Palm - A Shiny Shilling

 “Cross my palm with silver and I’ll tell your fortune. Cross my palm with gold and it will certainly come to be. Cross my palm with iron and you won’t live to see daybreak.”

Mara Amberly – Her Gypsy Promise

Blackpool is well-known for fortune tellers. For as many years as the Golden Mile has stretched between the piers, clairvoyants have worked from inside curtained cabins advertising their gift of seeing into the future. A visit to the promenade or piers would include a palm reading or a studied gaze into a crystal ball for anyone eager to find out if something important is about to happen to them. It’s part of traditional Blackpool fun.

Crossing the palm of a new baby with silver was seen as a way of wishing them wealth, good health and the best possible start it life. I watched as my baby sister had a shiny shilling put into her tiny hand by a well-meaning person, a stranger to me. I was seven and a half. Anne could keep the shilling, but I really coveted the lovely plush bunny she was given by the same person. Nothing for me. I expect she received gifts from lots of people who didn’t acknowledge me, but that’s the one I remember. I could probably go to the exact spot where it happened, in the lounge bar of the Boar’s Head on Preston Old Road, Blackpool. I was a proud big sister. I still am. This was one of those moments that stays in the memory forever, so I’ve always given something to an older sibling, not just the baby.

The Psychic’s Dilemma

I’m a psychic, true, with visions grand,
But rent’s due, and I need a hand.
Cross my palm with silver, yes, it’s true,
I’ll conjure love for you, and a new shoe!

No gold for romance, no, that’s not the deal,
Just enough for groceries, a more practical appeal.
So if your heart yearns for a love connection,
Bring silver, and I’ll give you a pre-packaged affection!

Anon.

Thanks for reading, Pam x

Read More

Lancashire Hat Collections

I have discovered hats coming out of the woodwork in Lancashire, from personal collections to those under close observational care in museums. For millennia, hats have been plastered to, balanced on and adorning heads for protection, as indicators of religion, political beliefs, nationality and culture along with being beacons of social status. Sarah Austin, Lancashire County Museum Service Curator writes:

Hats can tell us a lot about societal norms and the social status of people throughout history. The covering of the head was expected in polite society and the manner in which you covered it defined who you were and the class to which you belonged... At the beginning of the 20th Century top hats were still worn by members of the male upper classes, while bowler hats were worn by professional men and flat caps defined men as being from the working class.

TopHat
Lancashire County Museum Service Collection
Photo credit: Lancashire County Museum Service

In modern society, hats are now much more an expression of fashion and individual taste rather than a marker of social status. And it is therefore in this evolution that we can see the evolution of society itself and the changes that have prevailed, particularly over the last two hundred years. (1)

So who collects hats? Well I have over 35 hats. They protect my pate, amuse me and are worn as fashion statements. They range from those that keep me warm in winter and cool in the summer to fanciful pointy stripy festival hats, a psychedelic trilby, a vintage bowler and multiple caps. I often sport colourful ones when delivering creative workshops to add a bit of fun and be easily identifiable. The Art Can’t Hurt You cap is a good example.

Designer Fred Bobb's Art Can't Hurt You Cap, c 1980s
Kate Eggleston-Wirtz Collection
Photo credit: Kate Eggleston-Wirtz

I also have hats that are sentimental. One of my favourites is my father’s boy scout broad-brimmed felt campaign hat vintage 1930s. I enjoy the look and feel of this hat and can wear it. I love it because it is a tangible object that connects me to my dad. Objects have incredible power to connect people through time and space; as stand-ins for those who are somewhere else walking about on the planet or sadly long departed.

Herbert Eggleston, c 1930s
Photo credit: Kate Eggleston-Wirtz

After assessing my own hats and being mind-boggled at the actual sheer number of them, I was eager to find out about other collections. I contacted friends who I suspected had lots of headgear, and also colleagues at the Harris Museum, Art Gallery and Library, Lancashire County Council Museum Service and Fleetwood Museum. This is what came to light.

Seamstress and skip diving crafter Anna France has ten to twenty pieces of headgear in her collection. Anna began collecting hats because she’d started dancing and needed a 1940s hat for the Lytham 40s Festival. That started it. She then said that if she sees something she likes, she then starts to collect. The hats have been no different. Recently Anna took her hat collecting to a higher level and learnt how to make a fedora constructed out of felt, using a steamer and a proper wooden hat block. (2)

Fedora Hat made by Anna France, 2022
Anna France Collection
Photo credit: Kate Eggleston-Wirtz

Artist Boz Phillips has currently about ten hats in her collection, although at one point she had about 30. She collects and wears them for warmth, fun and sartorial elegance; sometimes to cover up on a bad hair day. (3)

Just like individuals, organisations collect hats and do so for many different reasons. Often, the hats looked after in museums are collected as representations of local people, ultimately helping to tell their stories that can then resonate with and educate the local contemporary community. Hats can bring stories to life.

