Talking of knickers..

...which I was, a post or so ago, I was reminded of the disastrous bright blue knickers with which my unconventional mother equipped me for grammar school. I was scarred for life by those knickers. They feature in my novel, The Birds, The Bees and Other Secrets, as does a mother who closely resembles mine (I just came across the  unedited proofs of the novel, while searching for scrap paper, and suddenly thought this was an ideal opportunity for a tiny bit of advertising. I am quite exceptionally  bad at advertising, so please bear with me. Fellow-writers will understand.)

Mum was packing my school trunk, the uniform list at her side, piles of clothes scattered over the bed.

“Skirts, navy, two. White blouses, five. Five white blouses? Whatever do you need five blouses for? Three should be plenty.” She ticked them off her list. “Long grey socks, six pairs. Six pairs of socks? You’ve never possessed six pairs of socks in your life. What can they be thinking of. I’ll send four.”

We had already been through all this in the uniform shop, so I didn't take too much notice. After all, no-one was ever teased for having only four pairs of socks.

The knickers were another matter.

Typically, my mother had refused to buy underwear at the uniform shop where, it has to be said, the prices had been craftily hiked up to match the prestigious standing of the school. Knickers and vests could be bought anywhere, she reasoned. There was no point in paying the earth for knickers and vests.

“I’ll get them, Cass,” she’d said. “No need for you to come with me this time.”

She had returned in triumph.

“Really cheap, Cass. A bargain, and good quality, too. One hundred percent cotton.” She tipped out her purchases onto the kitchen table. “How about that?”

To this day, I shall never know how my mother managed to find royal blue knickers. School knickers, as everyone knows, come in bottle green, grey, or navy. No-one wears royal blue knickers. No-one (as far as I know ) even sells royal blue knickers.

“But Mum - they're the wrong colour.”

“Blue. They’re blue. Nice bright blue knickers.”

“But the list says navy! I can’t wear those. I’ll get into trouble.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cass. Of course you won’t. Who’s going to see them, anyway?”

“Everyone!” I wailed. “Everyone will see them. I’ll have to do gym in them. It says so on the list.”

“Oh, gym!” said Mum dismissively. “What does it matter what you wear for gym? It’s not as though you’re going out in them.”

This is exactly what happened to me. I never quite forgave her. And I never found out where she found those horrible knickers.