Monday, 19th December 1949

Dear Diary,

Brrrrrr!!  The chilly winter weather is most definitely closing in.  There was a little flurry of sleet on my way to work this morning and I nearly slipped on the icy pavement as I got off the bus.  Thank goodness the coal man arrived to fill up the bunker.  Our regular chap is Mr. Stanley, an almost terrifying creature with piercing pale grey eyes gleaming out of a cheerful face blackened by coal dust.  The poor chap was bent double under the weight of the coal sack.  I always make Mr. Stanley a cup of tea when he delivers to the salon. 

Curiously our dear coalman has inspired me to give the salon girls a make over.  I’m going to issue a new staff uniform and introduce the Eliza & Ethan Black Pencil Skirt with grey pleat detail at the front.  The combination of pale grey against a luxurious black seems terribly elegant and formal for daily wear at the salon and can be successfully complimented with a variety of blouses in different styles or colours.

Some lovely new winter warmers have arrived for the boutique, so I spent the rest of the day busying myself arranging the mannequins.  These wonderfully stylish Izzy Bow cardigans in black or fire are an absolute must for any winter wardrobe.  Of course as any fashionable lady knows it’s simply imperative to be able to keep warm in style!   I’ve spotted quite a few ladies about town wearing a fuller skirt these days. Maybe the end of fabric rationing has motivated the start of a new trend?  So I’m thinking ahead and I’ve come to the conclusion that one can never have enough petticoats!  As the winter chill takes hold I’m sure that I’ll be wearing at least two at a time!

Sunday, 4th December 1949

Dear Diary,

What a surprise!  I’ve just had the most wonderful afternoon as my Mum and Dad called in at the boutique on a whim.  Oh, I was so pleased to see them! Daddy looked so proud as I gave the guided tour around the boutique and salon.  I must say that I am so very delighted to gain his approval.  After all, it’s not the done thing to be an unmarried businesswoman in this day and age.  Well, we’ll have to see about that!

Mum was rather more fascinated by the range of formal tops on display at the boutique.  She almost fainted when she laid eyes on the soft pink Tiger Lily Top and the Madrid Cardigan in pink and cream.  Of course she couldn’t decide which one she liked the best and so took both into the dressing room.  Of course Mummy looked utterly divine wearing both and so I insisted that she should have the Madrid Cardigan in pink and the Tiger Lily in blue.

The exciting news from home is about my brother Lloyd getting married in the spring!  Mum was asking if I would ever think about hats in stock at the boutique.  Hats are always terribly fashionable and certainly worth thinking about, especially as we are going to get dressed up for a wedding!

Happily, Mum had brought some of her fabulous home baked cakes.  So I put the kettle on and persuaded her to write down the recipe for me.

Honey Cakes

Ingredients:

1 teaspoon sugar

21/2 ounces margarine

2 teaspoons honey

6oz self-raising flour

1 level teaspoon cinnamon#

Method:

Beat sugar and margarine until a soft cream consistency.

Sieve flour and cinnamon then add to mixture.

Mix with a wooden spoon until it binds together, then knead with your fingers until you have a soft dough.

Break off a piece of the dough and roll it between your floured palms into a ball.

Place on to a lightly greased baking tray.

Flatten slightly.

Repeat until you have used up all the dough, when you should have about sixteen delicious honey cakes.

Cooking time about 15 Mins

Saturday 19th November 1949

Dear Diary,

Gee whiz! The boutique was astonishingly busy for a Saturday morning.  I think I must have sold every scrap of red material in the shop!  Several young ladies had formed a queue each asking for anything red in stock, dresses, scarves, hats or accessories.  Doreen and I considered this flurry of customers as a most peculiar occurrence, but as the day unfolded all became delightfully clear.

Mr. Fitzpatrick, the proprietor of the Winkle Picker nightclub has a nephew by the name of William.   He appeared at the salon just before we closed, with a red face and panting as if he had run all the way.  After taking a moment to catch his breath, William explained that the headline act for tonight’s show had cancelled and I was required to perform for the “Fire Cracker Show”.  The dress code for ladies is strictly RED.  How bizarre!  I was thrilled for another chance to sing, but horrified when I realized that there was simply nothing in red left to wear!   Thank goodness for Doreen, who very graciously lent me her red Ella Dress and selected gloves and a cute beret to accessorize in black. 

The Winkle Picker Club certainly observed a strict dress code and only allowed ladies wearing red to enter.  How extraordinary it was to see every girl wearing a red dress!  I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself when I recognized several faces from the queue at the boutique!  There’s something so magically sensual about a fantastically figure hugging red dress.  Yet remarkable to see so many appear at one function, decidedly daring!  I say!  The War is most definitely over!

