I've written a bit before about the different childhood I had, but not in much detail (see Liked this? below). I could probably write a book, but instead here's a short poem. One thing my mother talks a lot about (she's 92 now) is regret. She can't undo the past, and there were so many good things, different things, that I learned that I would never have done without that childhood. I know how fabric should hang, and whether it is right for the period, for example. The world of CGI has changed costumery for the cinema, certainly, but theatre still relies on a lot of craft. My mother was certainly a very talented craftsperson.
Growing up
Samco, acetone, buckram, calico
Pearl glue, foam rubber, plaster, fur fabric
Mother much too busy, for the small child
Giant moth, Sontaran, Mutant, Cyberman*
Pepper pot, Cuckoo, giant flies, tutus
Comedians and actors, smile at the small child.
Plum pudding, ballet masks, feather boas, jock straps
David Wood, Gyles of course, Raymond Briggs, dinosaurs
Directors and dancers, not noticing the small child
Peter Rabbit, Whatamess, Gladiator, Fungus
Marty Feldman, Mickey Dolenz, Morecambe and Wise
Placido bumped into, by the small child
Coliseum, D’Oyly Carte, Drury Lane and Shaftesbury
Rooms of feathers, rooms of foam, rooms of fabric off the
loom
A curious playground, for the small child
Hats, masks, monsters, jewellery, designs
Costumes, sequins, Jesus Christ’s crown
All distractions for the young child
Working on Christmas day, working on holidays
Pins and needles in the chair arm; pricked fingers
A normal day for the wheezing child
