Mr. Boyer is right that it's a country detail in origin along with the throat latch and hacking pockets... And hook vents... And...

But the country and its practicalities are not those of the town. Even today.

I remember old tweeds on my Uncles that not only had well-earned elbow patches but also leather piping put on at the cuffs and lapel line because, through heavy duty wear, the garment was really ratty around the edges. The rain didn't do that, bursting through hedges did, either on foot or mounted.

And here's another one - I can recall men taking off their (Tweed) caps and putting them over their faces like a mask as they rushed a hedge to get through it on foot. Tweed was all about this kind of thing, hence brands called 'Thornproof' etc.

If any of them even noticed the rain I'd be amazed.

No man ever used an umbrella in the country when I were a lad. Ladies did and clerics. Nobody else. You 'ad an 'at. And you wore 'Ratting Clothes' all the time: Trashable Trad.  If you bothered with church or the county magistrates court then you'd wear a 'Town Suit' in the country when you had to. But few did. The country was a place of relaxation where you actually didn't live even though you had an address there. The wife and kids would be there but you'd be in the city doing a man's work all week. Friday to Monday (Never say 'Weekend') was for the country and that meant drinking, fornication, eating and other 'country pursuits'. During the week men ate and drank and fornicated in Town - Only wives who read She or Cosmo had 'affairs' men just screwed around.

Country pursuits were also always bloodsports. Nobody 'rambled' or 'jogged' - That was for Townies with romantic notions of the country. Proper people in the country would go for a walk but they'd do it with a gun or at the very least a tupperwear box to collect Blackberries, etc in. Nobody ever left the house without a reason. If you went out it was expected that you'd come back with something, otherwise what kind of fool were you to go out in all the mess and the wet for no good reason?

Pipes with little lids on them I remember, so you could smoke out in the wet. And everybody smoked. And drank. And shagged around. Only silly women 'fell in love' and always with their social inferiors because no proper chap in those days would encourage or entertain such wet notions. Proper people used to have 'A bit of fun'. There was no divorce and separate bedrooms were very common as time went by. Money and property mattered more and often horses too. Wet notions of 'love' were the stuff of your secretary's reading matter, yet it was a very loving culture... But it was love mitigated by practicality. If a couple only see each other twice a week it's ridiculous to expect fidelity, however, once married, couples never split.

There you are - Country Life.

Best -

... Cricket was 'The Summer Game' with Tennis for girls. There were no other sports. Swimming was for weirdos.

Rugby was for the Autumn/Winter/Spring. Nobody ever played football beyond tiny little boys just starting their first year at Prep. It was considered a deeply inferior sport.

Netball was also looked down on for girls. Rounders was beyond the pale. Odd that they should have spawned Basketball and Baseball respectively elsewhere.

Hockey (But never on ice) was OK for girls along with Shinty. Lacrosse was for incredibly incredibly incredibly homosexual young men. Even I never played it.

Golf was already dead common by the time I came along (1965) and nobody had ever heard of Badminton as a sport (we knew it as a house) or Squash. Ping Pong (Table Tennis) was for retards.

Nobody sane ever punted no matter how drunk, Croquet was played by 'Country House Rules' which is to say that your host would tell you what the rules of his house were on a whim. No two houses ever had the same rules. Often one played for drinks, but there were stories that others played for sex elsewhere.

Charades were common after dinner. Sherry before and Port after. And men and women did separate after dining before reconvening even in my lifetime. A rite of passage was initially dining with the grown ups - First you would 'withdraw' with the women and listen to all their dirty talk until you were old enough to  stay with the men to hear all their dirty talk instead. The women were always far dirtier. Boys were initiated into all of this before girls.

And there was all the usual sadism and cruelty of all rites of passage - Being sent to get wine glasses for your Aunts to pee in (Very usual and very practical when you're wearing a ball gown - You can't just hitch them up to pop to the loo)... The men's endless attempts to shock and embarrass you... 


... And the link to Ivy here is that it was nothing to do with this world in England.


Best -

/\ ... too rolling sloaned .... great read ... some surprisingly rough stuff in there, and I think you know what I'm talking about .....

You love it Jim, that's as clear as the chin on your face... you just want your fondant fancy and to eat it. Regale us with all this at one end and be the littlest barrow boy at the other.

This might entertain some -

http://www.askandyaboutclothes.com/forum/showthread.php?50312-Fogey

I gave the copyright for all these 'Fogey' writings to Mr. FNB as a thank you for all his generosity to me.

Americans loved this stuff... But it's the opposite of Ivy in England.

Last edited by Sammy Ambrose (2013-10-30 04:07:03)

Yes, the priorities of that world that you and I know about were very different to what is imagined by outsiders, Mr. Formby - Turning on the central heating is the coward's way out !

To entertain the forum further I'll tell you that one of the reasons that class hated the working class was because they saw them as being ludicrously self-indulgent, sitting around their gas fires with their bags of crisps in between meals...

My Grandmother used to go upstairs on her hands and knees when she became so sadly infirm in later life. No Stannah stairlift for her. Luxury was frowned upon as being morally wrong. It was associated with the decadent sybaritic aristocracy and the pampered childish working class with their NHS false teeth... When our teeth fell out we ate soup, we didn't expect new teeth from the state so we could carry on eating bags of crisps...



It was a very bizarre world and more than a little 'orrible.

... And yet there are elements that I still can't quite shake off... Not turning on the heating and eating leftovers are my secret pleasures.


Probably this thread is heading towards being NSFW material now as I've left telling off that wet leg Mr. Boyer far behind...

Last edited by Harpo (2013-10-30 05:20:59)