Summer of 63,Kings Road designing at Kiki Byrne

Quinton Crisp

Serge Matta's reference

 February  1963

 I  could not take my eyes off the man sitting opposite me . His  bouffant  hair was  dyed a vivid lavender,black Kohl outlined his  eyes and his lips had the remnants of  faded orange lipstick. It was not a pretty sight . I presumed he was an actor. I was so engrossed  that I nearly missed the stop for Sloane Square.I panicked,picked up my folio  and rushed to the door. He  pushed  past me, his arms at right angles to his waist, his hands gesticulating  angrily, clicking his tongue in annoyance as   my  art folio slid along the platform, the sketches flying everywhere.  A slight  embarrassed  smile flickered across his face as he bowed his head apologetically  seeing me on all fours scrambling to pick up the papers. I just about managed to salvage most of them and wished goodbye to the ones that followed the train down the tunnel.  It was not a great introduction to Chelsea. Thank God I had safely stored Serge Matta's reference in my bag  which I had bought at great expense in Paris just before I left. It was like a Victorian doctors bag.

Serge had kindly contacted Bruno Martinez to show me the ropes in Chelsea. Bruno was well connected and we had already met up in Paris during a fashion shoot. He  was a photographer and traveller.   We had arranged to meet in The Chelsea Kitchen in the Kings Road at mid day. I recognised him straight away puffing as usual on his Gauloise cigarette and camera slung haphazardly over his shoulder. After a few pleasantries we settled down to business. We both had a limited amount of time .  
  "In the Kings road you have two choices Kiki Byrne or Mary Quant  both almost next door to each other, don't bother with the rag trade. You will not survive it and they will hate you .  It's all happening in these two shops. I know that Kiki Byrne is looking for a designer, her talented  assistant/designer  has left. You might stand a chance. However do not mention them to each other , there is history , I warn you. Kiki worked for Quant before starting up her own shop just doors away of course it did not go down too well with the other side .  There are similarities however  Quant is an original whereas  Kiki is an elegant minimalist /stylist and revered  by her loyal clientele.   If you go to Quant you might end up making tea, she's hands on, a great designer but its all hers. "

"Oh Serge tried that tea business the first day I arrived at Maggy Rouff .  He took full advantage of my being "English " or so he thought "an English girl and tea brilliant " However I make appalling tea, my mother being American always made coffee and anyway I was banned from the kitchen at home.   I never drink  tea, it tastes like dust. He asked me once and never again. It had to be the best most expensive Earl Grey tea that I had been instructed to buy in a very smart shop just round the corner from Avenue Marceau. Stupidly   I put  the tea leaves in the tea pot after it was filled with water which probably had not boiled .   The tea leaves just floated to the  top and that's where they remained .  He was  furious, especially as he was entertaining a client who he wanted to impress. .  He never asked me again to make tea . Mind you it was an early lesson in life ....within reason never do a menial job well if you have no intention of continuing it. I had no desire to be either a tea girl or a girl Friday.My passion was to be designer ."

 Bruno looked disapproving "Not really the right attitude in London.Just because you have finished  4 years at  art school and just arrived from Paris.......  "he faded off "On the other hand you have a point.  That Paris thing ...work on it, push it. Impress them and name drop like hell. If Nicki is there it will impress him !But be careful the fashion business is full of invisible daggers ..never expose your back."
I went from feeling like  a scalded child to an experienced prima donna with just a little bit of fear.


"Well I'll try Kiki Byrne first. Too shy to name drop ...unlike you Bruno but I have Serge's reference, that,s good enough.  This crazy man with lavender hair and made up to the hilts nearly  knocked me over  at Sloane Square. My folio went flying, some of the  sketches are marked, some I lost."
"Oh that will be Quinton Crisp. He's always mooching around Sloane Square. Dear Quinton as queer as a coot but quite harmless. "
" Really ." The most useful word in the dictionary.  I hoped  I sounded convincing as I had not got a clue who he was  or what he was talking about."queer as a coot" what in the hell did that mean?
" Kiki's  studio is just round the corner  behind Peter Jones , I'll show  you but I can't wait around . "
Bruno left me outside what looked like a garage with a reception room attached.
"Remember my advise La Verne."with that he was gone, his long army coat draped around his shoulders as he ran down the street .
There was an elegant  woman sat at a large  desk. I nervously  gave her my name and  asked if I could speak to Kiki Byrne concerning a design job .
She must have seen how nervous I was, smiling she picked up the phone . "I'll ring her at the shop , It's just down the Kings  Road. You might catch her. Make yourself at home. Here have a chocolate.  "
I politely refused. The last thing I wanted was my lips to be covered in chocolate whilst I was trying to impress. 
I was in luck Kiki had agreed to meet me at the shop . I raced past Bazaar , Mary Quants shop and there on the corner was Kiki's shop .It smacked of quirky elegance. It was a large spacious boutique.  A fish pond was centre stage in the shop.I scanned the clothes on the rails. They  were simple, almost  minimalist,  shift dresses  in safe elegant colours, black , navy and white.
 
