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During the war years in Britain we realised that austerity and utility would be our
daily watchwords. We knew money was needed for the war effort, so we did the best
with what we had and what the government allowed us to have. Our garden railings and aluminium saucepans were needed for the manufacture of Spitfires, (or so we were told), and we dug up our lawns to grow vegetables. We carried our Identity cards at all times without question and accepted the limitations imposed by our Ration Books and Clothing Coupons.

I was looking forward to my wedding and was excited to find an advertisement in a Sunday newspaper which advertised beautiful parachute silk. `Send 5 shillings and receive at least 10 yards, suitable for night-dresses and underwear’, I loved sewing and so did my mother and Auntie Bessie, who lived with us. This was surely a heaven sent opportunity for me to have lovely white silk underwear for my trousseau, which my clothing coupons could never run to, even with generous gifts from friends. `Allow 10 days for delivery’. I waited with excitement, watching every day for the postman, dreaming of my luxury white undies.

Arrival day dawned and I couldn’t open the big package quickly enough. Oh yes, the parachute had arrived with yards and yards of useful strong thick white cord, but to my bitter disappointment the colour of my parachute was a fierce daffodil yellow! There was more bad news. I had imagined a huge seamless circle of white silk. In fact my parachute was made up of many narrow tapered triangles of material, all cut on the cross. In my initial excitement I had failed to notice that the advertisement did not mention colour or an endless number of seams.

The history of wartime fashion underwear is not well documented and it is not surprising that I had a problem in deciding what to do with my yards and yards of high quality material. Give in and have a good cry or resolve not to be beaten by the dictates of conventional fashion. A nightdress with multiple seams, all in the wrong places, would be unique. Unpick the seams, an arduous task, but then I could make a colourful pair of pants. How often does happiness depend on material possessions?

It happened that my `husband to be’ was a gifted musician. Often he assisted Mr Ralph Morgan, the Organist and Director of Music at St. Mary Redcliffe Church in Bristol, where our wedding was to be held. This is the church described by Queen Elizabeth 1st as `the fairest, goodliest and most famous parish church in England’. How fortunate I was to be married in such a lovely place. Certainly I agreed with her on my wedding day. Even with no long white dress and no bridesmaids our wedding and honeymoon were memorable and auspicious occasions.

Is this the end of my story, with no more news of my parachute? No, it is not. For how many bridegrooms on their honeymoon I wonder, can record standing in stunned admiration on catching a first glimpse of their bride wearing brilliant daffodil yellow knickers!

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