Jim B revealed in passing when we had been in touch some time that during the 1950s, my favourite decade of fashion, he had had the good fortune to visit a proper fashion show as the guest of a glamorous aunt who was a model there. I immediately pleaded with him to write out an account of it, and finally it was mine. I think that apart from being a wonderful read for those who love these styles as I do, it's important historically - there are no more Fifties fashion shows, and those who were lucky enough to experience them can only let those who are too young to have visited one share in what it was like by writing out an account of it. Jim has also drawn a charming pastel illustration to show us what the evening gown parade was like.
I was a shy twenty-year old Yorkshire lad working as a trainee engineer in a well-established engineering company in Leeds when I met my aunt Ruth at a family gathering. She had recently married my mother’s brother, my uncle Bill who worked in London as the marketing manager of his company’s textile business. There he met and married my aunt Ruth who was a fashion model. They had been married for about 10 years: they had no children and my aunt continued in the fashion business. They rarely came up North and I only vaguely remember seeing her as a young child soon after she married uncle Bill when he took her up to see his home town and the rest of the family. I was twelve at the time, but I do remember saying to my mum that Aunty Ruth was very pretty and gay.
We were at a family gathering in my parent’s house when I met her again. She came into the room where I was talking to some cousins when she walked in with my mother. She was wearing a tight woollen skirt and white blouse and looked very smart and attractive. Quite different from the pretty but unsophisticated Yorkshire girls that I met at the Saturday night hops in the local parish hall. She didn’t recognize me until my mother introduced me, when she exclaimed that I was a little boy when she last saw me. She greeted me with a warm kiss and remarked how I had grown up since then.
‘Yes, he’s a good lad but a bit gormless’ said my mother in a matter of fact tone.
Aunt Ruth asked me about my job and I told her about the work and my interests. I asked her about her life in London. I heard that she was in the fashion business, which was how she met my Uncle Bill. I was very interested in her descriptions of the big cities she travelled to for fashion shows: Paris, Rome, New York. She also told me about London where she lived in Holland Park and worked in Knightsbridge. ‘Why don’t you come to stay with us during your holiday?’
I replied that I would love to if I could get the time off.
However as is often the case I was too busy and occupied with other matters and forgot about the invitation, until a year later my firm put me on a three week business course in London. My mother suggested I contact Uncle Bill and Aunt Ruth to see if they could put me up for a time, until I found suitable digs or student residence. She phoned up Uncle Bill but Aunt Ruth answered. After my mother had asked whether I could visit them, Ruth asked to speak to me.
‘You bad lad Jim: you never took up my invitation to stay with us when I last saw you last year!’
I blushed and stammered an apology but she interrupted, saying she was only teasing and she and Uncle Bill would love to have me staying with them as long as I liked.
So the week before my study term started I set off for the first time to the big city. I bid a fond farewell to my family and my Dad gave me his man-to-man advice, more embarrassed than I was and warning me of the perils of London and being involved with loose women. I’d had a sheltered life till then.
I took the train from Leeds to London and the underground to Kensington where my aunt and uncle had a flat. I was welcomed at the door of the flat by Uncle Bill, who said that Aunt Ruth was sorry she wasn’t able to greet me but was working at a photograph session for her latest fashion publicity. ‘Have a bath and a rest Jim: you must be tired after that train journey. We’ll go out after 6pm to collect Ruth from the studio and go for a meal together.’
We caught a taxi to the studio in Knightsbridge and the doorman asked us to take a seat and wait in the entrance hall while he called my aunt. While we waited several slim well-groomed ladies came out of one of the side doors into the entrance hall and left the building. My uncle was reading the evening paper but noticed my eyes following their departing figures.
‘Good looking lasses aren’t they Jim? They’re some of the fashion models in Ruth’s firm.’ One of them spoke to Uncle Bill. ‘Hello Bill, they’re just finishing the photo session with Ruth and Caroline, so they should be out soon’.
We didn’t wait long for them to appear: Aunt Ruth arrived first looking stunning in a grey suit with a tight woollen skirt. She was followed by a tall well-built woman in her mid 30’s, about the same age as Aunt Ruth. She had short auburn hair and a pleasant expression. They both kissed Uncle Bill who gave Caroline a friendly pat on her ample bottom, saying: ‘You fill that skirt well lass!’
‘Ignore the lecherous cad!’ said my aunt to Caroline. She then turned to me with a smile and gave me a warm embrace. ‘It’s lovely to see you Jim. Sorry I wasn’t able to meet you. Did you have a good journey? Meet my friend and fellow model, Caroline.’
We dined at a small restaurant nearby and had a most enjoyable evening as I told them the family news and my job.
I learned later from aunt Ruth that she and Caroline modelled mainly for the popular clothes firms selling to the large chain stores, marketing to the average British woman. Uncle Bill said ‘Ruth and Caroline are in demand for the middle market fashion and underwear, not for high fashion houses where they use skinny models with no hips and straight up and down figures. They are more the typical pear shaped Englishwoman with a nice round hips and broad in the beam. That’s my type of woman!’ - I agreed with him wholeheartedly.