Fleetwood Museum is one such organisation that cares for 17 pieces of headgear; seven hats in the Fleetwood Museum Trust and ten hats in the Lancashire Collections. These hats date from around the 1930s to the 1980s and include girl grammar hats and general formal hats that belonged to Fleetwood people such as Thomas Stone’s black WW2 Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve (RNVR) hat. Stone was a former owner of the Prawner vessel Judy that is kept outside the museum. (4)

Chief Petty Officer Tom Stone, c 1940s
Fleetwood Museum Trust Collection
Photo credit: Fleetwood Museum

Considering that Fleetwood is a coastal town. it is no surprise that navy hats and sou’westers are part of the two Fleetwood collections. These sou’westers are Fleetwood Museum’s Curator Assistant Zara Robinson’s favourite hats because they are “the traditional fishing hats, worn in most forms of fishing, deep sea and inshore fisheries. A big part of the trawlerman’s 'uniform.’” (5)

Travelling down the coast to Preston, one will find two organisations that manage much larger collections. The Harris Museum, Art Gallery and Library is located on the Flag Market in Preston. It is currently closed for a £16 million refurbishment and will be reopening in 2024. Dr Caroline Alexander, Curator at the Harris puts forward:

The Harris collects clothes like hats to tell a story about fashion and its development – where possible the museum also documents stories about the people who once made or wore these clothes. You can build up an interesting picture of Preston, as well as [the] fashion history, through the historic garments

that survive in the collection. (6)

In the Harris’ collection there are over 200 hats, and many represent the fashion industry and local people such as the well-known milliner Edna Deakin who was based on Church Street in Preston from 1938 – 1983. Edna’s was a flourishing business for nearly fifty years even during WW II, as hats were not rationed. The shop finally closed when Church Street was redeveloped by the council. (7)

Cloche Hat, Deigned by Edna Deakin, c 1966
Harris Museum, Art Gallery and Library Collection
Photo credit: Harris Museum, Art Gallery and Library

I asked Caroline what might be her favourite hat in the Harris’ collection, she said that she loved the Deakin one, referring to the Cloche hat above. She then went on to say there was another favourite, a stripy knitted bobble hat from the early to mid 1800s. Why was this one of her favourites?

It’s just such a cosy thing. Often hats are quite formal wear – so perhaps a bit harder to connect with. But this tasselled hat has always struck me as quite intimate. (8)

Red and Blue Woollen Hat, c 1800-1850
Harris Museum, Art Gallery and Library Collection
Photo credit: Harris Museum, Art Gallery and Library

The Lancashire County Museum Service (LCMS) has over 500 items of head wear in its collection that are looked after in different museums and special storage areas across the county. Ten of these items are housed at Fleetwood Museum as mentioned earlier, and there are a large number of dolls’ hats/ headwear located at the Judges’ Lodgings in Lancaster. The LCMS collection also includes top hats, bowler hats, smoking caps, berets, helmets, military headwear, ladies and children’s bonnets, fancy dress/stage headwear and straw boaters.

Straw Boater Hat
Lancashire County Museum Service Collection
Photo credit: Lancashire County Museum Service

Some of the gems in this collection are hats and headwear belonging to the actress and entertainer Hylda Baker (1905 – 1986), a Lancashire lass brought up in Farnsworth. The LCMS collection includes a mock medieval ladies hat, a multicoloured woollen beret and other headpieces used as stage props during Baker’s career, plus some hats from her own personal collection.

Another hat to be noted is LCMS’s Curator Sarah Austin’s favourite, a Pierrot costume union jack hat. She writes: 

It was made by a company in Southport called A. Thorpe and Sons and remarkably it was worn for a Victory Carnival to mark the end of the First World War. This type of ephemera rarely survives and this example is in amazing condition. It also tells a story of Britain at the end of the First World War and the hope and relief that must have come at the end of four years of war. It came from the collection of a Mrs Tatham that is the basis for a large part of our social history collection at LCC. (9)

Pierrot Hat, c 1918
Lancashire County Museum Service Collection
Photo credit: Lancashire County Museum Service

There you have it, a sneak peek into Lancashire hat collections. Wonder what hats are lurking in your wardrobe?

Hats

A bowler, a boater, a bucket, beret
for any occasion or time of the day.

