Wandering in the wilderness

It was January's final Sunday and alas another granite grey day, which was issuing absolutely no invitation to leave Dove Cottage's cozy confines.

But it was dry, and with the temperature an almost Springlike 13° Celsius, we made the most of what was on offer and went for a short walk to clear away the cobwebs.

You've seen all my outerwear before: comfortable yet stylish Tweed jacket, purple mohair beret and old multicoloured wool scarf. The blue boots, being a kind of waxed leather, might not have been the best choice for what we had in mind, though.

Note the walking stick, which signifies we were about to tackle rough terrain!

We drove down to De Schorre, a recreational domain and nature reserve on the site of a former clay pit, quiet but for a couple of families out for a walk and, at one point, a gaggle of chattering rainproof clad ramblers.

Several times a year, the quietness is shattered by events taking place elsewhere on the domain and for two weekends in Summer, it is the scene of Tomorrowland, the largest Dance Music festival in the world: its deep thumping basses can be heard and felt at Dove Cottage, more than eight kilometers away.

We parked our car in one of the streets backing onto the nature reserve, entering through a small municipal garden, a pond with some benches and a jetty at one end. A half submerged rowing boat, its timbers battered and rotten, was tucked away in a corner under some trees. 

A red metal sign shouted the word STEEN (stone), a reference to the area's brick-making past. It is part of a fragmented art installation, parts of which can be found all over the domain, poignantly telling the history of the brick industry which used to thrive here. Another clue can be found just a couple of meters further along, in the word KLEI, meaning clay.

Traces of the once-flourishing brick industry are still visible in the landscape laid out on the banks of the river Rupel, which is scarred by centuries of clay-digging and dredging.

Some of the old clay pits are now beautiful nature reserves, where nature has once again reclaimed what is hers, the now water filled quarries havens for dragonflies and damselflies, frogs and other amphibians, as well as several species of waterfowl.

Here at De Schorre, sets of wooden steps take you from street level about 25 meters down to the bottom of the former pit, where a network of boardwalks leads you through the wetlands created by months of rain.

At one point, a stream of mud had avalanched onto the boards. Without any means of escape, there was nothing for it but to risk ruining my boots. Remember that this is no ordinary mud, but heavy clay which sticks and tries to root you to the spot.

The red metal panel here reminds you of the fact that during the industry's heyday at the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th centuries, there were more than 150 factories in the area, making the industry the biggest in the world. Now, only one factory remains active.

The stepping stones on the bottom left mark the start of a so-called "barefoot path" leading into the depths of the wilderness. Where the stepping stones end the path has turned into a stream, so I guess a pair of sturdy wellies would be the appropriate footwear here!

Soon after the boardwalk path ends, you are faced with a ghost of the past in the form of a ruined and graffitied brick building and elevated tracks on tall brick pillars.

This is a landscape full of stories. The stories of the men, women and children, who once worked here in appaling conditions, performing extremely heavy, monotonous labour, for twelve hours a day, earning a pittance. 

It was Jos, who was born and bred in the area, who took this photograph in the early 1980s, showing the factory still in working order.

Close your eyes and imagine dozens of waggons being drawn up the elevated track towards the engine room, carrying the heavy clay from the pits.

Taking the path around the back of the construction, we walked between trees and along some muddy stretches until another piece of industrial archeology came into view.

This rusty red dredger is hanging on for dear life to the reed clad edges of a water filled clay pit, contrasting deeply with the unearthly green of the water. This is a secondary clay pit, excavated by the greedy dredger, and another 25 meters deep.

Flooding means that you won't be able to keep your feet dry while sitting on that bench.

From here, a steady but gentle climb brought us back to our starting point and our car.

Back home, it was time to show you what I was wearing underneath my jacket. You have already caught a glimpse of my frock, which is a 1980s does 1940s number. At least that is what I think it is. The fabric, featuring a blue, pink and orange print on a chocolate brown background, is satisfyingly swishy, aided by its equally swishy lining.

I accessorized with a blue ring and blue beads. I was also wearing tights in the same blue, which you can just about see in the opening photos of this post.

The pink in my frock's print lead me to choose a pink cropped cardigan with a drawstring at the waist. I must admit I had forgotten all about it and found it shoved at the back of my wardrobe while looking for something else entirely. The large brooch featuring the 1920s flapper girl seemed like the perfect companion.

I'm taking my outfit to Patti's Visible Monday at Not Dead Yet Style. Do have a look at what all the other visible girls are wearing!

Back to the 80s

The weather has been behaving atrociously for the last couple of weeks and those interminable miserably grey, non-stop rainy days almost made me go out of my mind. Added to that, the fact that I've been all alone in the office and only had myself to talk to was enough to drive me up the wall!

A welcome little ray of sunshine appeared on Tuesday last week, with the arrival of a parcel from the lovely Gisela at Miss Magpie's Musings.

She'd bought two dresses at a vintage fair in Bath, but as alas they didn't fit her, she kindly send them to me!

