By the 1960’s it was much harder for photographers to make a living. After the war there was an influx of new camera designs, including cheaper budget versions. Snapshots replaced the formal portraits that my family had favoured in earlier decades. I don’t remember going to have a portrait taken in a photographic studio, but do remember the photographers that roamed the streets of seaside resorts. I’ve a similar photograph taken in Bridlington.
Some of the photographers took the photo without warning, then tried to sell it. You went to a kiosk to collect and pay for it some days later. We aren’t posing or smiling. The photographer seems to have captured the moment we shifted from private thoughts to the outer world. Stephen and I look slightly puzzled. Who is this man with his camera, intruding into our world? My parents are more relaxed. They know what’s happening. My dad looks proud to be captured in his smart suit, out walking with his family. My mother’s expression is more enigmatic. She’s just reached 40, and looks tired. Remarkably, our walking is synchronised, right legs forward.
The competition between street photographers was fierce. They were often a nuisance. I think we kept this one as we were all dressed up. It’s the equivalent of my great, great grandfather and his family having a portrait taken in their Sunday finery.
I remember going to buy those jerkins, at the Co-op warehouse. Mine was a dark red. It was waterproof, so the fabric was stiff. It fastened with a zip. Quite sophisticated for a 9 year old. I’d wear it now. The dress was black and white, with a white bib. There might have been some red in the design too. I wouldn’t wear it now. I think my shoes were red. I always wore white socks in summer. Maybe I had bare feet and sandals when going to the beach, but I doubt it. My hair must be in a bun. I liked this style more than the big Pollyanna bows that my mother favoured and that prompted strangers to say I looked like Hayley Mills.
Years later I had a stall at Portobello Road selling vintage clothes and jewellery. Everything my mother is wearing is the sort of thing you’d find on my stall. I was probably wearing it too. I had multiple versions of those multi-stringed necklaces, mainly, but not exclusively pearls. As I write, I’m coveting that jacket. I think the dress stayed in her wardrobe for many years. It was a subtle print, white flowers on a greyish blue. She still made all her dresses and mine. My mother still had her standards, but by the 60's her dreams were a bit battered.
Had anyone told me that my market stock reflected the taste of my mother I’d have been horrified. I was sure my mother was deluded in her belief that we were alike. How wrong I was.
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