I soon settled in to the flat and during the weekends managed to see the main sights of London. I went out to a concert at the Albert Hall one evening with some of my fellow students on the training course. When I came back Aunt Ruth was sitting by the fire listening to the radio. She asked me about the concert and then we talked about her about her work for the fashion house. She said they were busy now modelling the latest clothes for the autumn season. Until my visit to London my main interests other than girls and work were in football, cricket and brass bands. I was curious about the world of fashion and Ruth detected my interest.
‘Would you like to come to a fashion show?’ she asked. ‘ It will be at one of the hotels in Kensington during next Saturday afternoon. Perhaps you’ll find it interesting, unless you have made other arrangements.’ I was going to see Leeds playing Tottenham Hotspur with Uncle Bill, but a business colleague had called him to make up a foursome at the golf club on Saturday afternoon. I was excited by the prospect of seeing the lovely models that I had first glimpsed in the studio foyer, but hesitated at first: ‘Won’t it be just for ladies to attend?’ I asked. I was worried about being in the embarrassing position of the only man there. ‘Don’t worry about that Jim. There will be other men there: fashion editors, photographers and designers.’ So reassured, I readily accepted the invitation. ‘Good’ said aunt Ruth ‘I’ll phone up the organisers and book a place for you.’
The day of the show arrived and we went to the hotel early. Aunt Ruth showed me to a seat near the aisle then left me as she was also taking part in the show. The other seats were soon filled and the lady announcer, speaking in clear mellifluous tones, introduced the programme.
The first part was daytime wear: skirts and jackets for shopping, wearing at the office and in the town. The post war clothes rationing was over, so the skirts were down below the knee, tight and well fitting over the hips and thighs. Some styles were two-piece suits, with a jacket worn over a blouse. Others were single piece dresses either long or short sleeved, made of fine wool. These I found very attractive, the svelte figures of the models beautifully revealed by the figure-hugging cut of the fine cloth. I was reminded of the striking dress worn by Cyd Charisse in the film with Rod Hudson: Twilight of the Gods - a light brown dress with buttons down the back, clinging to her lovely figure.
The next announcement heralded an episode which created one of my life’s greatest impressions. This was or the corsetry part of the show: it started with the lovely models parading in their one-piece corsets, followed by lingerie: slips, bras and stocking. This was enough to be a life enhancing experience for a young man, but then the lady announced in honeyed tones:
‘Now we show corsetry for the mature woman – this is Caroline in the full support corselet, combined girdle and bra.’
Caroline then appeared on the stage as vision of bountiful womanhood: I had only dreamed of such figures beneath the garments of mature well-upholstered Yorkshire women. Here was the embodiment of the goddess Juno, walking down the aisle from the stage in a white corselet. The cups of the bra formed smooth tight globes as they enclosed her autumnal breasts. The girdle smoothed the rounded contours of her thighs and tummy, stretching across her wide hips. It formed a tight skirt hemmed just below her hips, from which her suspenders fastened to seamed silk stockings. A few inches of smooth white thigh were showing above the patterned top of her stockings, adding to their allure. But what most enchanted me was the view from behind as she turned and walked back to the stage. Her magnificent pelvis showed the full beauty of the feminine form in motion as she walked back to the stage: swaying hips, undulating buttocks– a vision of heaven!
The finale of the show was the evening wear. None of your frumpy modern skirts, skimpy dresses or passion killer trouser suits here! These were fully fashioned full length gowns in lovely silk and satin. They were finely tailored to enhance the feminine curves and the contribution of the underlying girdle was apparent: gowns were close fitting round the hips, tightening beneath and under the rump, sometimes flaring at the knees to a fishtail which swirled as they moved down from the stage. The rear view of the models as they turned and walked back the aisle to the stage was fascinating. A vision of plush feminine posteriors, the folds of their tight gowns stretching and slanting up and down beneath their buttocks at each step.
I thought my aunt’s appearance received the a lot of attention, with polite expressions of admiration for the lovely powder blue ball gown that she modelled. I may have been biased, but I thought she had the finest figure of all the models.
At the end of the show there was a cocktail party for the guests and the models where we had a jolly time. My aunt introduced me to her friends and they were all very charming.
As we took the taxi home, my aunt asked me whether I enjoyed the show and what I liked best. I thanked her profusely and said that I particularly admired her pale blue ball gown. ‘That’s very loyal of you Jim, but what really appealed to you the most?’ I blushed and said that Caroline in her underwear was quite a vision. ‘I thought so: you’re a red blooded young man and there’s nothing wrong in admiring a fine looking woman. Would you like to meet her again?’
I had managed to say a few words with her at the party and she was very nice and showed a polite interest in me. It had never crossed my mind to form a friendship with her since I assumed that I was much too immature to interest her.
But we met again at a dinner party hosted by my uncle and aunt. Caroline arrived by herself and was seated next to me at the end of the table. I found it easy to talk to her and she had wide interests in art and music and films. In fact she asked me if I would like to see a new film at one of the latest wide screen London cinemas: South Pacific. Naturally I accepted the invitation and so our friendship started. How it developed is another story!
