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A lot of make-do-and-mend went on as clothes were rationed by dint of clothing coupons, which had to be surrendered for every item of clothing. I can't recall exactly how many we were allowed, but certainly not enough for a dress, coat, shoes and stockings plus underwear all at once. Wooden soled shoes put in an appearance. They looked quite acceptable and were warm and comfortable for general wear and not so many coupons as conventional shoes. My youngest aunt and I took the same size clothes and shoes so we swapped with each other — well it was more borrowing — therefore doubling our wardrobe. We had a fur cape between us — very posh — strictly for Sundays and special occasions. I can't remember whose it really was nor what happened to it in the end, but we enjoyed it while we had it.

We did a lot of 'turning'. When a coat was looking shabby, the lining was removed and washed and ironed. The coat was unpicked, washed and pressed and then sewn together inside out, the lining replaced and it was looking almost as good as new. Dress skirts got the same treatment.

As knitting wool was on coupons, garments that had seen better days were unravelled, the wool wrapped round a 12" ruler or stout cardboard, the wool steamed in front of a boiling kettle then re-knitted.

Church jumble sales were a great source of material. The skirt of a dress provided enough material to make a blouse, a coat unpicked and turned made a dress, skirts and jumpers unravelled and steamed took on a new identity. Curtains, like the curate's egg — good in parts — finished up as cushion covers. All this — and no coupons surrendered.

Wedding dresses were disappearing from the shops so brides wishing the traditional white wedding either borrowed a dress from a friend or bought one from a recent bride. I married in 1946 and my brocade dress was bought for £5 from the daughter of my aunt's friend. My mother's cousin made the necessary alterations. Another aunt lent me her veil. I still have the dress packed away in its original box.

Most clothes were pure wool, cotton, crepe and rayon — pure silk if you were posh. As time went on, the composition of materials became more mysterious — rumours of dog hairs being incorporated into woollen goods. I wonder?

A ladder in a rayon stocking was disaster and the repair tedious. Lucky you, if you were a brunette with ample tresses (one problem — blondes and redheads were always on the cadge). A hair or two threaded through a fine needle was needed to pick up the stitch and laboriously weave the length of the ladder. Some enterprising soul later marketed a gadget rather like a small crochet hook, which did the job more efficiently, and it was an essential part of every girl's sewing box.

Stockings were made of rayon — one coupon for a pair of the cheaper shapeless ones and 1.5 coupons for fully fashioned which had a reinforced toe and shaped heel. They had a seam up the back and were nicely shaped to fit the contour of the leg. If one was lucky enough to own a pair of pure silk stockings they were cherished and revered. They lived in a glass jam jar with a lid and were only touched with gloved hands. It had to be a red-letter day for those to be worn.

No coupons for a new pair of stockings? Bare legs were frowned on so we smoothed gravy browning on our legs and a friend with an eyebrow pencil and a steady hand would obligingly draw a seam up the back of each leg. No problem till it rained! Darning and patching were down to a fine art and we took pride in our handiwork. Pity it has been lost to today's throw-away society.

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