A cowboy, stitched leather,
fedora with feather,
a pointed pierrot hat,
sou’westers to weather
bad weather on boats
on waves on the sea,
there’s always a perfect hat waiting for me.

A bowler, a boater, a bucket, beret
for any occasion or time of the day

A beanie well knitted,
fez felted and fitted,
a sun hat, a rain hat,
a slouch hat, a flat cap,
one hat for a party,
two hats are a pair,
more than two a collection, so many to wear.

Hats off to all those who took the time to share information about their fascinating collections of headwear, much appreciated.

Thank you for reading.
Kate  J

1 Austin, S. (2023) Email to Kate Eggleston-Wirtz (KEW), 4 May.
2 Hoyle, A. (2023) Hats. Interview with KEW, 28 April.
3 Phillips, B. (2023) Email to KEW, 1 May.
4 & 5 Robinson, Z. (2023) Email to KEW, 1 May.
6 Alexander, C. (2023) Email to KEW, 25 April.
7 Arnold, James. (2023) Email to KEW 25 April.
8 Alexander, C. (2023) Email to KEW, 11 May. 

9  Austin, S. (2023) Email to Kate Eggleston-Wirtz (KEW), 4 May

Read More

The Smell of the Greasepaint, the Roar of the Crowds

If you’d asked me, when I was a child, who is the person least likely to want to visit a circus, my response would have been instant and unequivocal: my dad. He liked his own company, was the most intelligent, most intellectual man I ever met - and my opinion never wavered until the day he died at the age of 92. Dad was into philosophy, chess, maths, anything that required deep thought and logical thinking, certainly beyond anything I was ever capable of. 

He liked to sit at his chess computer (one of the very first), sucking on his pipe and pondering his moves. Or he could be found, pencil and notebook in hand, working out indecipherable mathematic equations. His hero was Bertrand Russell, and he would try and explain various aspects of philosophy to me, all of which went totally over my head, certainly until more recent years when I began to take an interest. 

 So yes, dad would be my last choice as companion to the travelling circus. However, I was about to learn that there’s nowt so strange as folk. I only recall one visit to the circus as a child - accompanied by my mum and two brothers - where my abiding memory was the awful smell wafting up through the floorboards, the fear in my heart as the trapeze artists swung their precarious way across the big top, and sadness at the sight of the elephants looking resigned and dejected as they plodded their way around the ring. 

Consequently, when I had children of my own I was never very keen to repeat the experience. This is where my dad came, unexpectedly, into his own. ‘I LOVE circuses!’ he declared as I discussed the subject with my mum, who was usually game for anything involving her grandchildren. Mum and I swung round in shock. ‘You?! Circuses?!’ I asked in amazement. ‘Love them,’ replied dad with a big grin. And so it was that dad became unofficial Grandchildren’s Entertainment Monitor for special events. Parks and beaches didn’t interest him but show him a circus, a corny comedian or a fairground and he was in. He was packed off with most of the eight grandchildren, who came back with hilarious tales of granddad being singled out by clowns, animal tamers and even the ringmaster on one notorious occasion. Granddad, himself, returned glowing (once with badly applied clown makeup, which had gone down a treat on the tube), and excitedly discussing his next planned event. 

 I found it strange that my clever, often very serious, dad loved the madness of a fairground ride or the colourful world of the circus. Maybe it was due to the fact that, as far as I know, these things didn’t form part of his childhood. They were certainly a huge contrast to his working life as an optical engineer and self employed optician. Whatever the cause, it was good to see his transformation on these occasions. 

 A couple of years ago the circus came to Blackpool and I took the grandchildren. I thought they would be mesmerised. I probably built it up too much. I soon realised that the main attractions were the hugely overpriced bags of candy floss, the flashing lights on sticks and the toilets which were outside and across a field. Thankfully, the days of the sad elephants were long gone, as were the giant cats that I remembered seeing cowering on plinths, under threat of a long whip. In their place, strangely incongruous, roaring motorbikes criss-crossing the ring, narrowly missing the dancing girls - and each other. All accompanied by flashing lights. 

Amalie, looking quite stunned by the motorbikes at the circus

Maybe the grandchildren are used to more sophisticated entertainment these days, or maybe the circus wasn’t a patch on Blackpool Illuminations and the Pleasure Beach, but despite that, I think we all had a good time. We made a lasting memory, even if it was only the excitement of the outside toilets....