First up is this colourful Arnel pussy bow frock. As it's sleeveless it will be put aside for the warmer months, unless I come up with a suitable jumper to wear underneath. Watch this space!

There was a sparkly Scottie dog brooch too!

I wore the other dress on Saturday. It is handmade and fully lined, with the lining cleverly sewn in, and with its batwing sleeves - a first in my wardrobe - it seems to have come straight from the 1980s.

I remember having a grey batwing sweater dress back in the day, complete with the ubiquitous shoulder-pads of the era, which I wore to death, accessorized with a massive red belt. It's hard to believe now that this was my only dress!

The dress was somewhat similar to the white one shown below, tapering towards the hem, but the belt was more structured, and with an angled buckle.

Funnily enough, there are no photos of me wearing it. Well, there are hardly any photos of me from that period, full stop!

I was in my twenties in the eighties, and they were turbulant times.

In no particular order, I left home, lived in semi-squalor, was on the dole, found a job, did some serious growing up and kind of lost my way a bit both at the start and the end of the decade.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry when I see that perm

It was a happy, carefree and crazy time, but kind of bittersweet too, if only because with hindsight I know I wasn't always happy in my own skin and frightfully insecure.

Back to the old house ...

For a couple of years in the early 1980s, I lived on the second floor of a house in the north of Antwerp, built in 1912, up four flights of creaking stairs. The house (the first one in the photo) hadn't moved with the times, with cracked linoleum, the most basic of mod cons and an old-fashioned coal stove by way of heating.

It was at the dead-end of a dead-end street backing onto a railway embankment, and I remember the chugging of pass-by-night freight trains lulling me to sleep.

By day, the soundtrack was mostly provided by The Smiths and almost all the memories I have of that time have a Smiths song playing in the background.

But I digress. Isn't it amazing that a whole chunk of the past can be conjured up just by wearing a particular dress?

I had a whale of a time accessorizing the dress and added a burgundy belt, tights from the market stall in rusty red, lilac beads and a purple beret. The brooch I chose was an early plastic one in dusky pink, which I think went rather well with the vibe of the dress.

Due to the massive sleeves, a fake fur cap-sleeved vest was a better option than a cardigan. This offered the opportunity for another brooch, featuring tiny embroidered flowers in an oval frame.

On top went my brown fake fur collared jacket, which is going into its third season, and I added a burgundy crushed velvet scarf.

Comfortable burgundy boots and a tapestry handbag in the same colour completed Saturday's outfit.

Oh, I forgot one accessory. Let me introduce you to my new bicycle! In burgundy, to complement my outfit.

It was mostly paid for by Ecocheques, which are a kind of vouchers most employees get here in Belgium every year. With these vouchers, you can purchase energy saving devices and all kinds of environmentally friendly stuff.

Yes, you can buy stuff at the charity shops too, but it's far more satisfying to spend it on one, more expensive, piece.

As my old bike was rusty beyond belief, I opted for a new, old-fashioned style, one.

Now, my dress might be a similar design to the sweater dress I had in the 1980s, but with one big difference: the material isn't stretchy at all, so the dress's tapered shape felt a bit restricted when riding a bike.

But I did it, even if it was just for a test ride around the block.

And to show it off on my blog, obviously!

For those who are interested, thanks to Fiona, who kindly alerted me to its absence, I now have a Followers button on my blog! Not being very tech adept, it's a miracle that my blog ever made in online at all!

Feet firmly back in the here and now, I will tell you all about last weekend's finds in my next post.

The fairy godmother

Once upon a time, there was a little girl, whose fairy godmother presented her with several gifts, which would greatly determine her life's path.

The first one, the gift of reading, came to fruition when the little girl was six years old. She can still vividly remember the very moment she realized that she could read, sitting at her parents' dining table one evening after school, and the feeling of utter happiness this gave her.

The second gift was more complicated. The fairy godmother thought long and hard and decided to give the girl the collecting gene.

At first, the little girl didn't know what to do with this gift, turning up her nose at her dad's offer of a stamp collection.

In the early 1970s, a better offer, in the form of a keyring collection, turned up. This was at the time when every brand worth its salt offered freebie keyrings with their products.

The little girl, encouraged by her dad who made her a rack to display them on, dutifully accepted offerings of keyrings in all shapes and sizes.

But after a while, the novelty of keyring collecting waned, especially when the craze eventually came to an end.

Fast forward many, many years. It was the late 1980s by now and the little girl was not so little anymore, although she still couldn't exactly be called tall.

Dressed in suitable 1980s attire, hair in a Louise Brooks bob, she walked the city streets and, still in thrall of the gift of reading, entered a well-known bargain bookshop.

Almost instantly, her eyes were drawn to this book on the history of paperbacks, focusing on their heyday from the mid 1930s to the late 1950s.












Leafing through its pages, she recognized some of the colourful covers which were on her father's bookshelf and which had always fascinated her.

Some colourful Signet publications from the late 1940s, early 1950s
Can you spot mine on the book's page?

Before she knew it, she was hooked. Soon, she and the boyfriend spent their weekends trawling the city's second hand book shops in search of treasure.