 I was introduced to Kiki and her ex husband Niki Byrne.Kiki was tiny but  beautifully proportioned . Her  jet black hair was cut in a Vidal Sassoon bob. She had a slightly oriental look, not exactly beautiful but stylish, a face that lingered in your memory long after her departure. Her  husky voice had the traces of an American  accent.It was immediately obvious that she did not suffer fools lightly.  Her attire was simple and  understated.  Nicki  had a racing car business in fact if it was not for his cultured accent one would take him for a slippery  wide boy. Other times he was an atrocious snob always trying to impress. It was obvious from the beginning that they were no longer an item.  Frequent barbed comments confirmed this .   They flicked through my folio. I of course could not help noticing the black stains from the accident .  As soon as I said that I had worked in Paris Couture and showed them Serge's reference  their eyes lit up. Bruno was right .After a brief discussion I was offered the design job . I started the  following week .  As far as I remember I was paid £20 a week or thereabout. I never got round to visiting Bazaar that day ... or indeed any day whilst I was working with Kiki I did not dare. I had been warned .

 for Life Magazine whose caption read; 'Young designers clamber on Chelsea Embankment. First row from left to right: Mary Quant, 29, and her husband Alexander Plunket Greene, mustachioed Kenneth Sweet, 34. Behind are Jean Muir, 29, of Jane and Jane, Gerald McCann, 29, Kiki Byrne, 26, and David Sassoon, 29. Hanging from lamp-post Sally Tuffin, 25, Marion Foale, 24 and milliner James Wedge.'Photo by Parkinson

kiki byrne dress1963

My priority was to find  somewhere to live. After several disastrous addresses around Chelsea. I was thrown out of one for allowing an overnight "guest" my long standing boyfriend and the other of being a slut in the shared kitchen/bathroom.Yes it had a bath in the kitchen, really hygienic , I left an unwashed  cup on the draining board, disaster!    Eventually I managed to  find a room in Walpole Street just off the Kings Road.  It was a large, light  attic room  with  no kitchen facilities and a shared bathroom . When I say shared I mean it was shared by all the tenants in the house and a pay telephone in the hallway . There was one lavatory in the hall which was shared by everyone .I therefor installed a bucket in the room for emergencies .   It was £3 a week paid in advance, no deposit . Kay the  housekeeper,  interviewed me , a rather humourless  thin plain woman. There was no mention of  the  banning of   visitors male or female   which sounded promising . In the early 60,s   before anything was  arranged you were told in no uncertain terms that visitors were forbidden of the opposite sex  and definitely no overnight visitors .  You were also asked for key money which was not returnable which could be anything from £5 /£200. Rackman had not arrived in Chelsea but he had influenced the landlords. I was making arrangements to move in when I saw what I thought was a gentleman approach.  He was wearing a tweed jacket and corduroy trousers.
 It was only when "he" said "Kay darling , do introduce me to our new tenant " that I realised that he was a she and they were obviously a couple which they had no intention of hiding. Her name was Dounna. "If you are lucky you might even see Princess Margaret  ...she visits  quite frequently next door."(I never saw her )
I was allowed to decorate my room in any manner I wanted. It took me two days  to paint the room a sienna orange and cork one of the walls for a pin board .I loved living there . They were charming people. Not having a kitchen was not really a problem I eat mostly in the Chelsea Kitchen or the Chelsea Potter ,  or sometimes if I was invited I went to the Pheasantry, all  in the Kings Road. In fact there was a huge choice of eateries but of course I was governed by my purse .  The food was reasonable and  in pleasant surroundings.   They were all  frequented by the Chelsea set . The Kings road trail for Saturday tourists was trickling through but it was not at its height that would be another two years at least away when Granny takes a Trip and Hung on you the Chelsea Antique Market  arrived . Hippies tripping over their beautiful 1930,s chiffon dresses and flowers perched seductively in the hair  and silly bells tinkling round their neck ,or weekend dollies with there short mini skirts barely covering their underwear ,  as they flirted with the Ferrari's, AC cobras , Rolls Royce's , Bentley's, E types  and of course the  famous Mini that slowly cruised up the Kings road looking for talent. I will blog about this later ...my favourite period . 

One day  Donna and Kay  invited me to a club in Brammerton Street just off the kings Road  which I had never heard of ."Everyone knows The Gateways !" Kay said in horror at my ignorance.  "We'll meet you there. Just mention my name at the door. " I decided to invite my new boyfriend David  it was to be our first date. He was rather a straight architect . I had been introduced to him by an up and coming architect Peter Cook who was  at art school  with me .   Kay and Donna  duly met us at the door . It was obvious from the beginning that I had made a disastrous mistake . "Why did you bring him ?" she hissed in my ear. "well I suppose they will let him in, they don't encourage it .I'll have a word with Gina ." I was bemused as I thought that David was quite respectable .  We clambered down the dark staircase  to the basement. As soon as the door opened  the cigarette  smoke hit me.It almost blinded me and then I saw exactly what she meant. I witnessed girls dancing cheek to cheek, some embracing with an enthusiastic passion. I realised that the  Gateways was a lesbian club. I had bought my new boyfriend to a lesbian club on my first date how cool is that! David raised his eyebrows stifling a nervous giggle. He could hardly contain himself  when this rather butch lady immediately asked me to dance. I looked at Kay for assistance  but she silently lifted her finger pointing to the dance floor meaning I had to go. I was absolutely terrified. Remember that I was a young country girl  just starting out , not sophisticated , and I had never witnessed homosexuality in the raw . In 1963 it was still illegal. In Paris of course I was aware of homosexuals but I had never attended  a homosexual club.   I am sure if Craig Ravel Horward of Strictly Come Dancing fame   was judging me at the time he would say " Daaaahling! deeeesaaaster ! body language so frigid one would think she was a leper " Of course I wasn't homophobic I was just inexperienced and naive. I soon adapted to the situation and took in the atmosphere .

