- Vol. 05
- Chapter 01
Granny was so particular about her things, dresses hung with tissue and pomanders, housed them in closeted cedar, sanded annually, to discourage moths and to release the story of a tree whose body was shaped to fit the nook of her chimney-breasted room.
When she died, there was no body to look after her things, so her space was cleared.
Men came, overalled and gloved with gaping black bags, mouths hungry to swallow St Michael, Norman Harntell and Selfridges, all pristine, as if they had only just alighted, paper birds, chosen, saved for, sent for, nearly seventy-five years ago.
White vanned to another place, turned and fingered, hung together for the last time; true vintage, on a charity shop rail, Granny’s garments are now for sale.