One day recently a friend posted a photograph on Facebook that showed the way it used to be, back in the olden days of Easter fashion.
The photograph could have been taken from my own family photo album. In this particular moment in time, three young girls, maybe around Grade One age, were dressed up and ready to head to church on Easter Sunday.
These youngsters had on what appeared to be new spring time dresses, with spring coats, their feet covered with one-roll socks and stuffed into brand new oxfords, flowery hats on the tiny heads. And purses over their bent arms, carried just like their mothers and grandmothers carried their own purses.
The caption on the photo asked: “Does this bring back memories?” Of course the answer was “yes.” In fact, I had just been going through some of the boxes of photos in the closet, and saw for myself what I, as a child, wore on Easter Sunday.
In this particular photo, I looked prim and proper, standing there in the yard where I had likely been told to stay put, not to get my clothes and shoes dirty, for there in the yard was a sandbox, a three-wheeled tricycle, some small chairs and a table where great tea parties were often held. There was temptation at every glance, but from recollections I knew my Mother would not have been amused if one speck of dust settled on my new outfit.
That outfit, if I recall, was a dusty-orange (black and white photos don’t provide those colour-related details.) It included a double-breasted coat with puffy shoulders and trim that was matched on the sleeves. The skirt was flared and the collar was buttoned right to the choking point. My exterior ensemble was topped off with a hat with matching detailing on the brim. I had my hands folded neatly at the waist. It appears I was wearing brown shoes with leggings instead of rolled white socks. Under the coat was a spiffy top and skirt in lighter tones, made by the in-house seamstress from material stored in mothballs in the trunk.
No doubt about it — I was ready to march proudly into the school house where Sunday services were held. In my pocket would have been a clean Kleenex and a dime to put into the collection plate.
In another Easter-related photo I am wearing a flowered dress with puffed sleeves trimmed with ribbons. Again I wore those horrid leotards on my legs with brown oxfords. Atop my head it appears I am wearing my mother’s gardening hat but I had a huge smile on my face so maybe the hat wasn’t from the garden.
The photo box also yielded a third photo that might have been from a long-ago Easter. Again I have on a spring dress but this time I have on white socks with the required single roll-down, brown shoes and no hat. There’s a tiny purse on the ground beside me as I hold up a plaque reading “May the Lord bless you and love you.” I cannot recall the significance of the plaque nor where it might have ended up after all the years that have gone by.
Fast forward to the present day and I wonder what children in this decade will be wearing to Easter Sunday services. I will find out by standing at our kitchen window watching the congregation enter the church across the street.
Certainly they won’t be singing about their Easter bonnet with all the frills upon it. And I’m positive no one will be wearing their Mother’s gardening hat.
Joyce Walter can be reached at a ronjoy@sasktel.net
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect the position of this publication.