gateways club Brammerton Street Chelsea

girls dancing in the Gateways

I saw the women some elegantly dressed in exquisite male  lounge suits as they propped themselves up at the bar, a cigarette seductively burning in their hands, as they scanned the smokey atmosphere for talent . Lounge Lizards they certainly were. It set bells ringing in my creative mind. I wanted to design androgynous  collection but I knew that I would need an excellent tailor. It had to be perfectly tailored.
My first day at the studio,behind Peter Jones  was mind blowing.  Niki Byrne introduced me to a terrifyingly grand girl who was Kiki's loyal secretary  "  Let me introduce you to   Serena Fass , she was one of the last debutantes who was  presented to the Queen  and hobnobs with the  Indian  maharajahs  , so be careful. "   he proudly announced.
I wasn't sure whether to curtsy or laugh... was it a joke or was he really serious ....he was serious and no I did not curtsy .  I was just  a suburban  innocent in Chelsea taking it all in. At that time I doubt if I even knew what a debutant was. The studio was teaming with Sloanes , one almost had to have a pedigree to work there. I'm sure they only took me on because I had worked in Haute Couture in Paris .
  I was  sat at my table sketching away, when a young woman poked her head round the door , she seemed familiar but I could not place her.
 "Must have a pee .....fuck !" she almost shouted as she raced through . "Is Kiki in ?" I could not believe my ears , this way of communicating was completely alien to me.
"Who is she I mouthed to Serena? "
"Sara Miles ...she has just made a film   the Servant, its showing now ,very successful.Pinter wrote the script.  Kiki makes lots of clothes for her. " she replied nonchalantly when she was out of ear shot.Her voice was not dissimilar to a rather bored Sergeant major. She terrified me in the beginning.
Kiki Byrne's business appeared to run on celebrities.   Georgia Browne (singer) , Lionel Bart
(musicals ), Grace Coddington Model turned fashion journalist)  Marit Allen and  Clare  Rendlesham(fashion journalist) , Kay Kendal (Actress) Rex Harrison(actor) ,Noel Harrison(singer and son of Rex Harrison) Susanna York(Actress) , Samantha Eggar , Sara Miles /James Fox (actors romantically linked )  The list goes on for ever but one couple  stands out amongst them all who epitomized the decadent 60,s and that was Christine Keeler and Mandy Rice Davies . Christine Keeler was  the one customer that Kiki wished to do without "I don't want that fucking whore wearing my clothes in court " she screamed on the day of the trial.However on one of her appearances she did indeed wear one of her dresses

 Mandy Rise Davis and Christine Keeler going to court

 Life was like that at Kiki Byrne ...lots of sketching...not a lot of manufacturing, total chaos , the air was often blue with swearing , and a lot of celebrities passing through the door demanding far too much  for often too little . One day I arrived at the shop to find the pond flooded and the  goldfish dead  on the carpet ..no doubt some party went on.There was always a threat of illegal drug taking but I certainly did not witness any of it .     However the shop,  usually looked immaculate  the styling elegant and that is why KIKI  became a legend in the Kings Road  and attracted the "IN Crowd "

  In many ways her approach to designing was not dissimilar to Serge Matta, however I have to say sometimes her lack of design detail became monotonous. There were only so many shift dresses that customers would buy. Of course there were some suits but she was mostly known for her simple shift dresses ,even Barbara Hulanicki commented on them .   The cloths she used were of the highest quality , wool crepes , garigue tweeds woven cottons all simply cut with just a minor detail , a crochet collar or a frilled sleeve a Mongolian fur collar, beautiful pearl button or stylish covered buttons. Her detailing was faultless indeed it was her signature.   Perhaps one of her most stunning dresses was a white  heavy cotton lace shift . 
 Her cutter  was my least favourite person and we definitely did not get on .    It is rather unfair to compare  her cutter  to the Parisian tailors and cutters, they were from the old school of tailoring moulding a suit into shape with their clever hands  toiling and cutting like a true artists which they were of course .  It is an impression that has never left me. The relationship between cutter a/tailor /machinist and the designer is of the utmost importance. They have to respect each other and communicate on a design level . It's almost like a  sexless marriage .   If there is no bonding/communication,  like a  marriage, divorce is the only answer. Bullying is out of the question and destroys the design ethics.Sadly bullying is not uncommon in certain workrooms particularly between a new  designer and an established  cutter and it can work both ways . I have seen designers resorted to tears through the behaviour of workroom staff and visa versa. In Paris there was utmost respect for both workrooms and designers. We worked together as a loyal family.   Now I realise that if you are new to the company it has to be a slow seduction to get them on your side even if it is through gritted teeth. I was too inexperienced to deal with it.

The name Brown John (BJ) cropped up time and time again. He rarely visited the shop, however when he did he had a charisma that was unmissable.  He was Kiki's lover but there was a serious drug problem (heroin) with this amazingly talented man . He designed the titles for From Russia With Love and Gold finger , a much respected graphic designer who was revered by everyone involved in graphics.   It must have been a traumatic time for Kiki even though she said casually in various interviews "Well you could get heroin on the national health then . " It is never easy to live with a drug addict, the mood swings and the paranoia . I am sure that to a certain extent his activity affected her running of the shop.  They were an exotic couple , two amazingly talented people who reached the top and eventually lost it all. B.J died in 1970 ravaged by his drug use . 

 1963  early summer. A new  financial manager appeared on the scene, his name escapes me.He was involved with  The Apron Strings , a private gaming club in the Fulham Road  a favoured haunt of English nobility and their ladies.  It was obvious that there were financial problems  but it was quite obvious that the new manager was not the answer, it certainly did not save the day.  Eventually the shop was acquired by Jaeger. I had been given notice to quit that day . I was sad to see a talented designer lose her livelihood , however I knew that it was inevitable. I actually felt that I was wasted there .   A retail business is time consuming allows little freedom and absorbs huge amounts of cash.

I was sitting in my attic feeling worried and depressed  when I heard Kay's voice  shout up at me ,"Larrrverne telooophone."

It was Betty Boyd "LaVerne... Jaeger were here today. One of the directors saw your sketches on the wall and they were very impressed . They want to meet you as soon as Possible . You have to make an appointment to see Geoffrey Gilbert. He's the Managing Director ."