When I was a child I used to love Children’s Favourites on the wireless on a Saturday morning. I once sent in a request but it didn’t get played. However, the Nellie the Elephant song, below, could be heard most weeks. It had a sadness about it that I recognised, even at that young age.   Years later, partly because it was so easy to remember, it became part of my repertoire of songs to inflict on the grandchildren. *

 Nellie the Elephant 

 

Nellie the Elephant packed her trunk 

And said goodbye to the circus 

Off she went with a trumpety trump 

Trump, trump, trump 

Nellie the elephant packed her trunk 

And trundled off to the jungle 

Off she went with a trumpety trump 

Trump, trump, trump 

The head of the herd was calling far, far away 

They met one night in silver light on the road to Mandalay. 

*thinks maybe this is why they weren’t that impressed by the circus…. 

 Thanks for reading….. Jill

Read More

Being in the spotlight

From a young age I enjoyed being in the limelight. We, local children, devised back garden concerts and I recall singing "Tulips from Amsterdam" aged about 6, wearing a rather too small flower girl dress. Finally after many years of pleading I was taken to Donald's ice rink in Aberdeen. I had to have an outfit just like Sonja Henie's, as I'd seen her wearing in a movie. Full of confidence, and thinking I'd glide effortlessly across the ice, I launched myself. It didn't work like I'd seen in the film! A couple of years later and I was competing. My mother remained a nervous wreck, whilst I took it all in my stride. So it was that entering competitions or taking tests became second nature.

Failing my 11 plus I went to a Junior Secondary School. However the education I received there was superb. Encouraged to sing, I had lessons and was an active member of the school choir. Gleefully taking part in operettas and once singing solo in St Machar's Cathedral. The English teacher encouraged us to debate, and I took part in inter school debating. She also involved me in plays, giving me major roles. The Duke Of Edinburgh Award scheme was in full swing in this school and I was asked to attend a first aid course where the Duke of Edinburgh himself was to attend. I was elected to tell him what was taking place. I left that school with 5 "O" grades and 1 "0" level...that being in oral English (an actual 'English' qualification, as there was no equivalent ).

At college I was elected as class representative , taking any issues to the rector and staff.

As a teacher I thought of my work as rather like acting...giving tuition, encouragement and maintaining discipline. Front of house...so to say. I was not averse  to taking part in many extra curricular activities, and displaying interests other than those of being 'teacher'.

I returned to ice skating and took up ice dance with a partner and we competed for Oxford in the Southern league. So this was a form of being in the spotlight once more.

Giving up teaching after 20 years and moving house, with a new husband. I was suddenly propelled into more limelight as he was such an exuberant and outgoing person. Together we formed an ice skating club in Elgin, giving tuition and organising shows...taking part ourselves too, thus encouraging youngsters and adults to take up skating.

It was then that I took up dancing. My husband was very keen on ballroom dancing and rock and roll. We liked to join in 1940's and 50's events...dressing in the era and letting our hair down. Never phased at being the first on the floor, trying to get people to join in and have fun. Fancy dress events were looked forward too and eagerly planned for and organised. Yes. We had a good life together.

After his death I returned to skating after two years absence taking care of him. Two weeks in, at Blackpool Arena, I was invited to do a solo programme in a charity show to raise funds for "Help for Heroes". So aged 60 I was the oldest participant and I featured in a figure skating magazine.

Those early days paved the way and made me a confident, energetic person, willing to embrace life ...be a participant and not an audience member. It's not for all, but it's stood me in good stead. I don't mind being in the spotlight....

   This morning I sat down and quickly drafted this piece....

                    Places, Lights, Action

              Places, lights, action.
              No camera required, yet.
              This dear child, is life.
              The cameras come later
              When you're cleaned and wrapped.

              You are in the spotlight -
              On the stage for life.
              No shying away.
              No return for you.
              Face the world, little mite.

              Places, lights, action.
              First day at school.
              Be a leader or be led.
              It's up to you -
              In the spotlight, or the shadows ?

              Take part, or sit back -
              That's your only option.
              Follow your dream,
              Stand in the beam,
              Or fall by the wayside.

              Places, lights, action.
              First day of work.
              Climb the ladder or stay at the foot.
              You're here for the duration.
              Shine in your work - your choice.

              The spotlight dims- the audience silent.
              Curtain slowly falls.
              You've taken a bow - a final exit.
              So how did you do ?
              Places, darkness, stillness.......CUT !


       Thanks for reading, Kath
             

Read More

Turn of Events - Roehampton, 1971

In my mid-teens, I loved going to London to stay with my aunt. Often, the whole family would go by car, but my favourite trips were the ones I made alone, on the train. I felt so grown up travelling InterCity from where ever we were living at the time. I would be met at Euston by my aunt, accompanied by my cousins who were young children, and we would head off to Roehampton and the large, detached house where they lived. Chatter, laughter and a bit of sibling rivalry would last for the entire car journey, until we all tumbled out on to the drive and raced for the front door. My cousins would want to hold my hands. There were three of them, so the two youngest had to hold one of my hands between them.

