Barbara, my mother told me years later, never had new clothes. Her skirts, blouses and jackets were patched and mended.
I hadn’t noticed.
As a little girl I saw a glamorous, friendly woman with lovely dark hair.
Barbara lived in a small house with a large garden, at the end of our road. She and her husband had two young sons. My parents were quite friendly with them.
We walked past their house on our way to school. Often my mother would say, “He’s cutting his grass again“.
Barbara’s husband mowed and watered his lawn every morning before driving to the school where he taught. My parents found it funny. But my mother had noticed what was going on.
Barbara’s husband wore smart suits and drove a nice car. As a 1960s family, they were quite well off.
Listening to BBC Radio 4, Woman’s Hour this morning, I could see that lawn. I couldn’t see the mended clothes.