One nice thing about having a blog is that it provides me with a place to store stuff that I have nowhere else to put.
Let me explain.
I like vintage shopping. No, actually, I love vintage shopping. I browse, I marvel, I fondle, and I covet.
But… I am not a woman of unlimited means. So I do not – cannot – always buy.
I can see how people get into selling vintage, I really can. However, when I cannot buy, I blog instead.
At the weekend I popped into a local charity shop from which I have previously had a few treasures: the Nottinghamshire Hospice Shop in Mapperley.
It has a small and interestingly eclectic vintage department upstairs, where I often go for a spot of recreational rummaging. And what should greet my fabric-focused eyes upon rounding the top of the stairs?
An amazing collection.
Vintage little girl’s dresses from the 1960s and 70s.
I almost gasped. There were so many of them!
The shop manager told me that they were all part of the same donation. Nearly all were labelled St Michael, the now-defunct brand name of Marks and Spencer.
All were in near-perfect condition, their sizes spanning babyhood through to pre-teen.
There were too many, I think, to make up one child’s wardrobe. Perhaps sisters… unless the dresses have been collected by someone?
I wonder, but I shall never know.
They are so gloriously and utterly of their time.
Little girls are just not dressed like that any more. Actually, I wasn’t dressed like that either – although I am of the correct vintage.
Marks and Spencer was way too posh for us. Nanna made mine and my sister’s dresses on her old Singer hand-crank machine.
The one shop-bought frock I remember owning was seriously treasured – and worn until I no longer fitted into it.
These frocks had obviously also been treasured. I could just tell.
Some of the fabrics they are made from are almost nicer than the frocks themselves…
There is an inevitable feeling of sadness about vintage children’s clothing, since the children they were bought for are all grown-up now – just like me.
They trigger huge nostalgia for more innocent times, a feeling that those days are gone forever and can never be recaptured.
But, as I stood fondling a frock, transported back to childhood, something wonderful happened.
A woman and her daughter (aged, I would guess, about four) came up to the counter. From the conversation that ensued it transpired that they were just visiting the area.
“Have you chosen?” the woman asked her daughter. “Yes – this one”, said the little girl, with the air of one who knows what she likes.
And just like that, one of the little frocks found a new owner.
And off it went, to be worn and loved, all over again. ♥
Many thanks to the staff at Nottinghamshire Hospice Shop for letting me photograph their stock.
Coming from the lower end of a large family of mostly girls, I always knew what was coming my way in terms of hand-me-downs. Sometimes it was a matter for rejoicing when an older sister was finally too tall or wide for a garment I coveted. Sometimes my heart sank because now it was my turn to wear THAT dress for however long it took me to grow out of it. Somehow, things were always too worn for my blonde, curly-haired, blue-eyed little sister to wear, and she got new. I learned early that the phrase “It’s not fair” inevitably produced the phrase “Life isn’t fair”. But I have to say, it was fun seeing the wardrobe contents marching inexorably towards me, and know that at last the dress I loved would be mine! Equally, it made me determined to learn to sew for myself. And I did!
Ahh, so lovely to hear of your childhood wardrobe experiences Kate!
I was the eldest of two, so no hand-me-downs for me. But although there were some of Nanna’s creations that I remember vividly absolutely loving (a floral sun-dress with matching knickers springs to mind, also a gingham one with smocking and a full skirt) there were others that I loathed. And always a general feeling that I never got to choose. I was eleven years old before I ever got taken into town and treated to something of my own choosing to wear. And at secondary school I got picked on for my mum’s dreadful choices, or made to wear things long after I’d outgrown them – or in the case of one particular winter coat – long after they’d gone out of fashion!
Love this blog post! The dresses are so pretty..even ‘tho I was so much a tomboy I hated wearing any dress! (except for the twirling aspect in said dress).