Wednesday, 9th November 1949

Dear Diary,

Today I learned that there’s no such thing as bad publicity.  Since my brief dalliance with the escaped convict and con man Lord Anthony Parker Bowles (I’m not even sure if this is his real name) the salon and boutique has been extraordinarily busy. 

The London Evening Standard printed a mug shot of “Lord” Anthony and revealed the shocking story of a string of armed bank robberies and burglaries of stately homes.  No wonder he could afford to wine and dine me at The Ritz!  Thankfully my name was not mentioned in the newspapers, but the gossips have certainly associated my business premises with the capture of this notorious criminal.  The nosey parkers have come flocking to my door!  Happily, I have sold a record number of nylon stockings today and my appointment book is full up from now until Christmas.

Having to make a statement at the police station was the most troublesome aspect of this whole sorry business.  Of course the police couldn’t implicate me in connection with any of the robberies, although the charming rose necklace gift has been confiscated as evidence.  Apparently it was stolen from the Duchess of Cornwall!

Anne-Marie suggested that we to go to the cinema to take my mind off things.  We arrived in the front stalls rather early so we took the opportunity to reflect on the gossip before the film started.  As we were sitting alone in the movie theatre, Anne-Marie dared to confess that she has developed a serious crush on Dan the Projectionist who we had met in The Winkle Picker Club some weeks ago.  She was mortified when I reminded her that Dan could very well be listening from the projection room tonight!

Sunday, 23rd October 1949

Dear Diary,

A very disturbing incident today has left me bewitched, bothered and bewildered. A dozen red roses were delivered to the salon this morning, along with a note that read; “Can’t I tempt you?”  Obviously, another romantic gesture from Lord Anthony Parker Bowles.  I unravelled the wrapping paper but was completely shocked to discover a stunning diamond necklace entwined amidst the rose stems.  Oh my golly gosh!  The necklace must have been worth a fortune!  Carefully, I disentangled the necklace from the roses and held them against my wrist.  Oh my goodness, the diamonds sparkled so fabulously.  Well, Lord Anthony must be really keen to give such a valuable gift!  I put the gems into the till for safekeeping.

After lunch, a silver Bentley arrived outside the salon.  Lord Anthony himself stepped out from the driver’s side and made his way towards the entrance.   I thought it rather odd that he was driving, perhaps it’s the chauffeur’s day off, I wondered?  He approached me with arms wide open.  I pecked him on the cheek and thanked him for the wonderful bouquet.  Immediately, Lord Anthony inquired after the diamond necklace, which I dutifully retrieved from the till.  Laughing, he insisted that I should wear the diamonds and proceeded to fasten the necklace around my throat.

Suddenly, a police car arrived at the top of the street with lights flashing and sirens screaming.  Lord Anthony dashed for the door, clutching the diamond necklace.  Everybody in the salon gasped as he jumped into the Bentley and sped off, tyres screeching as the police car gave chase.

The next thing I remember was coming around on the floor of the salon, with Anne-Marie wafting some smelling salts under my nose.  Oh dear, I must have fainted!  A policeman stood beside her and asked me if I wouldn’t mind making a statement.  Such a commotion!  Lord Anthony it seems is an impostor!  Not a Lord, but an escaped convict and a con artist wanted for armed robbery and diamond smuggling!! 

Wednesday, 12th October 1949

Dear Diary,

Am I in heaven? Today has been an incredibly glamorous yet most intriguing sort of a day.  An unexpected romantic encounter this afternoon has left my head in a whirl. Everything appears to be perfect but there’s something mysterious about Lord Anthony Parker-Bowles.  Nevertheless, I find him strangely tantalizing!

The prettiest little gift-wrapped package arrived by courier at the salon this morning.  The girls gathered around as I untied the gold ribbons to find the sweetest porcelain pendant with a painted rose motif.  Attached to the inside of the wrapping was an embossed invitation to meet Lord Anthony for high tea at The Ritz!!!  The salon girls shrieked so loudly with excitement that an elderly customer under the hair dryer started to panic. The poor dear thought that the Blitz had started again.

A silver Bentley arrived outside the salon at three o’clock sharp.  I emerged suitably attired for tea at The Ritz.   The perfect choice was the sophisticated yet fashionable figure hugging Eliza & Ethan Greta Dress, in navy blue with the neat turquoise detail. Of course the essential accessory to complete the look was the rose necklace gift.

I must say that Lord Anthony looked very smart in his dark grey suit and yellow cravat as he greeted me at the entrance to The Ritz.  He was particularly delighted to see me wearing the rose necklace.  High tea was served in the Palm Court, with smoked salmon sandwiches and fancy cakes served together on a three-tier stand, simply sumptuous! 

Such extravagance, any gal would be completely overwhelmed by Lord Anthony’s lavish attentions.  However, when he divulged that The Arlington Suite had been reserved for us, I felt that Lord Anthony was becoming overly presumptuous and moving things along rather too quickly for my liking.  Of course I’m not that sort of girl, so I thanked him for an unforgettable date but gracefully declined his suggestion of afternoon delight.

