A Little Red Patent Bag

My sister Star walks proudly in front of her family, swinging her little red patent bag. It is her very first bag and she feels very important carrying it. Behind her walk our big sisters Blossom and Serena, our aunt with mum, and dad on the right. Our uncle is taking the photograph. What is dad carrying? Too small for a briefcase, perhaps it is a radio, that vintage one that used to sit in the kitchen of the family home and play the news and the easy-listening tunes of Melbourne’s 3AK.

It is the late 60s, shortly after my family immigrated to Australia from Yugoslavia. The family is walking along Princes Bridge, across the Yarra River. Possibly they had caught a train into the city and were going to visit the Botanic Gardens, for there is also a series of black and white photographs in the gardens.

There is something about red bags and shoes too, especially patent ones: they’re special.

A quick late-night phone interview with Star a few minutes ago elicits her to croon, “Oh, I loved that bag!” She doesn’t remember what happened to it. Star still loves red bags, and is always on the lookout for a vintage one in charity stores, but rarely comes across them. “Perhaps people hold onto them!” she suggests.

I don’t know if years later she instilled a love of red bags in me, but I also adore them – they always catch my eye. There is something about red bags and shoes too, especially patent ones: they’re special. No wonder Star felt important carrying hers on that long-ago bright autumn day.