One Ugly Baby

I know what you're thinking, and I agree.  How could anyone, say that a baby is ugly?  I would never in a million years call a baby ugly, except... that I came across an old photo that was emailed to me... of me, I'm guessing that I'm aged under one year.  I look like a cross, fat, balding old man, and it makes me laugh.  Sister, friend and constant supporter B, is holding me, in the passenger seat of a stationery car and Jack, my father, is in the driving seat, looking on, hands on steering wheel pretending to drive, and I think I can spy a cigarette in his right hand, although I heard he was ambidextrous, which am I, to a certain extent.

My cousin Lyn once told me that I was; the most beautiful baby she'd ever seen.  These are words spoken by a) someone who loves you and b) someone who clearly hadn't seen many babies at this point.  I'm sure even Jack the Ripper was loved by someone, at some point.

I can't help but look at that baby in amazement.  Never in a million years, would I have guessed that ugly baby's story so far.

Joan of Arc

So finally, after much procrastination and many excuses, (no money for petrol, dodgy car, no free day, working overtime etc,) I finally rolled up at my cousins for a lovely afternoon and evening.  A few months back, we'd had a conversation, she had unearthed her wedding dress, (I think I was aged one at the time of the wedding,) and I told her that I'd love to see the real thing and for heavens sakes, don't do anything with it for now, (just in case she was in charity shop mode.)

So after I'd landed and we'd had lunch and chatted, L disappears and comes back with a black bin bag filled with white crumples.  The wedding dress conversation was long gone from my memory and I thought she was bringing out a continental quilt for some reason, loosely tied to the fact that she's just got a new bed.  L gently draws out the white crumpled mass and it unfurls into a slightly creased, but beautiful wedding dress.

The design is called "Joan of Arc."  High, lace trimmed neckline, the lace, about 1.5 inches wide forms a mandarin collar and comes down from the centre of the neckline, all the way down to the hem, a horizontal lace trim of equal width, encircles just underneath the bust, kind of empire line, the lace of course makes the shape of a cross.  The dress itself is a very heavy satin, white, with tiny ridges, I forget the name though.  It's beautiful, and doll like, my cousin was and still is, tiny.  I proclaim that it's vintage, 'you could sell this.' I offer, 'not that you should, but you could.'  'Who'd buy this?' L asks, the answer to that is loads of people, it's a classic design, it's elegant, and if you're 4ft 11", it would be perfect for someones big day.  But it's not for sale, because I said so.

I must add that the under slip was also in the bag, it is a white silk, full length, pretty shapeless undergarment, but safety pinned to the hem, is a tiny, blue bow, which I delightfully found.  'Look at this!' I gleefully exclaimed. 'Who gave you this?'  'Probably your Mum.' In an instant, I knew that it was Mum, it had Mum, all over it, that was the type of thing she would think of.  That bow had hardly seen the light of day for forty years, and yet here it was, a perfect and tiny, lucky blue bow... complete with safety pin.