I could not believe what I was hearing . All those sketches that I had drawn week after week were going to some use after all.
"Are you sure ?"
"yes ! he saw the sketches of your trouser suits and those op art shift dresses  and asked me who drew them . I gave a brief history about you. They want to meet you . Ring them straight away . I've got the job of managing the Kings Road shop. We would love to have you on board . "

"I hope the cutter is not coming as well . I could not work with him , the pathetic sycophant. As soon as Kiki is around he is as nice as pie and when she,s away he behaves like shit .Can't even cut a piece of cake. What about Kiki ? "

"Definitely not La Verne. now forget him !  They have there own tailors. They want a young trendy designer .... they really are interested  . Now ring them. OH and  Kiki is out of the picture .  "
Even I was surprised to find myself at Chenies Street , the huge offices of Jaeger  . I took the lift to the first floor or was it the third I no longer remember.I wandered round the corridors looking for the managing directors office . A man was prancing up and down in the corridor  wearing what looked like a red padded  boiler  suit .  He was doing knee bends .
"What do you think of this ?" he said he said pointing to his padded red suit ."
 I actually thought he looked like a fat father Christmas. I just smiled, a little flustered .
"Sorry,I.m in a rush .  I have an appointment with Geoffrey Gilbert. "
"Oh I'll take you there ."
"Thank you."
 "Do you sail." he said pulling at his boiler suit ."I'm checking this out for Cowes week ."
"Yes ! " I exaggerated . In actual fact I sailed with Nigel Bamfoth and it was his boat but I could not manage it on my own .
We arrived at the office . I began to feel uncomfortable. He still hovered around me in the office and there was no sign of Geoffrey Gilbert.
"Where do you sail ?"
"Pool harbour....Sorry but I really must observe my appointment with Geoffrey Gilbert "
"Great we like sailors , Vernon Stratton, our advertising genius , represented England. Sailed a Finn. He has his old boat moored at Pool . What do you sail ?"
"A graduate ...I really ..."
 " Now sit yourself down I am Geoffrey Gilbert and you must beLa Verne Preston. Can't bare that name, we will have to change that."
I thought that I had walked into a mad house it was the strangest interview I had ever had.
"They called me Lybalule in Paris." I said helpfully .
"Right that does it . I shall call you Lee. Does that suit you ."
I nodded my head and smiled shyly . Although he was the craziest managing director I had ever met, I liked the man , we got on well. Infact I always liked him .
" I want you to meet Bob Schulz he is the Young Jaeger designer. You will be working together.  Now when can you start."
"Immediately . "
"O.K I'll just call him in."
Bob appeared in the office. After my introduction which was extremely frosty on Bob,s side. Bob  left and never returned to Jaeger. Young Jaeger was his baby and he had no intention of sharing it .  He was a brilliant designer and actually deserved far better treatment . He was the one that actually put Young Jaeger together, after Jean Muir left , at the very beginning designing a clever young and trendy range away from the classic knitwear/jersey wear  and tweeds of the Old Jaeger look.   However history had  only repeated itself for when Jean Muir came up with the name Young Jaeger in 6o's she expected to design the whole range herself .  She immediately left when Bob Shultz was employed to assist her. I note in the   archives that Bob Shultz has been airbrushed out of Jaeger  which is grossly unfair and indeed untrue. It is strange how history repeats itself.
I  bumped into Bob Schulz in Sloane Street a few days later . I actually apologised about the situation . He gave me some use full advise"never take things for granted, Jaeger is full of surprises,be prepared and be carefull of your back. He wants complete control .........."I heard the echo of  Bruno's voice and it made me shiver. 
"Who?"I asked
"Wait and see ....it won't be long before you find out . " 
 I was given the job of the  Young Jaeger designer aged 21 years old . Little did I know but I would be treated in the same way two years hence . History has habit of repeating itself . My next blog will be about my time with Jaeger and the meeting with Radio Caroline.
NB Bob Shultz died in 2008 RIP

Bournemouth to Paris Couture

 Bournemouth Art School  fashion show the garment I intended wearing in Paris

a very suburban audience ..probably our parents

dis I really write or visit all these people ..very industrious

I was flicking through my chaotic filing system when I came across a small brown leather address book and suddenly I am whisked back to the early 60's. Pages are full of addresses that I either visited in Paris or wrote to but I don't remember ever receiving a reply except one from Chanel of all people (well one of her minions) who snootily replied that Mme Chanel was the only designer. I was devastated but still determined. On finishing a 4 year  course in fashion and weaving at Bournemouth   Art School  in 1961, I just gathered myself together  picked up my folio and went to Paris armed with my small address book. I was reasonably fluent in French as my dear Parents had the wisdom of sending me to a french family from the age of 14 to learn French , well that is obvious after all they would not send me to France to learn Chinese .  From the early days in Art school I was determined to  work for a French couture house . I even designed my last garments around the interview so I was ready to go as soon as the term finished . I stayed in Viry Chatillon with my old family however they were sad days as M. Huin was very ill with cancer.
However on arriving in Paris I soon realised that people did not walk around wearing rather chic hats nor did they wear gloves with every garment . (look at top photo )in fact compared to Bournemouth I thought they looked rather ordinary. Bournemouth was very chic in the late  50,s . I therefor had to rethink my wardrobe ...the hat was discarded and so were the gloves but I kept my beautifull coat made from Garigue wool and my stiletto shoesthat I had purchased in Greek Street. Believe it or not we were trained to wear hats and gloves  for  interviews in England. 
Then disaster struck , I developed a tummy upset . The toilet facilities in my French house were not ideal, slightly up from a hole in the ground and the perfume was not enhancing.  I therefor had to plan my interviews with the utmost dexterity.I nearly had a disaster in Carvel where they kept me waiting for  over half an hour . In the end I just had to escape. Strangely years later I did a small freelance collection for them but I never disclosed my first meeting.... too much information of course !

