The year was 1967.
Beatle-mania had captured the world and they were on the top of the charts with their latest album ‘Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band’.
Jimmy Hendrix set fire to his guitar on stage for the first time.
Twiggy was the image of Britain’s newest top model, known as ‘1960’s Swinging London’.
Carnaby Street and Piccadilly Circus were the places to be seen by fashion icons and underground musicians.
Britain was in its’ hay-day; peace, love and freedom was in the air.
This would be…a year to remember.
And I was only 13 years old…
The plane taxied out onto the runway. Margie and I were fastened into our seats for an adventure of a life-time. We were both dressed in our finest attire; brand-new linen pant suits, with blue and lavender skirts and jackets which fit the bill for travel. Our new inspired ‘Vidal Sassoon’ hair-cuts were styled with long, chin-length hair on one side, and shorter on the other side, just above the ear. At 16 and 13 years respectively, Margie and I looked the epitome of the sharply dressed teens of the 1960’s in North American, stylish and hip.
This was our big trip across the ocean to visit family and we were bursting at the seams with excitement of a new adventure. It was surreal, actually slightly overwhelming at times. Just a few weeks earlier, our parents gave us the news; tickets for the two of us for a summer vacation in Scotland, and we were going by ourselves. What more could one ask for at this age. We were ecstatic, yet at the same time, couldn’t believe that we would be traveling alone. Our parents had us dressed similarly in order for us to pass as twins, giving us the British rail discount. No problem; we certainly could play the required roles to save a buck…or a pound for that matter.
Margie had the daunting task of being in-charge. She handled the money, the plane tickets and everything else which came along with that job. I personally loved my placement in the family tree; the baby of the family with little responsibilities. Our parents, as many others did while raising children in the 60’s, put all of their expectations and highest standards on their first born child. I was more the free-spirit, carefree and out-going, maybe somewhat self-absorbed at times. Adolescence is also a time of rapid body changes, and a time of developing a new sense of one's self.
In the 60’s, the attitude amongst everyone seemed a bit easy-going, an ‘anything goes’ type of mind-set. Kids could walk to school by themselves; spent nights out with friends till midnight, and even hitch-hike from place to place without a care in the world. Times were different; times were good; but inevitably times would change.
We were booked on a charter flight, a ‘champagne flight’ which it was called, but I suffered from motion sickness, so I was given Gravol medication to help me through the flight. Margie at 16, sipped on champagne, feeling so grown up, and enjoying every minute as the senior of this trip. The hours finally passed, eventually arriving at Heathrow airport, anxiously greeted by our awaiting grandparents. Kisses and hugs all around, just before we were swept off our feet to the next destination. We arrived at our aunt Milley’s house in London to stay for a few days, before taking the rail on our journey to Scotland.
Everything was different; much of a culture shock to us both. It was exciting to be in a new country, but at the same time, we missed the usual familiarities that we had come to know in life. Accents and expressions were strange, but for the next six weeks, that is what we became accustomed to. There were no hamburgers or coca cola in sight; just a drink called 'squash', which was a concentrate mixed with water, and not terribly tasty. The overnight train trip was long and uneventful, finally arriving in the Highlands, making our way to my grandparent’s home.
My mother was the oldest of six children. Four brothers and one sister, with three of her younger brothers being born after the war. She was 17 at the time, and was more of a mother figure to Phillip, Richard and Robert, helping raise them before marrying and moving to Canada with our father. Phillip and Robert were still living at home, while Robert was in the army.
Our uncles, in all reality, were only a few years older than Margie, but at that time, we didn’t really notice how close in age they really were. We spent a lot of time with our uncles; riding the red, double decker buses, shopping trips to town, swimming in the public bathes, and eating fish and chips wrapped in newspaper from the corner fish shops. There was never a shortage of pastries, greasy, fattening foods and before long Margie and I noticed some pounds creeping up on us. Life was good in Scotland for a summer vacation, but after a few weeks, probably by the 3rd week, I was becoming homesick. At 13, a six week summer vacation seemed like a lifetime. I missed my parents, and I realized the summer would pass without even being able to hang out with my friends. This was the year I would enter high school, which meant a time of big changes with friends and my life as I once knew it.
Our uncle Phillip was always a big teaser; sometimes getting carried away with joking and teasing, but it was all in fun. Then the day came when he blurted out those infamous words; an expression that would play over and over in my head for the rest of my life.
Not sure what sparked it, but he said to me,
“Twiggy with a spare tire - that is what we will call you!”