Sunday, 2nd October 1949

Dear Diary,

Gee! The Jungle Jive Party at the Winkle Picker Club was a total sell out success. The dance floor was positively heaving and the clubbers looked absolutely fabulous in their fancy dress.  Most of the chaps were wearing their old khaki combat gear and knotted hankies on their heads.  Whilst the gals favoured animal print fabrics and evening gloves draped with ivy.  Of course I designed my outfit especially for the event. I chose the camel coloured Austen skirt and knotted a sleeveless white blouse at the waist, topped off a pith helmet and riding crop. 

The stage was dressed with fake palm trees, bunches of wax bananas and heaps of potted rubber plants, it looked like a movie set!  The Chico band dressed as gorillas and by the end of the night they were certainly behaving like a bunch of cheeky monkeys. Those Chico fellows sure know how to put on a fabulous show!  The club was really swinging as the band played a scorching medley of Benny Goodman numbers.  The surprise finale was a real crowd pleaser.  Oh my golly gosh!  I needed the riding crop to help keep my hemline in place when the Chico gorillas suddenly swept me off my feet then carried me off stage!  The crowd went wild with raucous applause.

Later, at the cocktail bar Mr. Fitzpatrick the Proprietor was positively beaming with delight and once again the champagne over flowed.  As we held our glasses high in a celebratory toast, a distinguished looking gentleman caught my eye.  Sitting alone in the corner, he raised his glass in unison and continued to hold my gaze.   He approached the bar tentatively and extended his hand warmly to receive mine. “Enchanted my dear,” he spoke softly “Lord Anthony Parker-Bowles, at your service.”  Naturally, I allowed him to escort me towards his cosy corner table for a private tête-à-tête. We spent the rest of the evening drinking champagne and discussing his enormous inheritance, a Tudor mansion in Hampshire.  Oh Lord!  

Tuesday, 20th September 1949

Dear Diary,

Oh Gosh!  Such a busy day at the boutique! New lingerie arrived this morning so I have spent much of the day dressing and arranging mannequins.  My favourite is the Sirena Limited edition. A sophisticated satin and lace matching bra and suspender set in platinum satin with black eyelash lace and bow trim. The heavy satin feels so luxurious and the six-strap suspender belt is a bonus for holding everything in place. I must say that the eyelash trim does tickle sometimes, but I don’t mind that at all!

Doreen, my chief hair stylist, ordered the Jolie Longline Black Bra and suspender belt with a pair of seamed nylon stockings to complete the look.  It’s Doreen’s wedding anniversary at the weekend and she’s planning to give her husband Malcom a delightful treat! Lucky chap!  I decided gift-wrap the lingerie with a pretty red ribbon and let Doreen take it home without charge. She was absolutely thrilled and so very grateful.  It was the least I could do for a loyal friend and stylist. After all Malcolm suffers terribly with shell shock since the War and Doreen does everything she can to keep his spirits up.  We must look after our War heroes! 

A splendid bouquet of lilies arrived this afternoon, accompanied by a mysterious envelope.  Everybody gathered around as Anne-Marie opened the envelope and read aloud the message on the card; “Ladies, I hereby honour my promise to open doors to the silver screen, Best Wishes, Dan XX”.  My goodness, there were four cinema guest tickets enclosed for the matinee screening next Wednesday, a wonderfully thoughtful gesture from our new friend, the cine projectionist. Good old Dan, he’s a thoroughly decent chap at heart really.  Wednesday is half closing day so we’ll have a jolly staff outing at the flicks!  I quite fancy seeing that new film noir picture starring Orson Welles, “The Third Man”.

Friday, 9th September 1949

Dear Diary,

During my solo performance last Friday night at The Winkle Picker Club, I glimpsed the sleek silhouettes of Grace and Anne-Marie cross the dance floor.  Each wearing a floral print Halter neck Swing Dress. Oh my they looked so glamorous!  The club was exceptionally busy that night and so thick with cigarette smoke that it was a trial not to choke mid chorus!  They both waved discreetly as I began the third verse of  “Honeysuckle Rose”.

Later, searching the crowded club I discovered Grace and Anne-Marie sitting in the corner with a mysterious gentleman.  The girls seemed almost surprised to see me. I sensed that I had interrupted something scandalous.

The smart looking chap was completely charming, introducing himself as a Mr. Dan Doyle who very gallantly offered me his seat.  When Dan departed in search of a vacant chair, Grace and Anne-Marie started to giggle uncontrollably.

Dan proclaimed to work in the film industry and proceeded to tantalize the girls with promises of  “getting them into movies”.  “A talent scout is always on the lookout for star material” he crooned.  Things almost began to sound genuine when Dan insisted that he could literally “open doors” towards the silver screen. 

