More birthdays for the rugrats in our families. They are so adorable and full of fun! I know what I shall buy this time for gifts: dress-ups!
Dress-ups reminds me of rainy days, way back in time. My mum would take us three little girls into the sanctum of her bedroom, which was usually forbidden territory. We would gaze in admiration at her dressing table set: a hand mirror, a brush and a clothes brush, all edged in silver, aligned perfectly on a hand-crocheted, vintage lace runner.
Amazingly, we were allowed to play dress-ups with Mum’s frocks and cardigans, all too big for us. Giggling, we would march around in high-heel shoes, pretending to be ‘big’ girls.
Once we grew a bit ‘bigger’, we were sent to primary school, leaving our little sister at home. We would walk to school with a group of girls on our street, all friends. We each had a pudding-basin hair-do or plaits. We clutched our school cases, as this was before school bags. These cases contained our readers, with a little play lunch, and a brown bag with a sandwich and a piece of fruit. We might have had a drink in summer, as we had a bottle of milk before morning playtime, and we drank bubbling water from the school drinking troughs.
‘Bigger’ girls were allowed to become ‘Brownies’, and they could wear their uniform to school. We all marched around the quadrangle, then marched into our classrooms. Even ‘bigger’ girls grew up to become ‘Girl Guides’, and then they could sign up to be ‘Marching Girls’.
On Saturday mornings, our family would travel to the centre of our small suburban town. After a visit to the local Coles emporium, we would be delayed by the weekly display of Marching Girls. Boy, were they good at marching! The girls adorned themselves with hats, colourful military-style jackets, and very short pleated white skirts. These ‘big’ girls always had tanned legs – complete with big-girl booties. Real dress-ups – with marching in time – it was all happening!
Now, Marching Girls are something I don’t recall seeing for years in our little corner of the world – not far from where I grew up. I guess they have all marched off in time! Were you ever a Marching Girl?