My
time in the British army and RNZAF (Royal New Zealand Air Force) meant
that I mixed with all sorts and conditions of men, and as they are part
of our common humanity I've written this item in an attempt to record
some of these gay and joyful observations.
The residence at
Hursley on the road heading north to Winchester, was just what I'd
wanted. Nice location. Excellent condition and the accommodation flat on
the end meant I could have someone there for company. My lawyer friend
would help me organise all that. I gave a twirl round the rooms I was so
pleased with myself. At last I could settle down and follow my own
inclinations. (What a gorgeous word that is!)
That night I retired
with a feeling of satisfaction and excitement. After I'd unpacked my
wardrobe, I planned to explore my new surroundings with a trip along the
motorway to my old stamping ground at Winchester. So, with a word of
thanks on my lips to my dear non-judgemental, understanding, Aunt
Phoebe, I nestled down to sleep in my luxurious new bed.
About
mid-morning the following day, I surveyed the badly rumpled state of my
wardrobe and could have cried. Well, I did cry. After all the care I'd
taken packing. Those brutes of carriers must have thrown my three
portmanteaus into their van with as much thought as they took to dress
themselves. Really. It made me so cross. I'd tipped them well enough
too. There was nothing for it, I took time off for a gin and tonic and
rang my friend Hugh. He's a real pet. Just hearing his voice did wonders
in calming my nerves.
I followed his advice, pressed and hung
everything and by the time that was done, it was too late to think of
Winchester. Instead, I took a stroll and ended up sipping a
crème de menthe
in Tony's, a boutique in the centre of Hursley. The place was crowded
with old ecclesiasticals. There was no getting away from my immediate
past it seemed. To be honest, I didn't want to. It had been a mistake in
a way. Seven cloistered years is quite a slice out of anyone's life.
And at thirty-five I was not that old. But I was wiser and had learned a
great deal about fabrics and design.
I thought another blessing
on dear Aunt Phoebe and decided to splash out on the latest in Swedish
sewing machines. The lounge needed new curtains but I'd start with the
crushed silk I'd just purchased. I couldn't resist the feel of it nor
the assistant with the softest blue eyes as he murmured: 'Do you have
the inclination to try this, sir?'
I'll be popping ‘round again of course; they do carry the most delightful range of materials.
Two days later, as I sat wondering what I might do by way of design, a line from Shakespeare's Hamlet came to mind:
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy but not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy, for the apparel oft proclaims the man.
Willy
was so right. It gave me an idea and an hour or so later, I'd completed
the first evening garment that made me famous in the rag trade. It
really was stunning.
A vote of thanks to Aunt Phoebe's generosity
remembering me in her will. My shop opened in Hurley's main street in
time for the influx of summer visitors to several abbeys in the
vicinity. Private sales surprised us all. The first, held at the Royal
Hussars Museum proved profitable. I could hardly drag myself away, all
those lovely men in their splendid uniforms. Orders followed from the
Hampshire Regiment Barracks. There was nothing ordinary about the
soldiers I helped into and out of the range of materials I offered
there.
I had to return several days later to take orders from
staff and seniors at several colleges in the vicinity as well. There was
no stopping things from then on. My label: 'Abbot's Fancy' took off
like you wouldn't believe. I mean, drag queens and famous people I can't
possibly name, adore the idea of wearing my design based on a monk's
habit. My old abbot at Winchester and other abbots throughout Hampshire
and further afield complaining as they did on TV and in the press,
increased my turnover 200%. Though most of them popped in at the back
door later, as it were.
The young assistant with those soft blue
eyes who'd helped me select the mauve crushed silk, has come in with me.
He's a classy dresser and looks so sweet in mauve. I have a reminder of
his first words to me inscribed inside the ring he gave me:
‘Inclination’. It's such a nice word.
Oh, by the way, should you
wish to follow your own inclination, you'll find me on the internet and
in the yellow pages. My new shops go under the name: ‘Habits: nice but
nocturnal’.
'Bye for now.
Dennis Crompton © 1999
(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)