Anne-Marie was becoming quite taken in by the smooth talking Dan, but Grace happened to notice that his shoes appeared to be rather old and scuffed.  Surely a gentleman of status would be wearing smart brogues?  Fair play to any fellow who tries everything to impress a gal, but Dan’s chat up line ventured dangerously towards desperation!  Of course, Grace eventually prized out the truth and Dan finally confessed that he’s only the projectionist from the Ritzy Cinema! 

Tuesday, 30th August 1949

Dear Diary,

Phew! What a scorcher! The sun has been blazing this week, so Grace and I decided to escape from the salon and take a day trip to Brighton.  We awoke at the crack of dawn and packed a delicious picnic basket with cheese and pickle sandwiches, potted meats, celery sticks and a few cup cakes for good measure.  Grace insisted that we slipped a bottle of sherry into the basket to enjoy a cheeky tipple whilst sun bathing.  We caught the early train and giggled continuously throughout the journey, we were so looking forward to our jolly day at the beach! 

For the sake of modesty and convenient practicality I thought it prudent to wear swimsuits underneath one’s clothes. Upon our arrival at the beach we simply slipped off our skirts and blouses ready to sunbathe in an instant.  Grace looked fabulous in her red Esther Williams swimsuit with white polka dots, whilst I felt terribly glamorous wearing a white Esther Williams bikini with the cute cherries print. 

It wasn’t long before two burly lifeguards were throwing admiring glances in our direction.  The chaps boldly approached and engaged us in polite conversation, introducing themselves as Hank and Butch. I must say I was rather impressed with such fine examples of muscle bound physique.  However, it quickly transpired that the handsome beefcakes were more interested in the line of our swimwear rather than admiring our feminine curves.  The chaps wanted to buy the swimsuits as presents for their sweethearts, so I happily furnished them with my business card.  I really don’t mind mixing business with pleasure!

Before meeting the train for our journey home, Grace and I took a stroll along the pier as the sun was setting.  We were at once accosted by a fortune telling gypsy, so I crossed her palm with half a crown and in return a tantalizing vision of the future was foretold.  Apparently I am destined to marry a millionaire!

Model: Stephanie Jay; Photography: Ian Malone Photography; Make up: Charli Gladwin

Model: Stephanie Jay; Photography: Ian Malone Photography; Make up: Charli Gladwin

Friday, 26th August 1949

Oh what a treat! Mr. Harold the traveling salesman came calling at the salon today. He was so very smart and charming with a sales pitch that would convince any woman to spend a small fortune on his delightful wares.  His battered suitcase was positively brimming with cosmetics, fancy scents, lipsticks, powder compacts and hairdressing requisites.

The sales patter began with the presentation of two bottles of scent.  I declined the first option; a ghastly looking yellow liquid called ‘Californian Poppy’ that simply smelt awful.  Instead, I preferred the rather more palatable “Evening in Paris” fragrance in the elegant black bottle complete with the Eiffel Tower embossed in gold. 

Mr. Harold disclosed that the latest fashion for lipstick would be a vivid orange colour. This unnatural but daring shade could be rather fetching, but dangerous if worn with the wrong colours.  Anne-Marie was very keen to sample this modern style and I must say it did suit her.

However I do wish that she hadn’t agreed to a demonstration of  ‘blue rinse’ hair dye. Anne-Marie had recently bleached her hair with peroxide and wanted a cool platinum blonde effect popularized by film star Jean Harlow.  The methylene blue rinse is supposed to take out the yellow tinge, but I fear that the lotion wasn’t quite diluted enough, so poor Anne-Marie emerged from the hairdryer in shock.  Her appearance was decidedly freakish, as the bright blue hair clashed severely with the orange lipstick.  Naturally, Mr. Harold was mortified, yet conveniently offered his entire range of beauty products as compensation for the blunder.   Poor Anne-Marie, she’ll have to wear a headscarf for at least a fortnight before we can rectify the matter with a new dose of peroxide!

Friday, 12th August 1949

Dear Diary,

Oh my! I’m having such a swell time!  Last Friday night was my first ever cabaret performance at The Winkle Picker Club with the band Los Chicos del Liso.  The evening had a nautical theme “Enchantment under the Sea”.  So the whole band was dressed very smartly as naval captains with peaked caps and gold braided blazers complete with epaulettes.  I was thrilled to be wearing an adorable sailor girl number with a fabulous full skirt and petticoats. Skirts ahoy!

The fancily dressed audience danced the night away and their applause was stupendous, the atmosphere was electric! I was so terribly nervous to begin with but once I got out there on stage and started to sing I had so much fun, I didn’t want the evening to end.  Two handsome fellows (who may very well have been real sailors judging by their neatly pressed uniforms) whisked me away from the microphone for a few twirls on the dance floor before gallantly returning me to the stage! The club was certainly swinging!