Bernard Sagardoy

 Eventually I was offered a position with Bernard Sagardoy a small couture House that I had never heard of. I hated it . I was taking the place of an American boy who had been involved in some type of accident .  M. Sagardoy  offered me a maids room just off the Champs Elysee, which I did not mind , however it had no locks on thew door and I felt extremely vulnerable . I had to stay in the freezing cold van when he was showing his boring collection at some hotel whilst they all were wined and dined . It was mid winter and one of the coldest on record .   Not only did he offer the maids room but he treated me exactly like a maid showing me disdain especially after he invited me to tea and I turned up with two friends. Seeing I was with someone and not alone I was shown the door (no Tea) and his obvious fury did not go unnoticed.  I guess it makes a change from being shown the etchings . The next day I was given my marching orders and the American boy was sat at my table again ..obviously recovered .  I was relieved to leave , it was old, sad and had obviously seen better days . I did not see haute couture and nothing like the wonderful picture on my blog. He was more like a suburban dress maker. The ateliers were dark , dusty and dismal.   Well I was out on the street with no where to go except look for another job and somewhere to live . Going back to Viry Chatillon was impossible  Papa Huin was dying . However luckily I managed to find a room in a large ornate villa in  Bourge la Reine. It was owned by an elderly lady who was only too delighted to receive me as a tenant .

Charade Audrey Hepburn wearing Givenc

 My  luck changed, I was offered two interviews the next day , one with Givenchey and the other with Serge Matta at Maggy Rouff . Armed with my huge portfolio I at first attended Givenchey. Two elderly  men interviewed me. They were   very courteous and kind. It might have been Givenchey himself. I cannot say the interview inspired me  the salons were rather depressing lacking in  style. I was rather disappointed . Even in the early sixties it was obvious that couture was changing, every where I went they advised me to go into ready to wear ..it was going to happen , it was to be the next big thing couture was dead or dying and clients were few and far between but i would not listen . I had always dreamed of working in Couture . I had been offered many positions in ready to Wear but I turned them down. I was offered a position at Givenchey, as an apprentice. I said I would get back to them the next day to make arrangement etc But secretly I wanted to meet Serge Matta at Maggy Rouff before I made my decision. I wanted excitement , I wanted to feel the Adrenalin of the making of a collection and being in the company of two old men did not actually inspire me .       

the beautiful Serge Matta

vintage Maggy Rouff

1961 Serge Matta I can remember this dress being fitted

Of course you have guessed .  On meeting Serge Matta, I felt as though we were on the same wave band. He hooted when I said that Givenchey had offered me a job."You want to work in a Morgue, Lybalule( his nick name for me .) Fashion is changing couture has to be in line with the people now not pre war . Pret a porter is going to be big , You wait and see . "  I turned down the Givenchey job for the handsome Chilean designer Serge Matta, a trained architect who had designed for Schiaperelli and Jacques Fath before joining Maggy Rouff. He was the brother of the famous painter Roberto Matta . What healthy young girl would even think about it .  The salon was in the Avenue Marceau ... place D'Alma more known now for HRH Princess Diana accident .  The salon had an altogether younger appeal . There were  two   studios  which  were  bright and airy. Serge handled the couture side  and someone else handled the ready to wear. I did not have a work permit  so I had to keep a low profile.  Serge paid me from his own pocket about £15 per week (it was 1961 )  It sounds an extraordinary little amount however I do not remember being broke . He had an elderly secretary( I cannot remember her name ) who obviously completely disapproved of his life style. She could only remember the "good old days when she was the assistant of  Maggy Rouff (Marguerite  Besancon de  Wagner ) This was a bone of contention for Serge but he just used to raise his eyebrows and ignore her comments. Another exciting element to my job were the mannequins or models as we now call them . They were a certain breed , outrageous amusing and full of scandal/ My ears and eyes were always open waiting for the next outrageous instalment.  Jaqueline had worked for Chanel and said she was an absolute nightmare.There was another  designer Gerard Blaize who eventually went to work for Lanvin  and married one of the models .  I do not remember any bitchiness within the studio everyone was like a happy family .
However most important is the influence that Serge Matta had over me . He opened my eyes to architecture , the fine simple lines of design and the importance of a really good cut . I left after about 4 months but I do not regret one moment.  Serge left not long after . Sadly Maggy Rouff closed down in 1970's. It had been one of the leading couture houses in Paris  and one of the first houses to realise the importance of ready to wear.

The fashion revolution began in the early 60's. In England    youth, music and fashion   was about to take on the world and to a certain extent they succeeded until materialism reared its greedy head . They say that the 50's was the last period of innocence,there was hope , the war had ended and designers responded to that era There was a future an exciting future ahead.
Coming soon ................From Paris to the Kings Road Chelsea  the 60,s revolution...
Markets opened selling amazing vintage clothes and  the Kings road was happening .



     

They say that dogs do not have souls!

 photograph from the chimney taken in 1989 yes he did eat the chair back !!!!

