Lucy Carmichael by Margaret Kennedy: part 3

published 1951 

#HQ2221-001 / gettyimages.com

Lucy was, all this while, in the girls’ dressing-room at the theatre, changing for the party, while the others removed their grease-paint. She threw off her smock, made up her face, and changed her shoes and stockings. Then she took from its hanger a sheeted dress which she had brought up with her before the performance. As she settled the skirt about her hips, a gasp went up from all her young companions.

“OH, LUCY!”

#HP4283-001 / gettyimages.com

She had never worn it in Ravonsbridge, had never worn it anywhere, for it was intended for those very distinguished parties to which she might have gone as Patrick Reilly’s bride. It was made from a rich brocaded silk, given to her as a wedding present, in a pink so pale that only the rosy shadows of its folds proclaimed the hue. She had felt a sudden impulse to wear it, though it was far too good for such a party. No suitable occasion was ever likely to occur in her life now, and it was stupid to let the lovely thing rot, unworn and unadmired, year after year, in her wardrobe.

“What’s it made of?...Is it an heirloom?” 

“No,” said Lucy. “It’s Chinese tribute silk. That’s what the person said who gave me the stuff. But don’t ask me what it means, for I don’t know.”

observations: See earlier entries for more about this book.

This is the key moment in a certain kind of book: the fashion makeover. Lucy has been extremely miserable after being jilted, and she has been working hard and concentrating on other things. Now, she will get to wear the beautiful dress and impress everyone. But this is by no means the climax of the book, and the party she will adorn in the dress, and the men she will enchant, are by no means the whole story.

There are many felicities in the book: a scatty musician, thinking about his beloved, hums a trumpet voluntary:

to which fanfare he expected, some day, to escort Melissa out of church, while executing it in person on the organ. The event was still so distant that he had not yet troubled to consider how he was to be in two places at once.

And the bad jilting boyfriend (who never really appears) is given a going-over when someone describes him as an explorer:

Melissa looked doubtful. “I wouldn’t call him that. What has he explored?”
“Doesn’t he go to places and write books about them?”…
“I think he’s bogus. He can climb the foothills of the Himalaya, and write about it as if he’d been up Everest [still unconquered at the date of the book. See this recent entry]. If he went up the Eiffel Tower I believe he’d write a book about it called Parisian Escapade, and there would be a waiting list for it at the libraries. No real adventurer has half so much façade. His talent is for blowing his own trumpet. We’ve all had adventures.”

Many a modern TV presenter could do with reading that.

Getty Images have been a no-go area for bloggers up till recently, but they have generously decided to make some of their vast catalogue available for non-profit concerns. This is my first use: evening dresses from 1950s fashion shows. In the book there is much comment on the neckline of Lucy’s dress: it is never described fully, but we are told that it is like one worn by the then-Princess Elizabeth (as in the other picture), and that it is not entirely strapless or very revealing. This made these images hard to find, as it seems that most very grand early 50s ballgowns and evening dresses were generally very lowcut.

The best I can do on ‘tribute silk’ is this from Wiki – ‘Chinese state entities have paid tribute to a number of states and confederations throughout history’, and the tributes regularly included silk.

*****ADDED LATER  The blog has a great friend in JS -  see contribution on Kipling,  frequent help with translation, and the occasional photo. 

She says that tribute silk is the very best silk, and points out this from Mathews' Chinese-English dictionary to prove it:

Margaret Kennedy's other great contribution to the blog, apart from this book, is The Constant Nymph, and the fascination of its place in popular culture.