Cherished pieces with a story to tell
As Prince Charles urges us to recycle, readers tell Alice Hall of their favourite hand-me-downs
Handing clothes down the generations is an age-old tradition: many of us will have fond memories of our grandmother darning some laddered tights, or being gifted a cherished cardigan by an older cousin. Earlier this month, the Prince of Wales spoke about his support for sustainable fashion, urging consumers to end the “extraordinary trend of throwaway clothing” and instead move towards timeless classics that could endure.
Prince Charles practises this himself: two years ago, he revealed he was still wearing a pair of shoes he first bought in 1971, and a jacket acquired in 1969. He has also set up a repair clinic at Dumfries House, his Scottish getaway, for people to bring in clothes for mending.
Telegraph readers recognised his attempts to hold on to beloved pieces, writing in to share stories of their own. We met some of them…
Henry Speer, 76, Lincolnshire
I got this suit fitted on Savile Row in 1964 when I was 19, just in time for my honeymoon. It was fitted by the legendary Colin Hammick, the same tailor my father-in-law used to use.
I requested a single button, as I thought three buttons looked too fancy. One button seems to be the style again nowadays, so I must have been ahead of the trend. It came with a waistcoat, which I lent to my daughter to wear to a rave in 1980. Sad to say, I haven’t seen that since.
When my grandson George mentioned that he needed a suit for his other grandfather’s funeral in October, I was pleased to find that mine was a perfect fit. It was a proud moment; he looked really smart. The trousers were a little baggy, but that’s how young people seem to like them these days.
I’ve never liked to throw good things away, and some of my father’s trousers are still going strong, despite the fact that they’re over 100 years old. Passing on top-quality clothes creates a special bond. Giving George my suit felt much more special than just taking it to a charity shop.
George Dixon, 17, Lincolnshire
When my grandad first said he was lending me a suit, I felt like there was quite a lot of pressure to pull it off. It’s such a smart item of clothing, and I’d never worn one before – I don’t even think I’d seen braces in real life. What surprised me is how confident I felt; my friends said I looked like a character from Peaky Blinders. I love wearing hand-me-downs; it’s better for the environment, it saves money and it’s also a great way of staying ahead of the trends. This year, hiking clothes have come back into fashion: maybe that’s what I will be raiding my grandad’s wardrobe for next.
Bethan Holt, 32, London
My favourite story about my grandma Cynthia is the time that she was very, very late for a dinner hosted by Gramps’s work because she’d made a last-minute decision to dye her hair to match her pale turquoise dress. As a hairdresser, this stroke of genius came naturally, but going from brunette to aquamarine was easier said than done and all the bleach meant it was impossible to dry her hair.
Despite not having much money, she was incredibly glamorous, making her own versions of Dior’s New Look on the Singer sewing machine that she still owns – and uses. Most pictures from the time, and the decades after, show her looking immaculate.
She’s given me the odd piece of jewellery over the years but on my last visit before lockdown in March, she handed over a haul of old evening bags (and some rather fabulous elbow-length gloves): “I don’t need them any more so if you don’t like them, darling, just give them to the charity shop.” As if! Some of them looked straight off the shelves of a Miu Miu boutique. I’ve always loved a jazzy handbag, but it’s extra special carrying one that I know my grandma once had a great night out with.
Carys Mcguire, 75, Buckinghamshire
When my granddaughter Ella told me she was into vintage fashion, I replied that I had the perfect thing for her: my great-aunt Hattie’s mock astrakhan coat made by Valstar in the Thirties. I did some research, and discovered that, since 1911, Valstar has only made clothes for men, so we think the garment may have been specially made for Hattie – it has a peacock-patterned lining ning and modern collar. Hattie was born in 1881 and, when she died in 1957, 7, her husband gave it to my mother, her, so she could keep it safe. Ella was my mother’s first great-grandchild, child, so she would have been delighted ghted that the coat has been passed ed down to her. I know Ella will look after it really well; it’s not the type of coat she will end up leaving in the pub on a Saturday night.
Ella Mcguire, 17, Buckinghamshire
I never met Aunt Hattie, but ut I have heard so much about her. When I wear the e coat, it feels like I’m carrying her memories and d I always find myself wondering what happened d to her when she was wearing it – there must be so many stories.
It’s a common misconception eption that young people wouldn’t be seen dead in their grandmother’s clothes. In many ways, it’s better not to spend lots on an expensive brand and to look for more sustainable options; even better if there is a family connection. Aunt Hattie didn’t have any children of her own, so I’m sure she would be so pleased that someone is still wearing her special coat.
Tim Bidwell, 60, West Sussex Before I go outside on a winter’s day, I reach for my late father’s army reefer jacket. He was in the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers and acquired it in 1944 prior to D-day. I imagine that it went with him all the way across Europe to VE Day. It still has its original epaulettes, and is lined with a coarse woollen material that makes it wonderfully warm.
When I was younger, I only ever saw my father wear the jacket when he was busy working in the garden. Now, it’s inextricably linked to these memories of him. He was a man who lacked any vanity, so the fact that he reused his army uniform at home made a lot of sense.
It must have started its life being a khaki colour but now it’s matured into a musty honey, and it has a reassuring smell of dusty bonfires. When I put it on, it’s like being with an old friend.
Melissa Twigg, 35, London
I cried the first time I wore a Mary Quant miniskirt. It was 1999, I was 14 and everyone else at the school disco was dressed like All Saints members. My mother worked very closely with Mary at the time and I used to regularly spend afternoons doing my homework in he her South Kensington studio. Twenty y years later, I have no idea where th that miniskirt is, but I made the mo most of the many others I inherited, and still have a collection of T-shirts printed with Mary’s five-petal fiv daisy logo. But o one striped coat has sto stood the test of time. I’ve I ’i worn it to a party in the south of France, my godson’s christening and to interview Julien Macdonald (who c complimented me on m my outfit, thankfully). W What Mary really tau taught me back then wa was that clothes sho shouldn’t only be about looking looki pretty or pleasing boys but about telling the world something of w who you are.
M My striped coat still does that. th