Opinion: Judging Stratford’s younger generations for doing exactly what we did
Returning to Stratford after 20 years away has made me realise just what a miserable old harridan I’m becoming. I’m only 46 and yet am displaying all the behaviour of someone who, in olden times, would have been put in the stocks on Henley Street next to that bloke who dresses as a knight and winks at passing ladies.
I grew up in Stratford, attending Shottery St Andrew’s Primary School, Stratford Girls’ Grammar School and then Mid-Warwickshire College. It was recent observations on the middle of these educational establishments that first had me realising I was turning into a battle-axe.
In the summer of 1990, I was driven by my parents to a street in Solihull where they spent an extortionate amount of money on my new school uniform. My purple uniform. My very purple uniform complete with sky blue shirt, alarmingly stripey tie and fawn knee-length socks. Oh, and a gaberdine which, for the blissfully unaware, is a long mac-type thing. In bright purple of course. There was also a very limited number of acceptable shoe styles on the uniform list, which we couldn’t find for my 11-year-old size 7 feet so we had to go off-piste with those (I blame the following 20 rebellious years on witnessing my mother’s flagrant disregard for the rules).
Anyway, imagine my surprise when I return to Stratford to discover that there are generations of teenage girls who no longer must endure this. I was both furious and saddened. Furious because, like hundreds before us, my friends and I had to suffer being called ‘purple virgins’ by the high school kids and this lot have dodged that particular rite of passage, but saddened because I actually secretly loved that uniform. I rocked that look. Of course, over the years it didn’t stay the same, with Tippex stains, cigarette burns and skirts rolled up just a few of the modifications.
And talking of skirts rolled up, here comes a question I regularly ask myself that reminds me of my becoming an old dragon. How short are school skirts these days? I mean, where are they? Sure, ours were rolled up and short, but these days the girls may as well not bother and just leave the house in a jumper and some tights. I’ve lost count of the number of times that friends and I have sat in coffee shops tutting as teenagers shuffle past wearing what can only described as extended fabric belts.
Is this what happens in your mid-40s? You start judging younger generations for doing exactly what you would do if you were their age. Perhaps I’m just jealous that I can no longer get away with short skirts since my thighs now resemble a couple of hefty slabs of corned beef.
My best friend is a curmudgeonly 50-year-old man, an ex-Kesbian (that’s what we called the KES boys in the 90s) and he is convinced that school kids now finish their day at 11am considering the number of them always wandering around town. This is his version of my bitter skirt length rant; at his age he’s no longer afforded a short day with no worries about bills, work commitments or a stubborn waistline. And don’t get him started on the short trousers and white socks combination that seems to be in vogue.
After writing this article I resolved to do better with my surly observations. That was until I drove down the Alcester Road and saw dozens of high school kids leaving the grounds in their tracksuits. You weren’t allowed to do that in my day…