atop a pot of ivy. I was very taken by a piece called ‘Construction 11’, by Tim Monks, made from steel and stained glass. The glass arrangement reminded me of an artist’s palette. The stainless steel mobile on one of the lawns was fun, and very elegant. Probably the brightest piece in the garden is situated right near the car park, and is entitled ‘Il Tractoro’. Constructed from painted copper sheet, it was created by Gabriel Underwood, and is a stylised bull painted in vivid shades of yellow, red and blue.

Mother and Child by Gerda Rubinstein

However, we had, of course, gone primarily to see the snowdrops and they certainly didn’t disappoint. From small clumps to long swathes, the snowy flowers were beautiful, and so delicate with their fresh green markings on the white petals. Some of the snowdrops were really large, others tiny. Later, we bought a couple of pots to take home with us. Incidentally, the café serves delicious cake and huge pots of tea!

Chinese Dynamic by John Mills

Harlow is renowned as ‘A Sculpture Town’ and  boasts a number of pieces of international importance. Perhaps the most famed is Henry Moore’s Family Group which is in the foyer of the Civic Centre, and which gazes impassively through the large glass windows at passing shoppers. My favourite piece is Solo Flight, an imposing, graceful stainless steel sculpture in First Avenue, fabulous when viewed on a summer’s day against a cobalt blue sky. I’m also fond of the small bronze boar in the water gardens.  I couldn’t resist a giggle when visiting Tesco last week as right outside the Church Langley branch is a larger than life statue of a bronze horse – rather unfortunate at the moment, given the ‘horse meat in beef ready-meals’ controversy!

Princess Daisy at the V&A Museum of Childhood

Recently I was asked if I would be one of the Guest Speakers at the Victoria and Albert Museum of Childhood, at a Teenage Doll Study Day next month. I’m really looking forward to it, and to meeting up with like-minded doll collectors. It’s quite a while since I last visited the museum, so it will be interesting to see it all again, especially ‘Princess Daisy’, a 19^th century wax doll with a magnificent layette – everything from a crib to a silver mug. The lucky baby has hundreds of items of clothing and accessories. All being well, I’ll be able to describe the museum in more detail next month after the event.

Apparently, this sunny spring-like weather will last till Wednesday, when yet another band of cold, wintry weather will sweep in bringing ice, snow and cold winds. Then let’s hope that is the last of it – I think we all deserve a proper spring and summer this year.

A mossy path at the Gibberd Garden

MUSINGS FROM THE BOWER 29

‘By hook or by crook,

I’ll be first in this book’

When did you last sign your name?  Properly, with a pen, not electronically on an email or text. Think about it – years ago we signed our name regularly. We wrote letters, signed cheques or scrawled our signature on petitions to our local MPs. Today, even petitions tend to be online, and unless we’re entering into some official business, like taking out an insurance policy or making a major purchase, our signature isn’t required.  When did you last write your name in someone’s autograph book? I expect that is even longer ago – in Victorian times, and right up until the Second World War, most girls and young women had autograph books, not to collect the signatures of their favourite pop singers but to collect rhymes, quotations and drawings entered up by their relatives and friends.

After the War, people still had autograph books but the rhymes become more banal, and gradually the books fell from favour. Sometimes, school leavers copy the American idea of the school year book, collecting signatures and good luck messages from their classmates, but in general, today’s books are used by fans to gather the autographs of their favourite actors, film stars, pop stars or reality personalities. A couple of years ago I wrote a book about autograph collecting, and gathered a collection of early autograph albums, which were packed with exquisite watercolour paintings, sketches and delightful verses. Can you imagine someone today taking the time to borrow someone’s autograph album, returning it a few hours later embellished with an intricate painting? Or a cartoon? Or a long poem, lovingly written, full of advice for the years ahead? No, neither can I.

