Well Heeled

October 12, 2014 at 1:09 pm | Posted in Culture, Health, History, Psychology, Society | 9 Comments
Tags: , , , , ,

Sexy high heels

My mother wore high heels. After all, she was a product of the 1920s and 30s when they became popular. If a woman dressed up – and a working woman only dressed up when she were going somewhere special – she would wear high heels, and stockings if she could get them.

High heels were said to elongate the legs and make them more attractive, and who didn’t want to be attractive! Mum wasn’t tall –just five feet, and Dad was half an inch under six feet so, for her, the higher the heels the better.

Mum loved dancing and, in their courting days and after their marriage in 1941, when he was home on leave from the R.A.F. (it was wartime), Dad took her out to every dance in the district, where they danced up a storm. Dad often said that they would be the last dancers on the floor and the band would beg them to stop so they could rest. How on earth, I have often wondered, did Mum dance, and for so long, in high heels. But she only wore heels for special occasions, and that was not even once a week.

1930s heels

I only wore heels for a short time, and then not very high ones. I started about 18, but stopped at 21when I was expecting the first of my five children. I found ‘flatties’ to be much more comfortable for carrying babies around.

Over the decades, I have noted the continuing attraction for wearing high heel, especially by younger women. The ante has been upped (literally) even higher since I was young. Not only have the heels got higher, but the weight of the shoes has also increased. I don’t think Mum would have been able to drag herself around in what young women wear today, let alone dance at top speed for hours in them!

Platform shoes

About thirty years ago, the medical fraternity finally realised that wearing high heels, especially frequently and for prolonged periods, could cause quite serious problems. This can be as simple as falling and injuring oneself while wearing them, resulting in strained or broken ankles. However, more serious long-term damage can be caused by the habit of wearing high heels.

Posture changes inherent in wearing shoes that place the heels above the toes can result in considerable damage:

    • Hips, shoulders, back and spine are thrown out of alignment;
    • Muscle spasms can occur due to the extra pressure caused by posture changes;
    • Increased pressure on the knees often leads to arthritis in that joint;
    • muscles in the calf become shortened, leading to pain there and in the feet;
    • the Achilles tendon can become permanently shortened, leading to tendonitis;
    • toes, cramped into tight shoes, become misshapen and cannot be straightened even when wearing flat shoes..

This 3-D scan shows up some of the problems. Here’s a set of pictures that gives a good indication.

High heel damage

I have often wondered why women are willing to risk such injuries just for the sake of fashion or of looking sexy. But I suppose that is just the way of it; peer pressure; advertising pressure; a desire to have the latest in fashion. There is no desire to look to the future – just as is the case with young men and their testosterone-induced risk taking. The belief that ‘it will never happen to me’.

Oh how glad I am that I never became a slave to fashion. I’ll stick to my sensible shoes, thanks.

Sensible shoes

What do you think of high heels? Would you let your adolescents – as I have seen – wear them and risk permanent damage?

Young girl in heels

(c) Linda Visman

Advertisements

P is for Poacher

April 18, 2014 at 9:21 am | Posted in Family History, History, Philosophy, Society, Ways of Living | 9 Comments
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

A2Z-BADGE-000 [2014]

 

poached-eggs

No, not that poacher. The one I’m talking about isn’t a gadget that cooks eggs.

I mean real poachers, the people who nick (pinch, steal) animals that don’t technically belong to them.

But I don’t mean poachers who take endangered wildlife, kill them and cut off their horns or tusks, and leave their bodies to rot either. Nothing like that!

The poacher I am talking about is the one who takes animals that are abundant, like rabbits and hares, pheasants and partridge from the estates of a wealthy landholder in early 20th century England.

poacher

My grandfather, Teddy Thompson, was a poacher, and a very good one. He knew the countryside – the woods and the moors – and the animals and plants that lived there better than most people.

He netted rabbits and hare, and snared or shot the birds. He made his own nets and was a champion clay-bird shooter. Throughout the Great Depression he fed his own family – and others too – when they would otherwise have been in dire straits. He kept the larder stocked and he didn’t get caught.

ER Thompson, Ern,Eddie,Edna

Teddy kneels behind his daughter. My dad is the eldest son, on the right.

Legally, he was breaking the law. Morally, he considered what he did justified. The wealthy landowner didn’t hunt these animals for food – only for sport. Also, the notion of privilege that the game laws embodied was abhorrent to him. The wealthy didn’t need a permit to net or shoot rabbits, whereas the lower classes had to purchase a licence, and at a significant cost, given their meagre income. They also had strict limits on where and how many they caught.  Teddy considered it wrong that people should have special rank and privileges just because of the station they were born into.

Dad told me many stories about what Teddy did. Among them are a couple I will share.

He used to catch pheasant and partridge and sell them to well-off  and eager businessmen in the town. Sometimes, the man would pay in cash, which helped pay the rent. At other times, Granddad would ask if the fellow had meccano or electrical stuff his son might no longer need. Dad always had plenty of parts to make crystal radios, which he then sold. He also made things for his parents, as well as his younger brother and sisters.

One time, a farmer asked Teddy if he would catch some rabbits to put in his fields for his son to shoot. Teddy netted the twenty animals the farmer had requested, and went to collect the money he’d been promised. But the farmer reneged on the promise. That night, Teddy went back to the farm, caught the twenty rabbits again and set them free elsewhere.