After the show, the Chicos and I celebrated at the cocktail bar with Mr Fitzpatrick who was chuffed to bits.  The club had sold out that night so the champagne was over flowing.  There’s going to be a fancy dress party every month, so next time the band will be on stage in safari outfits sporting a jungle theme.  Manuel the guitarist suggested that they should wear monkey suits instead. Everyone roared with laughter when Mr Fitzpatrick suggested that one of the Chicos should dress up as Tarzan and carry me off the stage!

Tuesday, 2nd August 1949

Dear Diary,

Oh how exciting!  My audition at the Winkle Picker Club was a total hit!  I had such fun meeting the eight-piece swing big band “Los Chicos del Liso” (The Smooth Guys) and so thrilled that I had chosen to sing ‘A Guy is a Guy’ with them.  The chaps are a fascinatingly maverick bunch of well-traveled fellows, all refugees since the Spanish Civil War apparently.  This tightly knit group of contemporary musicians still retains a flamenco root I’m so lucky to audition with musicians that add a flurry of gypsy passion fused with the jazz.  Each ‘Chico’ appeared smartly suited and devilishly handsome with a perfectly groomed Latin flair.  I couldn’t help noticing that most of them wore a wedding ring, just as well methinks!

Mr. Fitzpatrick the Proprietor was most definitely impressed, so I’ll be working the Friday night shows with the ‘Chicos’ band from now on!  Me oh my! Who knows what could happen?  Gosh! My secret wish has started to come true!  This could be the start of a glamorous new era on the stage!  Something was mentioned about pulling a few strings toward that elusive recording contract or West End audition.  Fingers crossed, before very long a talent scout or a movie producer could discover me.  Steady on!  Mustn’t get too ahead of oneself, my first show is this Friday!

Ooh so many preparations to make! I simply must become absolutely preened and polished at the salon over the next few days.  Doreen could do a special permanent wave for me and now that Anne Marie has perfected her manicure techniques she can give me the full treatment.  Oh and what to wear?  I wonder if I’ll have time to make something long and elegant in black satin, similar to the gown that Lola Falana was wearing?  Maybe I’ll go for the

Dolly Circle

dress?  Oh my Gosh!  I simply mustn’t be seen wearing the same outfit on stage twice!!

Monday, 18th July 1949

Earlier today Anne-Marie and Lucy noticed a poster near the theatre advertising an audition for variety acts at our local hotspot, The Winkle Picker Club.  The girls insisted that I should apply for a singing audition; before I could blink Grace was hailing a taxicab.  The Winkle Picker Club is our usual haunt for cocktails; fortunately I’m well acquainted with Mr. Fitzpatrick the Proprietor.  He was most intrigued to learn about my undiscovered talents as a singer, emphatically revealed by Grace who is my biggest fan I hasten to add!  Happily, Grace convinced Mr. Fitzpatrick to give me an audition!

I’m going to give it my best shot and knock him out with the red ‘Surprise’ dress - a real showstopper!  This a-symmetrical classic is sure to wow with its one shoulder strap detail and large white button.  I’ll sign off now to rehearse; I’m going to audition with my favourite Doris Day number ‘A Guy is a Guy’.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xk-iy6n5Ntk

Friday, 15th July 1949

Dear Diary,

It’s Show Time!  Last night I took the salon girls, Grace, Doreen, Anne-Marie and Lucy out to see a Variety Show at the Hackney Empire.  We all had such a swell time!  During the opening number one of the chorus girls lost her shoe during the high kicks routine!  Doreen thought that the ventriloquist looked like her brother-in-law and Nino The Wonder Dog was such a cute, clever pup.  Curiously, no one was entirely sure if the animal hypnotist was a Mister or a Miss! 

It was hardly surprising that the headline act, Lola Falana, captured my imagination. The stylish songstress certainly measured up to her bill matter “The Sultry Siren”. Such a captivating, exotic performance and delivered so provocatively in a style that’s wonderfully ‘à la mode’.  Lola found her fame in the nightclubs of Munich and Berlin back in the thirties.  Before the war, Lola fled from Germany to bring her grace and style to our English stage.  Bravo Lola! What an inspiring picture of elegance, wearing a fabulous black satin gown.  Definitely my cup of tea! 

Tuesday 5th July 1949 - Never trust a handy man.... ;-)

Dear Diary,

The boutique needed a few odd jobs doing, so I decided to respond to a local newspaper advertisement. Charlie the Handy Man arrived early this morning to fix up a few more clothes rails and an extra shelf or two.  One must always be careful when allowing Tradesmen onto the premises. Always insist on a good character reference before leaving a Handy Man alone in your fashion boutique.