Some imaginative pages found in earlier autograph books involved photographs or small objects pasted in, such as silk pictures, cigarette cards, lengths of thread, locks of hair, buttons, postage stamps or matchsticks with a clever comment, witty remark or joke beneath. For instance ‘The Lost C(h)ord’, ‘I’ve stamped your page’ or ‘This is the most striking object in your book’, as well, of course, as that vital signature.

One of my favourite rhymes that I’ve come across, was written in the 1920s:

He criticised her pudding

He didn’t like her cake

He wished she’d make the biscuits

That his mother used to make

She didn’t wash the dishes

She didn’t make the stew

And she didn’t darn his linen

As his mother used to do

Oh well she wasn’t perfect

Though she always tried her best

Then one day at length she thought

It was time to have a rest

So when that day he scolded

The same complaints all through

She turned around and boxed his ears

Like his mother used to do.

Or how about this gem, also from the 1920s?

Some girls love their brothers

But I so good have grown

That I love somebody else’s

Better than my own.

 

Love, marriage and babies are recurrent themes, something to be expected considering the vast majority of autograph books were owned by young women or schoolgirls. Friendship is another popular topic, with people proclaiming undying devotion. Interestingly, unlike today where we tend to bottle our feelings or make jokey references about ‘eternal friendship’, a few decades ago people weren’t afraid to show their feelings. They were happy to write loving thoughts and messages to friends and relatives as well being willing to show their patriotism by writing stirring quotations about Britain, its soldiers or its Union Flag. Unsurprisingly perhaps, forget-me-nots are the flowers which crop up in albums the most, though roses and violets are also exceedingly popular.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When on a lonely path you’ve got

And may perchance to see

That little flower Forget-me-not

Pluck it and think of me

 

This one was found in a late Victorian autograph album, and crops up time and again over the decades:

Your album is a garden

That only friends may know

I will plant a forget-me-not

And see if it will grow

It’s interesting to analyse the themes – broadly speaking, they fall into four distinct categories. There are the flippant, humorous or novelty entries – these are verses and drawings which usually bear no relevance to the owner of the album; they are purely entries chosen to entertain. Secondly, there are the sentimental entries which often proclaim advice, friendship or love. The third type are those which consists of quotes, homilies, texts or poems. Sometimes these poems seem original to the writer, but more often are an extract from a well-known poet such as Browning, Kipling, Shakespeare or Keats. The fourth category belongs to the entries that I think of as ‘self-indulgent’. These are the self-satisfied, holier-than-thou entries that were particularly in vogue in Edwardian times and up to the 19220s. You can imagine these being penned by elderly aunts with pursed mouths like cats’ bottoms, or pompous uncles who believed that their flighty nieces needed a firm hand to keep them on the straight and narrow. They tended to consist of moralistic verses and prose setting out rules for behaviour, and you can imagine the young recipient screwing up her nose in disgust as she read the offering, such as this entry dated 1919:

 Don’t look for the flaws as you go through life

And even when you’ve found them

It is well and kind to be somewhat blind

And to look for the virtue behind them.

The world will never adjust itself

To suit your whines to the letter

Some things must go wrong your whole life long

And the sooner you know it the better

 

I rather like this 1950s’ offering, too:

Tell me quick

Before I faint

Is we friends

Or is we ain’t?

As children, we tended to scrawl our names and a sentiment such as the ubiquitous ‘By hook or by crook, I’ll be first in the book’ or maybe, ‘Don’t kiss at the garden gate, Love is blind but neighbours ain’t’. However, as we mature, we realise what a great responsibility we undertake on the rare occasions when an autograph book is proffered for us to sign. What should we put? Do we come up with a thoughtful entry in the hope it will guide the book’s owner through life’s rocky highway, or do we opt for something witty to demonstrate our sense of humour? Sadly, the opportunity rarely comes along nowadays.

A Philographist's Prayer

Can't think

Brain numb

Inspiration won't come,

Can't write,

Bad pen,

Much love,

Amen