Edward&EdwardR Thompson &dog Abt 1946 (2)

Granddad may not have been law-abiding in some ways, but he was a very moral man. He was willing to go against laws or customs that he saw as unfair. My father also learned to hate the injustices of the class system that he grew up in, and always admired and respected his father for standing up against them.

One example where this is evident was at the interview Dad had on completion of his flying training. This interview was in front of about five senior officers “all showing off their medals and gold braid”, and would determine the rank that each man would be given before being assigned to a squadron.

Dad said the interview went well, as he’d gained high marks and shown a lot of talent as a fighter pilot. Indeed, he was at the top level of the group that was passing out, and had better results than most of the upper class men – those who would automatically be given an officer’s commission.

RAF pilot wings

The last question of Dad’s interview came from the biggest brass at the end of the row. “What does your father do for a living?”

Dad was incensed that what his father did would have any bearing on the rank he would be given. Teddy was a fire beater (stoker) of a steam engine in a cotton mill, but that isn’t what Dad answered.

“He’s a poacher, Sir”.

Dad didn’t receive an officer’s commission. He was given non-commissioned rank instead.

What do you think of traditional social divisions? Is it morally right to prevent someone from feeding his family just because he comes from a lower level of society?

 

© Linda Visman 18.04.14  (715 words)

Singing with someone special

June 18, 2012 at 3:23 pm | Posted in Australia, Experiences, Family, History, War and Conflict | 4 Comments
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

  

I shared a special two hours with Dad today. I went to pick him up and take him out for lunch. He doesn’t get out of the house much, being blind, deaf and not very strong. After all, he will be 91 in nine days.

My Dad, May 2012

As I drove down the freeway to Kiama, I faintly heard Dad singing. I listened, picked up the song – an oldie from his young days – and joined him singing it.

From that song, we went on to sing other oldies, all of which I knew too. We sang all the way to Kiama, and then, softly, we continued to sing together as we waited for our lunch to arrive. During one of those songs, tears came to Dad’s eyes and his voice broke. It was “I’m singing a song for the old folk”. Dad was remembering his dearly loved parents, who died when I was very young, and I was remembering my mother

After lunch, we drove home through beautiful green dairy country instead of on the freeway. As I drove fairly slowly along the back roads (virtually no traffic), we sang again. Dad sang the same songs over and over. He has Alzheimers and his short-term memory is exceedingly poor, so he couldn’t remember he’d already sung them. But he was happy and, to me, it mattered not at all. I sang along with him every time as if it were a new song.

He seems to remember these times when we share the past more than he does the everyday present moments, and they mean a lot to him. It was a very special time for me too. I felt privileged that I could share it with him.

Mum & Dad about 1944

When we arrived back at Dad’s home (he lives at home alone, as my mother died eighteen years ago this week), we chatted about singing, and how it raises the spirits and unites people in a special way. He said how wonderful it was as a boy and young man to hear his father’s lovely tenor singing his favourite songs from the music hall shows and the radio.

Dad has always loved singing and, in the sergeants’ mess, when he served in the Royal Air Force in WWII, he would sometimes start up a song. Others would join in and soon, thirty or more men would be singing together – popular and humorous war songs, even love songs. Dad said it was a very moving and unifying experience.

When they’d sung themselves out, one of Dad’s mates would say, “Thommo, you can’t sing to save your life, but you really get us all going”.

I remember when I was a child that we would sing together when our extended family got together, both in England and in Australia. We would sing for ages, and this is why I know so many songs from the 1930s and 40s. When we went driving in the Australian countryside in our old car, we often sang too.

Mum often had the local radio on when we were kids, so we also picked up a variety of songs from the 1950s. And even though the songs from the 60s were those of MY generation, she loved many of them too.

Later in my life, there were times when I hardly ever sang. They were the down times, when life wasn’t easy, for various reasons. Then I met my second husband. He loves to hear me sing, even though I do not have a good voice. (None of my paternal father’s offspring and descendants have inherited his lovely singing voice).

Now, I love to sing again and, when I do, I am uplifted and strengthened.

But singing with Dad is something special, remembering parents, grandparents and mates, and good times once shared, all now gone except in our memory.

 

© Linda Visman

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.
Entries and comments feeds.

Helen Armstrong - writing on the move

I write when I travel but not always about travelling. It doesn't have to be a quiet corner...

Rosella Room

Socio-cultural comment on a range of issues, including literature, music and mental health

Myricopia

Exploring the Past to Improve the Future

Foxgloves and Bumblebees

A Nature Journal

L.T. Garvin

Eclectic blog: short fiction, poetry, humor, occasional dreams and wild book schemes.

Echidna Tracks

Australian Haiku

irevuo

art. popular since 10,000 BC

Colleen M. Chesebro

Novelist, Prose Metrist, & Word Witch

sketchings

Thel's Sketchings: Art, Photography, Musings & Short Stories

Learn Fun Facts

An Archive of Curious Facts for the Curious

backstorypress.com

A blog about writing and reading

roughwighting

Life in a flash - a weekly writing blog

Half Baked In Paradise

Searching, settling, sauteeing and spritzing

The Curry Apple Orchard

A blog designed to remember the past and celebrate the present.

barsetshirediaries

A site for the Barsetshire Diaries Books and others

Cee's Photo Challenges

Teaching the art of composition for photography.

Leigh Warren :: Country Music Outlaw

The ramblings of Leigh Warren about himself, country music and maybe... well who knows

Diane Tibert

~ writer -