An Eastern European Refugee

How gorgeous does my sister Blossom look in these photos? So youthful and carefree at 15 years of age. When I interviewed her on Father’s Day, she sighed over them. “Oh, to be that young again!”

Her boyfriend bought her this dress because she looked like a refugee from Eastern Europe with no nice clothes. (That’s because she actually was.) It came from a boutique in Oakleigh or Clayton, she says, as did most of her clothes: there were few chain stores back then. The red and white print dress is piped in black, and fondly she pointed out the peasant-style lacing on the bodice.

Her boyfriend bought her this dress because she looked like a refugee from Eastern Europe with no nice clothes.

Of course, to be fashionable back then a girl had to wear a mini. “Lucky you had the legs,” I say, imagining a host of women whose figures would be better served by a more modest hemline.

“There weren’t many really large teenagers back then,” Blossom answered.

She recalled a school friend once remonstrating her for her overly long uniform. Blossom’s response to this unjust criticism was that she couldn’t possibly show the tops of her suspender stockings! As an impecunious refugee, she hadn’t yet moved on to more modern pantyhose.  

I wonder what other delightful memories lurk in Blossom’s head?