Rex in my bicycle basket on the seafront in West St Leonards 2000

For 17 years Rex was my loyal companion , a typical Jack Russel . He came every where with me, we were "an item. " I bought him unseen  as a 5 month  puppy. I know it was a risk.  The previous owners had split up and a puppy was too much for either party to handle. He arrived in style in a taxi from Eastbourne secured in a cat basket. It was love at first sight  even my cats loved him. From that moment he was my protector , guarding me with a  passion that could at times be rather trying to my friends. He  herded my friends, which meant throwing himself at the door if anyone wanted to leave and the word "goodbye" provoked anguished barking. Maybe he remembered being rejected by his previous owners. Often I would be chatting away to a stranger on a train journey and he would angelically be sat on my lap listening intently .  I would always warn people not to say "goodbye" on leaving however of course they forgot and he would throw himself at the window barking furiously as they left. The look of complete astonishment as they walked along the platform only added to my embarrassment. Rex was a character. His adventures were mind boggling to the extreme . He once held up the train at Warrior Square by walking on the line . He had escaped  by  the cat flap and raced to the train station expecting me to descend from the train as usual. Apparently when he saw the train leave without me  , he followed it through the tunnel . The ticket collector recognised Rex and I was contacted . We expected the worse , however miraculously he was rescued , survived  and appeared in the local news paper.  Another time he escaped from the house and the dog sitter  whilst I was in London and raced to my shop in Norman Road, where he expected to find me,  only to find the shop closed. Witnesses saw a young girl pick him ...he was stolen . He disappeared for a month. We advertised , in the newspaper and the radio and every vet had been contacted .  No one knows exactly what happened but obviously he managed to escape as a month later a builder found him limping badly at the top of my road desperately trying to make it to the house . He had been run over and badly hurt.  The builder took him to the vet . It was the vet who contacted me . Again he survived .  The joy of being reunited  will stay with me for ever . The cat flap was sealed up and Rex never left my side. Our walks along the seafront sometimes as far as Pevensey and back (over ten miles )were perhaps the most memorable .Then one day, many years later ,  Rex refused to leave the  flat where we now lived. He no longer jumped up excitedly at the sight of the lead . He suddenly became an elderly dog, the fur turned grey, the alert  eyes dulled and I knew that time was running out.
Rex died  aged  17 1/2 in my arms and I wept buckets. I thought that he had left me for ever . I never replaced Rex with another dog, he was irreplaceable. However I talk to all the dogs in the area and a little bit of Rex joins me as memories subliminally flash like a Victorian flicker bookof our times together.
It must have been a year later. It was  late Spring.  I was sitting in the large sitting room that looks out to the park. It was  late evening ,the windows were rattling with the howling gale that was causing havoc outside . I heard a crash and to my horror I saw my temporary plastic greenhouse taking off on the patio . The seedlings that I had cherished with such care from the propagator were scattered on the ground. It must have been at least twenty trays. I raced out dressed in a flimsy nightgown and tried to rescue as many trays as I could . It was an impossible task but I managed to salvage a few . The gale was tearing at my nightgown and the torrential rain running like a waterfall through my drenched body , my long hair streaked across my face blinding me making it completely impossible to continue especially as I live right on the seafront. If anyone saw me they would have just thought that I was completely mad. In the end I just gave up . I sat on the sofa and wept feeling really sorry for myself , a rather pathetic wreck . It is at times like this that I feel particularly alone .
I heard a fluttering in the  fireplace. I refused to look . It was the last thing I needed a baby seagull falling down the chimney . I've rescued a seagull( I will blog on it soon ).  its hard work and they can be very vicious when you pick them up . It kept on fluttering as I sobbed with self pity. Eventually I could stand it no more and my eyes settled on the fire place ...but it wasn't a seagull...it was a piece of paper fluttering up and down in an extraordinary manner . I walked over to the fire place to remove it . The noise was getting on my nerves . I picked it up and to my surprise it was a photograph of Rex,one of my favourite photographs, hardly damaged slightly covered in soot. It had disappeared from the mantlepiece  months ago . Obviously it had fallen to the ground and the drawer of the chimney had sucked it up  where it stayed lodged in the chimney breast for many months .The gale that night  had dislodged it . There he was at my side comforting me and telling me to pull myself together... OK folks think me mad but from that moment I felt better , strong capable and ready to fight and experience another day.  I've never been able to work  out why it was never burnt as I do use my fireplace  but of course many a treasure has been found in chimneys even babies shoes completely unscathed.   I still have the photograph and will of course treasure it .

jane Hardings art installation st Leonards

Jane Harding's installation on the Old bathing pool site in St Leonards  was an ethereal joy. I watched them as they fought with the wind to assemble it but even in the early stages one could see the form, feel the  beauty, a ballet set in the making .    It ran parallel to the cycle track along the sea shore echoing the waves that spat at the pebble beach . I live opposite to the old bathing pool site and strangely the entry bell  system  on my block of flats is broken. Tinkling, almost temple like music can be heard from the system at all times and   combined with  the white floating flags it  is  like a gentle  mourning for   Sidney Little's  Old bathing pool which was  flagrantly  destroyed by the council in 1986. White,  is the colour of mourning in many Asian countries. This installation was welcomed with open arms by locals and visitors and it certainly showed a more aesthetic way of treating the bathing pool site compared with the thirteen shipping containers that the council believe will enhance the bathing pool site. Platform have campaigned against the shipping containers. They want to enhanse the site with  the return of the bathing pool and a low maintenance sea garden where art installation can be installed. Their ideas can be seen on www.oldbathingpool.com.
Perhaps the most amusing comment was from one of my visitors on  arriving at my flat  she thought that travellers had taken over the site......... the previous night strong winds had whisked away most of the flags leaving what looked like a bedraggled line of washing  with a security man guarding it. You have to laugh.   However Jane and her team worked  until the early hours repairing and hanging the flags to perfection and once again the installation was an ethereal joy. Thank you Jane .       

