The last couple weeks of August were rife with evidence that our summer vacation from school was about to end. Usually the hottest, driest time of the year, those sweltering days were made even more unbearable by Mother’s efforts to make sure we were properly dressed for school. It might be ninety degrees before noon, but we could find ourselves clad in heavy sweaters, woolen skirts or heavy winter coats as she assessed each garment for fit and condition.
With only girls to clothe, you’d think a progression of hand-me-downs would easily solve the wardrobe issues, but that was not the case in our family. Dorothy was slender and athletic and extremely aware of current fashion. Five years younger, I was short and plump, more interested in comfort than stylishness. Only two years younger than I, Betty was rail thin and had her own, mysterious reasons for a hatred of certain colors, an aversion to bows and frills, and an unreasonable prejudice against plaids. Ruth was six years younger than Betty, and by the time garments were handed down to her they were totally out of style. Ruth also had an allergy to wool and a preference for pastels which were appropriate for spring and summer, but according to Mother and Dorothy, were definitely not for the school days of fall and winter.
Mother was a good, fast, and clever seamstress. She had learned many tricks of the trade from an aunt who had worked in a tailor shop. Installing zippers and making bound buttonholes were duck soup for her. A young girl from a farming family in a nearby Dutch community had lived with us during the school year for a time and showed Mother several shortcuts and clever ways to alter patterns and re-cut lightly worn garments. With all that knowledge, our mother could easily make nearly all the dresses, skirts, blouses and play clothes we required. She was also adept at knitting mittens, scarves and sweaters, and from outdated adult winter coats, had made warm, durable snow-pants that kept us cozy and dry as we walked to and from school on frigid days, as well as on those weekend sledding forays and snowball fights.
But, still, there were things to be purchased. Socks and underwear, shoes and winter boots, lightweight jackets for cool autumn mornings, fabric, trim, buttons and zippers for the things she would be sewing. The only store that carried patterns and fabrics in Knoxville at the time was the Penney’s store, and the choices were limited, so Mother preferred to shop in Oskaloosa where there were more department stores and several little clothing shops where we could browse, try on velvet dresses and silky embroidered blouses and get ideas for things she could make for us at a fraction of the cost. Each year, there would be the usual argument about which current fashion fad was likely to last long enough to justify its purchase, or which of those frivolous “must-haves” could wait for Christmas or birthdays.
About the only things that were never handed down were shoes. Winter boots that went over the shoes were recycled according to whether or not they could be slipped over the stiff new brown oxfords that were a constant until we started high school. Those sturdy, unfashionable brown shoes were bought at the Brown Shoe-fit Store in Knoxville where they had a marvelous X-ray machine that showed just how much “growing room” there was in the new shoes, to guarantee that we wouldn’t outgrow them during the school year. Come summer, they would be abandoned for bare feet and sandals, to be replaced by the next size up the following year. It was necessary to wear the new shoes – but only around the house – to “break them in” before school started. Even then, the first week of school was often made miserable by blisters and we would arrive home, barefoot and carrying the hated brown shoes, wishing we could leave them in a ditch along the way.
We would hurry home to exchange our school dresses for summer play clothes and bare feet. But school had started, and the stiff brown oxfords were there, waiting for tomorrow.