Bantam Books, 1949 (l), Avon Books, 1952 (r)

She learned about the different paperback publishers of the era and was soon able to recognize the style of the individual cover artists.

The more demure Penguins were not dismissed either, especially when in 1985 Penguin celebrated its 50th birthday and published a book on its history.

Clockwise from top left: 1935, 1938, 1964 and 1959

Neither was Penguin's little cousin, Puffin Books, which had been publishing children's books since 1941.

This beautifully illustrated edition dates from 1948

Eventually, life's habit of throwing things at you when you least expect them, put an end to this collection too, and when the girl and the boyfriend split up the collection was split up between them.

Classics from Signet Books, 1954 (l) and Pocket Books, 1951 (r)

By now, you will have surmised that the little girl was me, and that vintage paperbacks were just the beginning, and not the end of collecting for me.

Clockwise from top left: Signet Books, 1955, Pocket Books, 1955, Signet Giant, 1952, Signet Books, 1952

Lately, though, I have been eyeing my little collection quite wistfully, thinking I would love to pick it up again.

I might have left it too late, however, as most of the second hand book shops of yesteryear have long gone and those that remain are no longer treasure troves of cheap and cheerful old paperbacks.

One of my favourite books in a 1953 Bantam Bookds edition

Do you have any past collections, which you have abandoned?

The girl with the mousy hair

Although I have been colouring my hair on and off since I was about 17, last week was the first time I had it done at the hairdresser's.















Since I'd last coloured it myself (or rather, have Jos do it) a couple of months ago, I noticed that my hair was behaving badly and didn't look as shiny and healthy as it used to.

My hairdresser, who I've been going to for over 20 years, confirmed that it was becoming dry and brittle and told me it was probably a menopausal thing. Oh, dear! He prescribed some medicated shampoo, which was rather expensive, and although I was sceptical at first, it seems to be slowly doing the trick.

He is using gentle products for colouring, so I wanted to give that a go too. I must say that it was worth it, if alone for having the whole thing, which includes the inevitable mess, taken out of my (or rather, Jos's) hands.

1962

Looking at my ramrod straight hair now, it is hard to believe that I was a curly-haired baby and toddler.

Here I am playing in my grandparents' garden in the summer of 1963.

The year I turned 3, we moved from a small flat to the newly built house where my dad still lives. There was a garden, with a sandpit I loved playing in. This, however, resulted in huge dramas every night, when my mum had to comb the knots out of my hair.

1964

Something had to be done and my mum promptly took me to the city (Antwerp) for my first-ever visit to a hairdresser. Not just any old hairdresser, mind: this one had what looked like merry-go-round horses instead of chairs, which he used for cutting children's hair.

A quick search on the Internet revealed that this hairdresser is still around, still using the same horses after all these years, although I'm sure his salon looked quite a bit different in the 1960s.

In spite of the horses, I didn't like it one bit and I remember bawling my eyes out.

1965

The result was a pixie cut, which was much easier to maintain and which I had until I was about 6.

I was allowed to grow my hair again after that, but if my mum had been dreaming of once again having a curly-haired daughter, she must have been sorely disappointed!

As a teenager, I started to dislike my rather thin, straight hair and especially its mousy colour.

1973

So, when I was 17, I started colouring it (and the bathroom mat in the process) jet black, as I wanted to look like my then heroine, Siouxsie. As I was a punk, lanky and mousy hair was a definite no-no! My parents were none too pleased, though ...

I have no photos of my own from around that time (my dad had starting filming with a Super 8 camera), so you will have to make do with this one which surfaced on Facebook. It was taken in front of one of Antwerp's notorious punk clubs in the very early eighties. I'm sure you'll be able to pick me out straight away!

1986

In the mid eighties, after I had started work, I had it permed (as one did), and went back to my original mousy colour.

This photo was taken at my very first flat by my then boyfriend.

By the end of the decade, thankfully, I was thoroughly bored by the silly perm and grew my hair just long enough to have it cut in a bob reminiscent of 1920s starlet Louise Brooks. It was a popular hairstyle at the time, inspired by Cacharel's Loulou perfume, which was introduced in 1987.

I also decided to colour it again, this time a vibrant auburn. It was my signature style for almost 10 years.

Clockwise from top left: 1990, 1992, 1995 and 1998

In 1999, just after we moved into our house, I had it cut short on a whim. It then gradually got shorter and shorter (don't ask) and I also stopped colouring it.

I cannot look at the majority of the photos taken around that time, and I am certainly not ready to share them. My hair was way too short, my weight had crept up and I looked 10 years older than I do now.

It took hours of browsing through photo-albums to come up with some I am reasonably happy with, They were taken after I had lost weight again - if anything, I was too thin for a while, as unintentionally the weight kept dropping off.

The last photo (bottom right) was taken after - nearing 50 - I'd had an epiphany and started growing and colouring it once again, although this time around it was not just the mousy colour I was keen to hide!

Clockwise from top left: 2007, 2010, 2011 and 2012

Now, enough about me. What about you? Do you have any hair issues or stories?