A cubby hole in the kitchen, where a servant used to sleep, now housed the ironing and the safe, and became a stage for my endless theatrical performances.
The costumes for these extravaganzas were housed upstairs in the tiny box room where a chest contained my great grandmother’s Victorian and Edwardian clothes. Every afternoon, whilst the aunties had their nap, I’d dress up, fumbling with tiny hooks and eyes, and move into an imaginary, romantic and glamorous world, gliding down the sweeping staircase, and heading straight for the cloakroom where I could admire myself in the full-length mirror. And creating my ‘shows’, about which, sadly, I remember very little.
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