Those Were the Days....

Thank God they are over! I am now writing the long awaited epistle on frilly skirts and repression also known as the Fifties.
Now the reader who remembers the repression but not the frilly skirts was wearing trousers at the time at least we think so unless he has something he wishes to share.I on the other hand was stuffed into nylon at every opportunity. Said nylon was always in the form of a dress or a skirt as only boys were allowed trousers. Girls had to be feminine which was a synonym for uncomfortable. We had layers of net petticoats under the wretched skirts that would imprint the back of one's legs with tiny squares that itched like mad. Of course ladies never scratched! This led me to be sneaky. I blame the Fifties for my sneakiness.
This naturally led directly to repression. The War was over. We were all happy. To say otherwise was not done. One was never angry or sad or envious of others. One had to be pleasant at all times. To ask about bodily functions was another no-no and coals of wrath were heaped upon one's head if one spoke up in an inquiring manner. I vividly remember asking about breast feeding at a family gathering where a newborn was present and was shot down in flames. I'm still a bit singed from that encounter!
To buttress all this misery we had the Church breathing down our necks. God was up there in the sky watching one's every move and it seemed in direct communication with one's Mother. Step out of line and the Priest was brought in to make sure one understood one's lowly lot.This led to a great deal of anxiety in all of one's dealings. Should one swipe that biccie or not. Hellfire was waiting!!
Dear me, no wonder all of us Fifties survivors need therapy. Our poor children! It could have been worse. We had the sixties to save our bacon but that's a blog and a half. Next time.