Pride goes before a fall
It was 1967. The days of the mini skirt and Vidal Sassoon hair cuts. I had THIS very cut.
I was twenty one and prided myself on my fashion flair. You know what they say about pride coming before a fall don’t you? Hold that thought.
I can’t believe, now, that I actually wore my skirts so short that when I sat down my knickers showed. Still that was the norm back then. At least in London’s West End where I spent my days. I had knickers to match most of my clothes for that very reason. Thankfully, in the sixties, the skimpy panties and thongs were nowhere to be seen (or not) as the case may be. It was also a must for the mini skirt to be a hipster, so there wasn’t much material in the whole thing! Jumpers were extra short, so you almost always showed a bare midriff too.
I had a real thing for shoes, and usually paid a lot of money for them. I didn’t have lots of shoes, rather I would really fall in love with a pair and buy them to wear until I fell in love with another pair – usually very expensive. It didn’t matter that they cost a lot. I had a good job, and money was plentiful in the sixties (sigh… those were the days). I fell in love with a lovely burgundy/brown pair of leather shoes, that had little leather tassels on the top. They had a beautiful shine to the leather. Those were the days when people polished their shoes every day. Shiny leather shoes was a must, and later Jim taught me how to spit ‘n’ polish, like the soldiers did, to get a real mirror finish on the toes.
Just as a side note. My shoes were/are size 4 (UK), and I didn’t topple over! Well, not often. It was average and often shoes I wanted to buy were sold out in my size. I had an aunt who was a size 3. My 14 year old great niece (yes I’m a great aunt) is already a size 7 – what’s evolving here?
Remember I said that pride comes before a fall?
One sunny day I was starting out for work. I caught a train into the West End and the platform was down a flight of steps. These were concrete steps with lots of little stones in the concrete, I imagine to give the concrete strength. Anyway, it was rush hour and the platform was packed with commuters. All the ‘Home Pride’ men (I explain this term HERE) were standing in rows waiting for their train.
I had on my lovely, heavy suede skirt that was made up of panels stitched onto the main skirt. Another costly item that I loved. A walking fashion statement (huh!) and my beautiful, expensive shoes.
My shoes ….. that looked the bee’s knees.
My shoes ….. that I loved.
My shoes ….. that had an unusual sole. A sole that was made from a kind of hard resin substance.
My shoes ….. that were not too friendly with the shiny stones in the concrete.
My shoes ……………..
Whooooosh! Bump! Bump! Bump! Bump! Thwuuuump!!
OH MY …..! I DIED!!!
Well I didn’t actually die, but I died inside. I slipped down the whole flight of steps and landed on my backside in front of all the Home Pride men.
The Home Pride men ….. that (in unison) slowly turned and looked my way.
The Home Pride men ….. that stared vacantly, wondering what, or even IF they should show any chivalry and come to my aid.
The Home Pride men ….. didn’t
The Home Pride men ….. slowly (in unison) turned back and stared at the platform floor, fighting back laughter I expect.
The Home Pride men ……… How I hated the Home Pride men! ***
Now we all know that to fall down a flight of steps is embarrassing. To fall down a flight of steps, have everybody stare at you, and then have to scramble to your feet on your own, regain your composure and walk away is beyond embarrassing.
I wonder why, on an expensive pair of shoes, such little thought would go into the safety of the sole.
Did I stop wearing those shoes? I did NOT!
Did I fall down wearing them again? Thankfully I did NOT.
Now I want to hear all about your slips and falls in public. You know, your really embarrassing times.
*** I was later to discover that the Home Pride men would turn away from a FAR more serious situation, and leave me to go it alone.
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