Sylvia Stuart

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Is That Me

No, is it really me? asks pretty SYLVIA STUART, office girl in an old town of Ayrshire. I mean what would mother say. Nothing I suppose, except does your grandmother know you've been to her chest. Smashing, aren't they? The beatniks aren't so crazy as I thought.

Well, I mean, they may not be a frightfully artistic adornment, but think of their worth up in the cold Highlands.

Pardon me - I was just getting ready to take a bath. But I'm not ready yet and my forthcoming immersion is the result of a mere slip. Of the feet. If it's too hot or too cold I shall yell my head off.

Oh, well, once you're in you're in, and once you're wet, you're all wet. Did I ever tell you about my grandfather all steamed up a Turkish bath? He didn't go off the boil for days.

Sylvia Stuart

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What’s It All About?

Secretary SYLVIA STUART thought about going to the local fancy dress gala as a bird of the fifties. Well, her mum kept lots of well-preserved garments of that era in an old family chest, and Sylvia thought she could be utterly authentic if she borrowed some of them.

There was a recognisable bra—somewhat more to it than today's bras but a bra all the same—and there were also some quite wearable pairs of knicks.

"But, oh confusion," said Sylvia, when she put mum's old leg hose on, "how did mum keep them up? What's this, then?"

It was a genuine 1950 garter-belt, an utter mystery to Sylvia, who said she didn't know if it had to be worn around the neck or what. Mum came up and laughed her head off and then explained the intricacies.

Eventually, Sylvia looked lovely and old-fashioned, with everything properly done up and staying up.