The herringbone coat

I had a rather vivid dream last night, or rather this morning; it woke me up an hour early. It wasn't a nightmare so much as a reminder of something that popped up occasionally during my childhood. The pattern herringbone, not often seen these days in fashion, but something that was very popular at the beginning of the last century (sounds weird saying that) it first popped when I was seven years old.

I was in need of an overcoat and as we were only recently of wartime rationing something that my Mother couldn't afford to buy me. My Grandmother set about unpicking an old coat of hers to make me one. I had several fittings, and when it was finished I hated it. It had mutton of lamb sleeves (very girlie) that resembled sailor's kit bags and two pleats in the back; it fastened with six buttons, no two of which matched. Wearing that coat rated alongside underpants that came below the hem of your normal pants (boys wore short pants in those days) threadbare vests and plimsolls with holes in them, very raggedy.

I put it on to leave the house for school but took it off again the moment I was out of sight of home and my Mother. Most days I was frozen, but that was infinitely better than wearing that coat and that in the days when people weren't worried about street cred.

The second pop of note happened when I stayed overnight at the house of my Mothers friend, I cant remember her name but I do remember that she was very glamorous, and had long red hair. In the morning I was up early, breakfasted and ready to leave, she however was still as they say preparing her toilet and requested that I keep her company whilst she dressed. I can still remember the tightness in my chest and the difficulty I had breathing as I watched her pulling on silk underwear, and smoothing out her seamed nylons over those rather long legs that try as I might I couldn't take my eyes off. I could have stayed in that moment forever, but sadly all good things come to an end. She picked out a herringbone two piece suit and squeezed herself into it and suddenly memories of my hated overcoat came flooding back, I quite like herringbone I thought.

The third pop came a good deal later when as a young adult I spent some three months or so stealing things rather than working for them, it was a short career but quite spectacular. I may tell you about it some day, but for now suffice it to say that its shortness was due to the fact that I wasn't very good at it. I spent some time in Borstal as a result of my transgressions, the first of which was an open institution, and of course I had it away on my toes. I know stupid as well as dishonest, but I was caught very quickly and transported to Strangeways prison to await allocation to a closed Borstal.
When the time came for me to leave that happy little village I discovered that as I had been caught in prison uniform, I was to be provided with civilian clothes from the rag bag collection they kept for just such an occasion.

I tried several suits on but the only one that came anywhere near me was a very mouldy, very smelly, very badly cut herringbone suit that must have been pre war. The comments I received from my fellow coach travellers, all of whom were wearing the trendy clothes they had attended court in prior to their being sent down can't be repeated here, but I'm sure you can understand how miserable I felt. In short, herringbone has been something of a yo yo experience for me. And in the early hours of this morning it came back to haunt me again. I was back on that coach, but in the dream I was surrounded by friends and family all laughing at me, I was wearing the herringbone two piece suit that had made me catch my breath all those years ago.