Margie laughed, as did Phillip, and with no come-back, I smiled and laughed too. That was it. I was saddled with that handle by Phillip. I was a vulnerable, homesick adolescent, and before long I was reduced to tears. ‘Stiffen up that bottom lip’, I thought to myself, not wanting to show that he was getting the better of me. Was I really chubby? Did I look like a waif with a protruding tire of unwanted fat around my midsection? Twiggy was the icon of the 60’s and in reality, not many girls could meet the standards of her ‘skin and bones’ appearance. Even knowing that, I was crushed, vowing never to eat again.
Our summer vacation was coming to an end, and I was more than anxious to get home.
We were finally heading back to London before flying home. We did all the touristy things, visiting Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London, but Margie and I still had money left to spend, and there was no way in the world, I wasn’t going to spend every last penny. Margie and I were excited that we were finally heading for a shopping excursion on Carnaby Street.
The cobblestone road was filled with ‘swingers and hippies’ dressed in the coolest clothes imaginable. Wide-eyed and amazed, we walked around taking in all the sights and sounds of Soho’s hippest street. The girls were dressed in mini-skirts, some in bold stripped hip-hugger pants and high fashion heels. We stopped at every store, as Margie and I sifted through the endless racks of high fashion clothes. Then finally, I spotted it. I called to Margie as she strolled over to see what I had found. I said, “Look Margie, holding up a beautiful bright orange flowered ‘hot pants’ outfit. They were all the rage and I just had to have it! I tried it on, prancing around to show it off. I loved it. Margie being the practical sister said to me, “Do you think that you will wear that when you get home?” I looked at the outfit in the mirror and knew that I would be the envy of all my friends. In my mind, I wasn’t concerned whether I would get much wear out of it in the future. I just wanted to come home with the coolest clothes from the fashion capital of the world.
That was it. Margie pulled out her wallet and handed over the pound notes to pay for my outfit. Of course, I need the matching orange high-heeled shoes with the strap around the ankle to finish the look. ‘How cool are these’, I thought to myself as Margie forked over the rest of my money. I was ecstatic, but Margie searched for new clothes to no avail. Her always conservative attire didn’t quite jive with what she saw on the rack. Maybe in the back of her mind, she knew that our parents would be proud of her. The thrifty Scottish ways she learned while growing up were quite evident. The thought of returning home with money never entered my mind, not even for a moment. We finished our shopping trip with bags full of souvenirs for everyone.
The excitement we experienced six weeks earlier certainly couldn’t match the anticipation we felt on the flight home. Our parents met us with open arms as we descended from the aircraft. I was overwhelmed, almost weepy to be hugging my parents after such a long summer away. I noticed right away the wide-eyed look on my mother’s face when she saw my outfit. She looked over at Margie, dressed in the same clothes that she left home with.
My friends were waiting for me at the front of the house as the car rounded the corner and descended down the hill, and pulled into the driveway. I was known as a bit of a ‘ring leader’, and it seemed my friends had truly missed me. I opened the car door, jumping out and showing off my new clothes from Carnaby Street. The girls held their hands to their mouths, in shock with seeing me in hot pants. In the back of my mind I was thinking, ‘just the reaction I had hoped for’, as I chuckled to myself. We all spend the rest of the day telling stories about our summers.
The next morning when I awoke, I glanced over at my crumpled outfit which I had worn home on the plane. It was thrown across the chair beside my bed. I glanced down at my cool, orange strappy high-heeled shoes lying on the floor under the chair.
I heard my mother’s voice calling up to me, “Darling…your friends, Sandra and Debbie are at the door.” It was just before the long weekend and there were a few more days before school would be back in full swing. I still had one weekend left to hang out with my friends.
They wanted to hear more about my trip, but more importantly, I was dying to hear all of the juicy gossip of who was dating who, and the new, cute boys they met over the summer.
I got out of bed and picked up my outfit, holding it up to my body while admiring myself in the mirror. In a matter of minutes however, I pulled my favorite blue jeans shorts from the drawer, along with a cotton tank top and I quickly got dressed. These were the familiar clothes that I so loved. I neatly folded my newly purchased outfit and tucked it away in the bottom drawer. I ran downstairs, grabbed my sneakers and I was out the door to spend the day with my friends.
Margie was right about one thing. I would never wear that outfit again. I could certainly get away with wearing it in London, but it was a bit over-the-top for the life that I lived back at home. It was now tucked away in the drawer forever, never to be worn again, just as those stinging words were pushed to the back of my mind.
'Twiggy with a spare tire' was now a thing of the past, but in reality she will always be that young girl from the summer of 67.