Quinnell,s art in their St Leonards beach hut

The Quinnell's beach hut at West St Leonards exhibiting Peter,s boxes 

  Peter Quinnell and Clare Fletcher  are seasoned exhibitors for Coastal Currents  at their beach hut in West St Leonards. Their  bright turquoise hut with the metal corrugated roof is a favourite haunt for art lovers  with a sense of humour.
 In a strange way their hut reminds me of Alice and wonderland, crammed full of eccentric madness .  One almost expects  the rabbit to rush through with his time clock obsessed with his lateness  screaming "I'm late .I,m late.  Even Clare, her smile warmly greeting all visitors,  resembles  Alice with her enviously long plaits sitting on the bed drawing non stop  illustrations  that once ignited our imagination in the books of our childhood. Clare's work is of another generation , when gentle water colours and figurative drawings mirrored the story in the book and not a computer in sight. A brilliant illustrator.

These are not precious artists , they expect and rely on the sales of their work and they are proud of their work ethics . Not for them the elitist world of the hidden art gallery that you need a pedigree to enter . Peter Quinnell,s   boxes are almost box theatres full of humour a story within appealing to all ages. An obvious hoarder of memories that still haunt him  re Fonzie.  Even his attire is uninhibited but never vulgar , an eye for the unusual or even the obvious  , a greed for colour, he almost grabbed my fair isle sweater that I purchased years ago for £4 at St Michael's Hospice...but it stayed on my back even if it is slightly eaten by moth .A wonderful couple that bring to life the  creative energy of St Leonards. ......yes I know they live in The Old Town but they make a presence wherever they are .

    

I

the four poster bed

1994/5a peaceful read or am I dousing ?

1995  I have a mild OCD  condition which appears in times of stress . Sometimes it can work to my advantage other times it is  consuming and stressful. The Yes /No's are perhaps the most time consuming. I ask a line in a  newspaper , book ,or a line of bricks etc a question ,then add up the words on the appointed line with yes/no,s. For example will they ring today or Will the scan be OK  I then scan the line .If it lands on yes I sigh with relief if it lands on no I panic . Of course it is quite mad . Sometimes I douse a book , open a page and read the first line hoping to find a solution to my problems. Actually I suppose it is no different than I Ching.  IT started when I was very young walking home from school , I had to see a red car otherwise something really bad would happen. For years I kept it a secret and my poor mother had no idea what was wrong when I arrived home from school really distressed. Fortunately I have learnt to reason with myself and realise how futile it is and I no longer look for the red car,  however one completely mad  OCD remains. You can laugh ! If I leave my bed to use the loo I have to cross myself before re entering my bedroom just in case the devil is there  and I never flush the loo at night ... you've guessed of course it might swallow me up .  Quite mad I know ..of course he's not there but I'm not brave enough to take the risk. Other than that I guess I am quite normal if a little eccentric... I promise so continue reading.......some might not agree .
A healing experience

the 4 poster that we built together 

 When relationships come to an end for whatever reason it is of course painful. We were no exception.. impossible to live together and painful to be apart. It took extreme courage to walk away especially as I loved him. However he imprisoned ,stifled  me emotionally. I needed to be free. His unusual stylish persona and his cultured mellow   voice had always seduced me, allowed me to forgive, however his instability was at times both amusing and dangerous, depending on his moods . His paranoia destroyed any normality in his life and mine and indeed many of my friends. At times he was gentle , extremely creative ,intelligent, a joy to  be with. Other times a nightmare, like the time he jumped off the jetty fully clothed  and nearly drowned in  the swelling sea when he was feeling sorry for himself because he had nearly lost his driving  licence. He  could hardly swim and it was clearly obvious that he actually did not want to die .  I was nearly dragged into the sea myself trying to rescue him, hanging on to him for dear life and   when my hold let go screaming" swim! swim! swim! "  Safely on shore , his clothes torn and  dripping with seawater , he insisted on going for a meal in a rather smart restaurant until I managed to dissuade him. Of course he would have been deeply offended if he had been refused entry and that would have been another problem. Life was very problematic in his company. Other times he would hold court at beautifully chosen evening   picnic spots, stylishly lit with chandeliers hanging from trees and makeshift  tents, the food beautifully laid out and wine flowing.
  I don't remember the day he left, I have blanked it out of my mind. It was a few months  after I told him about my dream I had the previous night . We were sleeping in the four poster that we had recently  assembled together. I had pleated the canopy with his help . We loved that bed .  In my dream  I saw him hovering silently in the doorway , dressed head to toe in black .  His response  to the dream was one of silence as though he was contemplating. Eventually he responded calmly  and said" I know I am going to die. Ive always know that I would die young ." I tried to laugh it off ,it was just a dream after all, the last thing I wanted was to trigger his paranoia.
We eventually parted after four years together. He was 17 years younger than me although it rarely made any difference,not to me anyway .  It was devastating for both of us but we knew that it was for the best. Occasionally we slipped back together again but we both knew that we were playing with fire, it could only be transient. We both went our separate ways and formed other relationships.  It was not long before he moved in with another woman and I had to accept that it was over. We still saw each other until one day she rang me and forbade any further contact, however innocent it was. In a strange way I was relieved I needed that extra push. That  day I had a dental appointment .  I sat in the dentist chair whilst he drilled my tooth silent  tears were streaming down my face . The poor dentist kept apologising believing that it was his work that gave me pain. I eventually told him that it was the pain from my heart not the pain from my tooth. He gave an embarrassed giggle not quite knowing how to respond . Silent tears are the most painful for they are uncontrollable.
It was that week that I doused the book of women's poetry.  Will we ever go back together? I asked it and opened the page with total surprise at the title .
                                     Parable of the Four-Poster
Because she wants to touch him,
she moves away.
Because she wants to talk to him,
she keeps silent.
Because she wants to kiss him,
she turns away
& kisses a man she does not want to kiss.
He watches
thinking she does not want him.
He listens
hearing her silence.
He turns away
thinking her distant
& kisses a girl he does not want to kiss.
They marry each other--
a four-way mistake.
He goes to bed with his wife
thinking of her.
She goes to bed with her husband
thinking of him.
--& all this in a real old-fashioned four-poster bed.
Do they live unhappily ever after?
Of course.
Do they undo their mistakes ever?
Never.
Who is the victim here?
Love is the victim.
Who is the villain?
Love that never dies   Erica Jung

