(You may need to refer to the Glossary)
Finally, I had one! My mum bought me a ‘Harri’! Now I was going to be one of the stylish 14-year-olds who possessed the coolest jacket of the decade. With its token red-tartan lining and tight elasticated sleeves, I now had the pluck to swagger through the school gates with my head held high.
Not any old Harrington would do – they had to be black. And wearers had to like pop groups such as The Specials, Madness, Bad Manners and UB40. In reality, Ska music was a bit too ethnic for me and I secretly preferred the New Romantics. All my friends were white, so there were no black kids to hang out with and be tribal. Each time ‘Red, Red Wine’ was played in the lunchtime social rooms, kids expected me to begin dancing with my head like Ali Campbell and crew did, which infuriated me. No, it was Hungry Like the Wolf, Don’t You Want Me Baby? and Vienna that got me moving. So, to match the music genre a Harrington wearer was supposed to be into, I settled for Madness and bought an ‘I love Suggs!’ badge, which I wore with pride on my trendy collar.
I was being delusional however, for my stylish jacket was accompanied by a calf-length pleated school-skirt. Waist-up, I was a modern teenager; waist-down, an old age pensioner. Skinny legs have never looked graceful under a pleated skirt, especially when it’s almost down to your ankles. To top off this granny look, my mum had insisted that I wear ugly, flat, brown shoes that were a size too big for me. She had become exasperated that my footwear wore out too quickly, so in her frugal wisdom, she procured a pair of what can only be described as miniature boats. The soles curled up at both ends, which meant that when my feet were not inside them, they would rock from side to side at the slightest gush of wind. Worst still, ‘female boy shoes’ did not come into fashion until 9 years later, so my peers wore pretty feminine heels, in all colours of the rainbow.
No kid likes to be different. I had wanted to be like the others and with my new outer garment, I had deceived myself into thinking I was.
The token tight mini-skirt or drainpipe trousers which were normally worn with Harringtons, graced the legs of every other female who possessed one. Theirs also smelt of cigarette smoke and rebellion.
Being oblivious to this fashion faux pas, when I looked into the mirror, all I could see was my top half and boy, didn’t I look snazzy!
Now, there’s nothing like one of your peers to bring you down a peg or two:
Especially if it’s a teenager.
Especially if it’s at school.
Especially if it’s another girl.
One day, I mustered the courage to take the quicker route to the Science block. This meant passing the bicycle shed. The bell had not yet rung for the next lesson, so there was still a waft of smoke that could be seen rising from the top of the old brickwork. As I approached it, the ‘tough brigade’ peered at me suspiciously through their nicotine fog and looked me up and down.
I pondered on whether to give them a jovial “Watcha Mate!” (hello) or to just walk past briskly. As most of the stares remained in the down position, thus focussing on my lower half, I decided on the latter.
My hideous boat shoes struggled to keep up with my stride and subsequently lolled off my heels as I dashed to class. Flip flops would have been quicker to walk in and suddenly the thought of my Science lesson seemed very appealing.
“Oi!” Came a shout from behind.
I grabbed a bubble gum from my pocket and turned up my collar, as casually as possible. If only I had smothered some more eyeliner on during the break! That always made me feel more confident, but then, that’s what Jezebel did and she was evil.
“Oi! You!”
I turned around wishing that my gum wasn’t still so sweet, as I needed to blow a big bold bubble to boost the tough-nut image I was desperately trying to convey.
“What?” I replied as dauntlessly as I could.
The girls were still looking down at my legs. Smirks, grins and giggles were not welcome by me, but that’s what I was getting.
“Charlie’s dead.”
Our eyes met. I was mortified and jealous at the same time. The cringe came from the fact that she was referring to my underwear. The jealousy was because her jaws had already been masticating gum for quite some time and she blew an enormous bubble.
“Thank you.” I replied and giggled nervously.
The phrase ‘Charlie’s dead’ dates back to when King Charles 2nd died, and mourning women lowered their petticoats in respect – similar to flying a flag at half-mast. So, when your petticoat or half-slip was showing from under your clothes, people would let you know by reminding you of King Chuck’s demise. It was always done very loudly.
In my school days it was common for girls to wear half-slips, which were basically satin under-skirts. There were even ones with slits in to be worn with pencil skirts. I don’t know why we ever wore them at school, for our skirts were never see-through or cold. And of course, the wretched things would never stay where they were, but would ride down past your hem as if you’d forgotten to remove your nightie.
As I glanced down, my offending garment was near my ankles. No amount of bubble blowing would make me look cool now. I made a feeble attempt at singing one of my favourite songs. I couldn’t bust out, ‘Heart and Soul’ like Carol Decker, but the gutsy melody helped relieve my anxiety. I placed my hands beneath my skirt and grabbed the slip’s waistband, yanking it upwards with all my might.
“Pop!”
The coveted gum.
My mocker glared at me expressionless, while flicking her tongue out to retrieve the pink mess that was stuck to her top lip.
“He’s still dead.” She said, chewing slowly.
Sure enough, it was still hanging beneath my skirt hem and it took several adjustments before it disappeared.
It was too late to avoid ridicule. As I dashed off to class, I could hear chants of, “Charlie…Charlie…Charlie!” in a high-pitched voices.
I’m so glad half-slips have gone out of fashion, together with its irritating phrase.
Sayings come and go. We often hear the older generation complaining that words have lost their original meaning; ‘Sick’, ‘gay’ and ‘wicked’ being just a few.
But it is comforting to know that God’s words never change.
He means what he says and his promises last forever. What brought consolation and reassurance years ago, still do today:
The grass withers and the flowers fade, but the word of the Lord endures forever. (1Peter 1:24-25 & Isa 40:8 NLT)
Charlie died along with the saying associated with droopy undergarments, but I am glad that in a time of turmoil and chaos, I can trust that when God says “Do not fear.” he means it, so I don’t need to bite my fingernails or grow a stomach ulcer through worry.