One of my visits took place during the Whitsuntide half-term in 1971. I have previously written about being uprooted from the familiar to the unknown when my father’s job meant a move to Cheshire. This little holiday was in the middle of that, so I was not at my happiest, though being with my cheerful, extended family brought me joy. My aunt had given me one of the big bedrooms over-looking the front garden. It was bright and welcoming, decorated in pale yellow with a grey satin bedspread and matching cushions. The printed cotton sheets were a jumbled mass of giant flowers in yellow, white and grey. I had fun with my cousins but I wasn’t expected to play with them all the time. The eldest was almost ten years younger than me and I wasn’t entirely sure where to fit in, but my aunt had it all organised.

The two of us had lots of together time, chatting over a coffee at home, or going out into London. I was completely spoiled by her generosity.

We wandered around Kensington and Chelsea, where my aunt bought me a flowery, summer dress from Biba and a smock style top in cheese-cloth and lace from a tiny boutique. She refused to let me donate my spending money.

Another day, we went to a hair salon, where I expected to wait with the magazines while my aunt had her appointment, but no, the appointment was for me. This was my first ever ‘cut and blow’ and I was delighted with my flyaway fine hair tamed into an easy, carefree style minus a few inches of straggles. We had a night on the town planned, so wearing my Biba dress and new sandals, we went to the theatre. It was a variety show with Tommy Cooper and was hilarious all the way through.

My week away was soon reaching an end and I was beginning to dread going home and returning to the school where I had no friends and no encouragement from teachers. The only thing I looked forward to was sending letters to my friends in Blackpool and sharing news of my time in London. I was about to be cheered by a welcome turn of events.

I’d spent the warm, sunny morning out in the back garden playing ball with my little cousins. After lunch, the eldest child and the middle one had been taken somewhere, the sunshine had turned to rain and I chose to have some quiet time in my room. I sat in the comfy armchair in the window, half-reading Animal Farm, for school, and watching the raindrops make perfect circles in the puddles as I twiddled with the necklace of love-beads I’d bought from Carnaby Street. The blossom covered tree branches hung low with the weight of water. Occasionally, I had another look at the essay I’d started to write, dismiss it and return to the book.

My aunt, with a sleepy looking toddler on her hip, came in smiling.

“There’s good news that I think you should hear right away.” She said. “Your dad wanted to surprise you, but he’s happy for me to tell you. You’re all moving back to Blackpool more or less immediately. He’ll phone after six to speak to you and tell you more.”

I burst into an emotional mix of tears and laughter. From feeling so miserable, I was the happiest girl ever.

 

A Haiku

A turn of events

Brought tears and laughter to me.
Emotional times.

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

Read More

Spring has Sprung

Today is the vernal equinox. Finally we can say goodbye to winter. Goodbye to knitted hats and adult mittens. Goodbye to the SAD lights and vitamin d tablets. Goodbye to big coats and multiple layers. Goodbye to moody mornings and nippy nights. We can say goodbye to warring with winter because spring has started to push its bright colours into our days; fresh blue, budding green and beaming yellow break me from the grey. I start to feel alive again. Like I want to skip, do something impulsive, take a road trip, make a picnic, feed some ducks, play Frisbee, build a sandcastle, wear festival wellies on a sunny day, go open water swimming in the Lake District, drive with all the windows open, dive into a massive ball pool, hire a bouncy castle, buy a DSLR camera, start a photography course, send poetry out into the big bad world, laugh instead of getting scared, rebel, refuse to conform...

I’m not entirely sure if my current mindset is anything to do with it being the first day of spring, or whether it is in fact a result of today also being my birthday. I have a hunch that it might be the latter.

I find, as I get older, that birthdays are less appealing. That I’d rather avoid than acknowledge I’m becoming a year older. They have a similar effect to New Year; they prompt you into thinking, making promises and changes, and wishing the next year of your life will be successful, fruitful, happy. When I was four, closing my eyes tight and blowing out the candles was easy. When you’re young you believe you know what will make you happy, but as you grow up, becoming more aware, you realise that it is far more complicated than roller skates or pierced ears

Two paragraphs earlier I said that spring (my birthday?) makes me want to rebel and refuse to conform, and this post is taking a miniature step towards doing that. It is off-topic and disconnected from the theme – because I felt that daffodils were more important than gods...

Thank you for reading,

Lara 

Read More