The salon was furiously busy when Charlie presented himself on my doorstep with a tool bag and a friendly smile. Certainly an affable sort of chap, Charlie quickly convinced me that he’s the sharpest tool in the box.  So I was thrilled to just let him get on with it whilst I managed my regular salon ladies.

Throughout the morning, the ladies complained of screeching drills, perpetual banging and the awful grating of saws.  Anne-Marie had to turn up the “Swing Time” radio show to full volume on the wireless set and drown out the awful din.  We hardly noticed when the boutique became strangely quiet. A sure sign that Charlie’s task was complete, so I decided to go and inspect the handy work.

Jeepers creepers!! Oh what a shock!  I swear that I’ll never, ever understand the duplicitous nature of the male of our species!  As bold as brass and posing before the mirror, Charlie had clothed himself in the new

Alika Circle

green dress with the pretty netting detail around the shoulder and cute bow around the waist! Fiddling with a black ostrich feather fascinator, Charlie was so engrossed with his new image that it was quite sometime before he noticed me standing there.

His reaction to my presence was so entirely unexpected that I became absolutely speechless. Raising the skirt hem from his hairy knee Charlie revealed the cantankerous beginnings of a ladder in his stocking.  I was utterly bemused yet curiously intrigued when Charlie very sweetly asked me to help him fix this cumbersome flaw in his vision of perfection. I found myself dutifully assisting with a spot of clear nail varnish strategically applied to stop the ladder running any further.  There’s simply nothing worse than a ruined stocking.  

Tuesday 28th June 1949

Dear Diary,

Grace and I decided to treat our selves the other night and go out to the flicks. We couldn’t resist seeing that new comedy film “Whiskey Galore” starring Basil Radford, Joan Greenwood and Catherine Lacey.

The film was based on an event in 1941, when the S/S Politician sank just off shore of the Outer Hebrides carrying 250,000 bottles of whiskey.  It makes a nice change to watch a true story from the War that doesn’t involve battle scenes. Grace and I do love to spot the mistakes at the movies; the local whiskey looters couldn’t possibly have kept their rowing boats afloat carrying so many crates of whiskey bottles. Ooh!  How we laughed! 

Grace and I fancied a wee tipple after the cinema. So we popped into the nearest pub lounge and ordered a whiskey cocktail. The landlady very kindly gave us the recipe.  

TEX COLLINS

This tall, dry, refreshing cocktail combines grapefruit, gin and honey. It is based on a recipe in Esquire’s ‘Handbook for Hosts’ (1949).

Ingredients

Two shots of Gin

Two spoons of Honey

Two shots of grapefruit juice

Top up with Club Soda

Garnish with a slice of lemon

First dissolve a couple of spoons of runny honey with gin in the base of the shaker.

Add freshly squeezed grapefruit juice and shake with ice for a few seconds. Strain into a tall glass filled with ice cubes. Top up with soda water and add a slice of lemon in the drink to garnish.

Tuesday 21st June 1949

Dear Diary,

Frilly knickers are front-page news! I was enthralled to read tonight’s Evening Standard reporting of a delicious fashion faux pas at Wimbledon. Evidently, the tennis set didn’t approve of Gussie Moran’s ruffle lace trimmed panties! Her outfit certainly caused a sensation when the press jostled for position to photograph a glimpse of the lace as she served the ball.

The event has scandalized Wimbledon and furthermore “Gorgeous Gussie” is accused of bringing 'vulgarity and sin into tennis' by the committee of the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club. I say, how absurd! What’s more, there’ll be a debate in Parliament, about frilly knickers of all things!

I would most definitely like to applaud Ted Tinling, the designer of Gussie Moran’s outfit for a splendid job well done! I had the enormous pleasure of meeting Mr Tinling when he visited the boutique quite recently. He appeared to be an odd sort of fellow, at first; wearing a raincoat and demonstrating a curious fetish for my range of ruffle panties.

Nevertheless, Mr Tinling asked some pertinent questions about sewing the ruffle technique. He seemed to be rather well informed about knickers, for a gentleman! I was astonished when he eventually disclosed his plan to design Gussie Moran’s tennis outfit with specific instructions to include the famous frillies. Oh my golly gosh! It’s delightful to think that our conversation has influenced the national headlines!

Tuesday, 7th June 1949

Dear Diary,

Oh my word! Such a disastrous dinner date last night with Gerard. I should have suspected something fishy, since he had already cancelled our date twice! Still, I agreed to meet him after all, especially as I was so looking forward to seeing him again.

Monsieur Gerard was positively dazzled when I arrived wearing the glamorous Dotty Polka Dot Dress and a super pair of killer heels. His restaurant in Chelsea is called Le Rire Crevette (in English; The Laughing Prawn) a peculiar name for a restaurant, I thought. All seemed wonderful as Gerard welcomed me through the door and ushered me towards a candlelit table in the corner.  An accordion player and violinist manoeuvred themselves beside the table, playing a romantic melody. The setting was perfect.

