Charity Harding's Haberdashery #1 The Measure of Her
My name is Charity Harding and I run my own little haberdashery shop. Somewhere in England, sometime in the 20th century, I place my tape measure around my neck every morning and oil my scissors. I wear my spectacles around my neck too, they hang on a golden chain which is dotted with pearls at regular intervals. It often gets tangled with my tape measure. The spectacles bounce off my ample bosom as I trot up and down my pockmarked wooden counter.
One morning, a young lady dressed in home-sewn gingham pulled her mother’s shopping list from the battered basket that she carried. All very 'Wizard of Oz' I thought. Where's your red sparkly shoes dear, I wondered. People are so impressionable these days. Her mother will have been watching that film while delirious on cherry brandy and Quality Street last Christmas and it will have given her ideas. Anyway, a reel of Sylko in Buckingham Lilac was at the top of the list. Oh dear, I thought, I bet mother has some lilac gingham left over. That poor girl. Next was a box of Dorcas pins to replace all those that invariably disappeared. Pins are a haberdashers bread and butter. Finally, a new tape measure was required. One with inches on both sides. This last instruction was underlined twice.
“All of our tape measures are metric on one side and imperial on the other. It’s how they’re made now.” I informed her, with a touch of regret.
“Haven’t you got any imperial only ones left over somewhere in the back?” The girl almost pleaded.
“I haven’t seen any at all recently.”
“Oh dear. What am I going to do? Do you know of anywhere else I might try? My mother's quite definite about no centimeters."
“I know just how she feels. I can’t deal with all this metrication either. But can’t she just use one side of the tape?” It was an obvious thing to say but sometimes it needs saying.
“She says it bothers her to always have to be looking which side to use.” She began to look as if she might cry. "And she chopped her old one to bits..."
"What on earth for?" This girl's mother wasn't endearing herself to me, cutting up good tape measures indeed.
"Well, she measured her waist and it said 88 and it was centimetres but for a minute she thought it was inches and she had a bit of a fit."
"I see. Why don’t you try the flea market?” It pained me to send her away but I hadn't got all day and certainly no time for this child's silly mother.
The girl departed with a reel of Buckingham Lilac rolling around her basket and a box of pins rattling an accompaniment. I pencilled a note in my book to not order anymore Lilac gingham. It looked terrible.
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