I Once Met Norman Hartnell

Judy Sutherland

IN 1963 I was 23 years old and working as a secretary in Manchester. Every so often I would totter in my stiletto-heeled shoes to have them re-shod at Coombes’ Shoe Repair shop. One day the man handed me a form to enter a competition they were running, the prize for which was a ‘wardrobe of Hartnell clothes’ and a holiday in Venice.

I didn’t hold out much hope of winning but I passed a happy morning matching photos of various outfits with appropriate shoes and writing an essay on my notions of a romantic evening.

A week or so later I was told I’d reached the last fifty – and then, after answering some more questions about fashion (about which I knew very little), I reached the final. With four other girls I was summoned to the Dorchester Hotel in London to be interviewed by a panel including the great Norman Hartnell, dressmaker to the Queen, and Edward Rayne of Rayne’s shoes.

With great ceremony we were ushered into a large room; I was quaking in my shoes, and wondering what on earth they’d ask me. Sitting in front of the judges, I caught sight of myself in a mirror and felt a flush of embarrassment about the outfit I’d thought so suitable back home in Manchester. I couldn’t imagine what Norman Hartnell – the designer of Princess Elizabeth’s wedding dress – would think of my black straw pudding basin hat, tight yellow dress and black gloves. I could see on the table the entry form I’d filled in, and the melodramatic essay I’d written.

After questioning me on my interests and why I wanted to go to Venice, the judges conferred among themselves. Norman Hartnell then leaned forward and said with a quizzical smile, ‘Now, tell us about your hat, Miss Rocca. What made you choose it?’

‘It’s my mother’s,’ I blurted out. ‘I didn’t have anything else.’

‘And very nice it looks too,’ he said kindly.

I won the competition, and Norman Hartnell and Edward Rayne gave me the most wonderful day. Norman lent me his comb to tidy my hair up for the photo- graphs, and told me to ‘Take the shine off your nose, darling’.

He took me to his thickly carpeted and chandeliered showroom, with photographs on the walls of beautiful sophisticated women wearing Norman’s creations. I felt staid and stodgy as I was measured up for my outfits, but the assistants seemed as excited as I was about my success.

Norman decided I should have an evening outfit in white lace, and a green silk suit with a hat in which to travel to Venice. He took infinite care to come up with something I would like, though when I suggested that the suit should be navy he pulled a face and said, ‘Not very romantic, dear – you’re going to Venice for the holiday of a lifetime, remember, not a job interview.’

I always felt very special in that lovely evening dress and wore it often, though – inexplicably – I got rid of it when it became shabby. Now all I have to remind me of that lovely occasion are a few grainy photographs and a hat box with the Hartnell label on it.