With just a click of his fingers a troupe of waiters advanced in military fashion, to pour red wine and deliver pretty plates of tasty haute cuisine. Oh my, and they were so delightfully neat and tidy to eat! Gerard and I were having such a ball; I noticed that my wine glass was frequently topped up.

Suddenly a very fashionable, yet remarkably distressed young lady burst into the restaurant shouting and screaming in fluent French. It soon became obvious that the object of her fury was none other than my date! Gerard tried to calm her, but was promptly slapped repeatedly about the face. A woman scorned can only represent such an appalling display of hysteria. My theory was confirmed when an expertly thrown glass of red wine labelled me as the ‘other’ woman. My beautiful polka dot dress was ruined, along with my association with Gerard. I maintained my composure and left the restaurant with my head held high. What a disgrace!  I will most definitely send my laundry bill to The Laughing Prawn!

Tuesday 24th May 1949

Dear Diary,

I have just had the most extraordinary day! The cost of laundering my towels for the salon has simply rocketed, so I decided to try that new fangled coin operated launderette that’s just opened up in Queensway. What’s a fashionable gal supposed to wear at the launderette? I chose the blue gingham halter neck swing dress for it’s chic practicality. Oh, how I wish I’d opted for swimwear!

A helpful attendant chap showed me how to operate one of the machines as soon as I arrived at the ‘Central Wash’ in Queensway. I soon found myself becoming quite mesmerised staring at the washing turning around. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a handsome young man strip off to his underpants! Sure enough the cocky fellow just stood there as bold as brass, semi naked in a public laundrette! But who am I to complain? Just before he could get his clothes into the washing machine the angry attendant chased him out into the street.

Later, a tall gentleman arrived carrying two large bags of dirty linen. He appeared smart and attractive, introducing himself almost immediately. “Gerard Mordiller, enchanté mademoiselle” he said in the most sensual French accent, brushing his lips tenderly against the back of my hand. I quickly discovered that Gerard is a dashing restauranteur with a similar notion to investigate alternative laundry options for his table linen. Naturally, he invited me for a romantic dinner date at his exclusive ‘haute cuisine’ restaurant in Chelsea.

The attendant coughed loudly, pinning a note to the office door; ‘Out to Lunch’. Shortly after his departure, my washing machine gave a startled jolt and rumbled curiously. Suddenly, a plume of black smoke emerged and soapsuds began spewing out from the little round door! It wasn’t long before the floor was swimming with gallons of frothy foam. Gerard and I panicked, frantically trying to stop the machine by pushing all of the buttons and tugging at the handle, but the door was stuck. Gerard finally managed to force it open, followed by an ocean of rapid cascading water. We were both utterly drenched! Eventually the attendant returned to find us laughing hopelessly, paddling amidst a sea of soapy bubbles. Thankfully, our modesty was rescued with warm blankets whilst we waited for our clothes to tumble dry. The towels are ruined but who cares? I’m on cloud nine and looking forward to a date with Monsieur Gerard! But next time I think I’ll play it safe and order the service wash!  

Tuesday, 10th May 1949

Dear Diary,

I really look forward to gaining just a few pounds after all these years of food rationing. I have to say that most of us do look rather bony.  Luckily putting on a little bit of weight (not too much of course) will just be a little easier now as sweets rationing has come to an end a couple of weeks ago.  And it might even help me sell a few more of my beautiful corsets… after all they do serve a function too!

One would not believe but this morning the queue outside Mr Simpkin’s grocery shop stretched right around the corner, almost into the next street! I sent Lucy along to fetch some candy as a special treat for the salon girls. I really wanted to thank them for organising that marvellous surprise birthday party for me. Lucy returned giggling like a giddy schoolgirl! She said that she had to wait for three hours to be served. But what a treat!

The buffet spread that Grace had prepared for the party a couple of weeks ago had been splendid, yet I did wonder how she managed it. Eventually I just couldn’t resist asking her about the recipe of the birthday cake she made. (The cake was unlike anything I had tasted before).  Being the good friend Grace is she agreed to share the recipe!  I must try making it myself one day…

VICTORY CAKE

2 cups of seeded raisins

3 cups flour

1 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. Salt

1/2 tsp. Allspice

1/2 tsp. Cinnamon

1/4 tsp. cloves

2 cups of cold water

3 tbs. Butter

2 cups sugar

3 tbs. cocoa

Method:

Boil together the butter, seeded raisons, sugar, and cold water for 5 minutes. Let cool. Sift together flour and all other dry ingredients including the cocoa. Mix the boiled ingredients and the flour mixture together until blended. Grease and dust with flour a 10" cake tin. Place the batter in the cake tin. Bake at 350F for 1 1/2 hours. In the last 1/2 hour, cover with foil to prevent burning. (candied cherries may be added, if desired.)