He took this photograph of street art and used it as his thank you letters IDC 1959/1996

The poem  calmed me , made me understand that although we loved each other , it was not to be . I could move on, I was free ..............and so was he . I thought of the four poster bed that we had assembled together. I have since moved from the flat that we shared together. The four poster regally stands in my bedroom , the original drapes , slightly dusty perfuming the room with poignant memories . I have searched high and low for the poetry book to no avail . It disappeared probably when I moved . Deborah cannot remember the title of the book and she gave it for my birthday.

    I would like to say that this essay has a happy ending but life unfortunately does not always deal positive cards . He died a year later of spinal cancer. My dream came true. He always knew that time was running out . I spoke to him a few weeks before he died on the telephone . He was bitter , angry and blamed me for the cancer although it saddened me it helped destroy some of the love that remained ...perhaps that is what he intended. I did not attend the funeral instead I walked along the jetty where he had thrown himself off  and threw the long stemmed buttercups into the sea, his favourite flower . until they disappeared from sight.

Stop Thief....ending a love affair with styleI

My eccentric dear friend Paddy(Irish of course )  comes to visit me in St Leonards once a year.We never fail to reminisce about the various adventures ...some quite dangerous .....and some touchingly naive that we have experienced together .  We are both Pisces  and therefore our relationship can become quite volatile indeed being two fishes swimming in opposite directions downright dangerous.  For a while he lived in my house in Peckham. At the time I was having a relationship with a racing driver who was obsessively in love ....not with me..... but with his damn car a zooped up Renault....not a particularly satisfying  for me ! Everyday it was polished , caressed , tuned and examined and yes I was jealous of A CAR .I received no such attention. Frequently I was told " can't tsee you tonight ...  Berty  needs attention (yes the car  even had a name ) or there's an important race tomorrow must get to bed early ....alone ." Eventually I of course exploded and the relationship ended. He was just leaving my house when He realised that he had mislaid his car keys . Panic ensued however all was not lost as a spare set of keys was at his garage which he ran as aside line . "I'll pick  Berty  up tonight ...won't disturb you pet " he said. God how I hated his words of so called affection
"Disturb , the whole street will hear the damn  car (I refused to call it Berty )It sounds like a Jet taking off . " I replied angrily.
"Yeh Yeh great isn't it " He said glowingly patting Berty's bonnet .
"Just go I screamed at him ...for ever and don't come back  !"
He nonchalantly left the house "Fine with me. Bye! Got someone lined up anyway . " and I never saw him again .Paddy had witnessed the whole episode with Tom.
There was a famous private  Dr in Harley Street that we( the fashion crowd in the 60's and 70's ) visited to stay reed thin . I always visited him after the ending of a love affair . He put you on high protein diet grape fruit juice and injected you often through your tights and gave you a prescription for more pills  and the weight just dropped off as well as leaving you on a high . What we didn't realise was that he was injecting you with a very high dose of  amphetamine.Some people became seriously  addicted and ended up in the Priory Clinic . Eventually the Dr was barred from practising and many lives were saved from addiction . I used him just to lose ten lbs and then I stopped going.
I was obsessively cleaning the kitchen at the time( no doubt the amphetamines were taking affect ) when I discovered a set of keys behind the washing machine . Paddy was with me at the time .
"Ever stolen a car Paddy ?"I asked nonchalantly the keys rattling in my hands.
"Of course not ....why ?"
"I have an idea ."
"Oh no. Not one of your mad ideas again and stop this obsessive cleaning, you've got a damn cleaner for God sake . "
"Look ...his keys , the car keys . " I said rattling the keys ."We could go over to his house , check him out to see if he is in . He usually goes to the pub around 7.30 to closing time  and never takes the car . "
"I am not, repeat not stealing a car ."
"I am not suggesting stealing the car ....just moving the car from A to B.  His home ........to the garage off the Old Kent Road , five minutes away. He will go berserk when he sees it has gone . Come on Paddy it's just a bit of fun , an adventure.  "
It did not take much convincing and Paddy's girlfriend at the time was very encouraging." Bonny and Clyde ! " she squealed .
"OK! synchronise watches . It's 4.30 now . Lets set off at 9.00. We'll be back here by 11 at least .
I rang Tom at 9.00 to make sure that he was out . I also checked out the pub surreptitiously to make sure that he was there. He was as usual propping up the bar regaling stories  about his various races .  He lived in a mews house just off the Old Kent Road and as usual the car was parked outside . He always boasted that no one could get away with stealing the car as it made such a racket so it was never alarmed . Stupid man .
We quickly got in the car all three of us ....... adrenaline pumping away. and took off . The roar of the engine was deafening and poor Paddy was not an experienced driver . Changing gear was a challenge and he was so terrified that he drove it at not more than 15 mile an hour along the Old Kent Road . It was a wonder that we weren't pulled over by the police .  WE pulled into his garage which was closed up for the night. The keys were put through the letterbox and my piece de resistance , a short note in the car . your keys are in the garage. Suggest you get an alarm .xxx
I heard on the grapevine that he found the whole episode highly amusing and took it very well .
Of course 30 years have passed and I often wonder what we would have said had the police pulled us over ...a lucky escape . Paddy has never forgiven me !