If you were going to talk in your old school, what story would you tell as an ice-breaker? It was great to be invited back to give an author talk last week. I could have told the students about the time when the headmistress had stared at us in assembly and said, “Someone has let down all the tyres in the bicycle shed!” When her gaze rested on me, I went bright red. It grew worse the more I thought that she suspected I was the one. But I wasn’t – I just used to blush easily.
Then there was the story of The Brown Bags… The hall was full with new uniforms to try on and I was a shy ten year old. I was holding a blazer, skirt and blouse when this officious looking lady advanced waving a vile pair of knickers. No, you couldn’t call them knickers, they were Brown Bags! Massive thick brown material with even thicker elastic around the waist. Move over Bridget Jones, these were the real deal! I looked at the lady in disbelief, but she only said, “Room for growth, dear, room for growth!”
My mum made me wear The Brown Bags every day for school and I was so jealous of my best friend, as her mum had seen sense and let her wear normal knickers. This went on for two years until the episode in The British Museum. When the elastic broke. The material was about to spray out like a parachute! I clutched it against my skirt and waddled to the toilet, where I tied the elastic in a tight knot. After that embarrassing episode, that was the end of The Brown Bags.
Until many years later… I was with my children at Granny’s house and looking for a duster. You know what’s coming, don’t you? Yes, there it was: half a Brown Bag! I held it at arm’s length between thumb and forefinger and advanced towards my mum. “What did you keep this for, it’s gross!”
“The material is lovely and thick: perfect for dusters!”