It was wartime in Britain. Everything and everyone were once again in war mode. Rationing and gearing up for who knew what was to come. Factories were being used to create munitions and supplies for the war effort.

My mum was employed by Mannheim Modes, a hat making company. Her friends were all hat makers, known as milliners, even her brother Lou was a milliner. Mum wasn’t a milliner, she was a sweeper. The factory was being commandeered to make uniforms for the Armed Forces. It was all hands on deck, so to speak. And so it was that mum, who was pregnant, was told that her services were no longer required. The company needed hat makers not sweepers. Mum argued with the owner, Mr. Mannheim, but Mannheim would not be swayed. “If you can’t make hats, we can’t employ you”, he argued. Mum insisted that she could learn very quickly. Mannheim said “If you can make me a hat by tomorrow, you can stay”.

Mannheim didn’t know my mum. Mum got together with her friends and they taught her very quickly how to make a hat. The next morning mum confronted Mr. Mannheim with her creation. It was a beautiful hat with golden brown leaves on it. “Okay”, said Mannheim, “put it on and let me inspect your work”. Mum put on the hat and as she turned around the leaves started to fall off. “What do you call this hat, the leaves are falling off”, Mannheim said gruffly. Mum replied with the only thing she could think of. “I call it Autumn”, she said and laughed. Mannheim laughed too and mum was rehired as a milliner. Many years later, Mannheim’s kindness was unwittingly repaid……. by me. See The Italian Adventure.

Mum The Milliner

Some years later around 1950, a woman appeared at our front door at a time when we had little or no money. She had heard that mum was a milliner. “If you could make me two hats I will pay you £5”, the woman offered. £5 in those days was two weeks work and so mum said “yes” and two weeks later the hats were delivered. We never saw the woman again, but that gave mum the incentive to open her own hat shop. Mum rented a lock-up in the Rye Lane under-cover market in Peckham and started to sell hats.

Frequently mum was asked by a passer-by where they could buy nylons. So mum started to sell nylons. From nylons it was only a small step to selling corsets and brassieres. Mum was getting so busy that she needed her sister Bertha to come down from Stamford Hill to help out. It wasn’t long before the journey became too much for Bertha and so they looked for another place. A store became available in Stamford Hill and that was the start of Russell’s of Stamford Hill. The income from the shop fed both families and put a roof over my head. Russell’s of Stamford Hill became an institution on “The Hill” and served some very well-known customers. Among the customers were Barbara Windsor, Alma Kogan, Georgia Brown and Lionel Bart’s mum. It wasn’t unusual for her to get calls from men about buying ladies’ wear for themselves. As far as I know she never got involved in that side of business.

The shop specialized in the “hard-to-fit” body type and was what set Russell’s apart from the other stores. Alterations were available and done in-house. In fact the alterations were done on sewing machines “donated” by her youngest brother Harry, who owned Laughton Engineering, a sewing machine company, in Old Street. He hadn’t intended that the sewing machines be “donated”, but mum wouldn’t hear of paying for them. It was the alterations and mum’s ability to fit the under garments that kept them coming back. Mum wasn’t very tall and didn’t weigh a lot, but from years of pulling up corsets and lacing up girdles she developed a strength that belied her size. I can attest to that personally. When asked what she did for a living mum would often answer that she was a “meat packer.”

Russell’s also did a lot of business with the Nigerians who, as mum put it, would come into her shop waving “bloody great fistfuls of money”. Mum loved the heavy set Nigerian women with the hard to fit shapes. And they  loved her. Her other favourite comment, when asked what she did was to reply that she was in the “black market”.

Apart from putting a roof over my head, Russell’s was also a place of employment for Bertha’s kids, Edna and Ruth. I occasionally helped out with the cash, but as I got older it became more difficult to work there for obvious reasons. Many a time women would come out of the dressing room with only their undies on, look at me and rush back in. So that was it for me, but it was worth it.

My mother finally sold Russell’s when she had a serious stroke in 1981. The new owner kept the name, but eventually she sold it and that was that.

The Faith Healer

My mother was troubled throughout her adult life with a rheumatic heart. She was often ill, often in hospital. But she never lost her acute sense of humour and irony. One time when mum was ill at home her friend, Harriet, came to visit. Harriet was distraught. She told my mum that she had been to a faith healer and paid for the healer to make my mum better. Harriet was distraught because she realized when she arrived at our apartment that she had given the faith healer the number of the apartment next door. Mum reacted to Harriet’s distress at the possibility of having wasted her time and money by laughing hysterically. Mum didn’t believe in faith healers and the thought that her friend did and was so upset over the mistake was too much for her and she laughed and laughed. And then she felt much better. Go figure!