Tuesday, 26th April 1949

Dear Diary,

Oh what a night!  This morning I have to admit to nursing a slight headache after last night’s fabulous party.  The girls at the salon certainly did make a huge fuss over me because yesterday I had reached quite a milestone - my thirtieth birthday.  Oh yes, I have been experiencing the full gamut of feelings from hopeful anticipation, dread, fear and regret to say goodbye to my twenties.  No longer am I a bright young thing, no longer a mere slip of a gal, hardly an old maid (not a wrinkle or grey hair in sight) but a mature businesswoman with responsibilities!

The girls closed up the salon at the end of our working day, but with a surprisingly swift sweep up and polish, which did arouse my suspicion somewhat.  I went home as usual with my flat mate Grace.  She seemed to be a little on edge, curiously smiling to herself and frequently disappearing into the kitchen with the accompanying sounds of clattering cake tins and the rustle of paper.  Grace insisted that we should both wear our best cocktail dresses and that I brush the mothballs away from my mink stole, because “tonight is going to be just swell”.  At last, Grace announced that a black taxicab had arrived at the front door and that we really ought to hurry.  I noticed her stow something away in the boot at the back of the cab, the driver doffing his cap cheerfully as he ushered us into the back seats.  A short ride later and the cab stopped outside the salon.  Grace paid the fare and the winking driver disappeared to retrieve the mysterious cargo from the boot, whilst Grace steered me towards the salon entrance. By this time I was utterly bemused and wondered what on earth was going on.  After fumbling with the keys, we finally got the door open, suddenly the lights went on and a rousing cry of ‘SURPRISE!!’ startled me so much that I nearly fainted on the spot!  Oh my! It seems that all of my regular customers and half the street was invited!  Everyone was wearing paper hats, cheering and waving their half-pint glasses of stout in the air.  Paper chains and lanterns decked the salon and a splendid buffet had been laid out, all in honour of my birthday!  I was so thrilled and delighted that a little tear of joy started to roll down my cheek.  Thomas Dudley, the motor mechanic, gallantly offered me his handkerchief.  I was very thankful to him for this kind gesture but quite relieved to discover that the hanky was neatly pressed and clean, although his fingernails were still rather stained with engine oil.

Tuesday, 12th April, 1949

Dear Diary

I am simply beside myself with sheer excitement! At last my new fashion boutique is opening today! It most certainly was a mighty task to convert the back room of the hair salon into a fabulous fashion boutique! I wonder if the other girls who work for me at the hairdressers, Doreen, Anne- Marie, Grace and Lucy are fully prepared for the sheer delights that await them?  They are going to be simply beside themselves once they see the collection not to mention some super evening gowns, pencil skirts and the most divine lingerie.

I’ll have to keep my eye on those girls, borrowing items is one thing but we must make sure that there’s always something new on the rail for the customers to look at!  There’ll be so much to do today at the grand opening gala as I’ve invited the whole of London to come along and browse through my super collection. I’m putting out a splendid spread of tea and cake so my regular ‘rinse, curl and set’ ladies will definitely enjoy a tasty treat whilst mingling with my dashing new clientele.

The timing of my new venture couldn’t be more perfect because our dear Prime Minister, Clement Atlee, announced the end of clothes rationing on the 15th of March!  After eight long years of having to make do and mend, at last we can look forward to indulging ourselves with some super luxurious fabrics! Imagine the possibilities! I’m thinking about experimenting with new design ideas for some fully pleated and swishing skirts. Oh I can’t wait to enjoy the freedom and luxury to use yards and yards of gorgeous fabrics without worrying about using up all of my ration coupons. Now it really does feel like the war is finally over and it’s high time that we look forward to a brighter future and the prospect of some jolly times ahead!

So glad to have a few more sunny days, now that spring has arrived. It’s rather delightful to see some bright yellow daffodils blossoming in the park. If only romance would blossom for me this year and that I’ll finally get to meet Mr Right. I really can’t bring myself to have to endure any more disastrous dinner dates.  What was I thinking when I agreed to let Thomas Dudley take me out to dinner last week?  I know he’s a hard working, honest chap and runs a good business with the motor mechanic workshop across the road from the hair salon.  But his hands were such a disgrace!  One would have thought that Mr Dudley should have at least tried to scrub the engine oil away from underneath his fingernails, before taking a lady out to dinner?  Naturally, I declined his offer to take me to the cinema for a second date, I certainly wouldn’t have appreciated those mucky hands finding their way to my stocking tops whilst attempting a snuggle on the back row.  Poor chap, hopefully he’ll learn from his awful mishap and make more of an effort next time he’s got his eye on someone.