“When I’m an old woman I shall wear purple…”
My friend and I said this in unison then giggled like girls.
We were in the back of our friend’s car, picking up another friend to go out to
dinner. The four of us had previously worked together for at least ten years
until the fourth friend, older than the rest of us, had moved away. It was
always lovely to meet up again. This time she stepped out wearing a purple coat
and a flowery patterned mauve scarf.My
friend and I didn’t mean to be rude, we simply shared a thought out loud.
I’m becoming increasingly fond of the color purple, so
maybe I’m already there age wise. My favorite used to be a deep, berry red,
not quite burgundy. I considered it to be rich and warm looking, where purple
was flat and made my complexion very pale.
The purple thing
started with my hair, ages ago. I wanted a bold color under my longish three
shades of blonde. I wanted to be very trendy for a forthcoming Moody Blues
tour, so my first choice was blue. It would only be seen properly when I wore
my hair up, and the color would just peep through when my hair was over my
shoulders. My hairdresser put me off, explaining that the blue would quickly
fade to an unflattering gray. Red, then, I’ll have a deep red, to match most of
my wardrobe. I liked it until someone was concerned that the back of my neck
must be bleeding. Someone else suggested chestnut brown was very classy under
blonde, but everyone has brown and I wanted individuality, not classy.
Somewhere down the line, purple turned out to be perfect. It was very me, the
flash of purple in my long hair and my red shoes, always red shoes. I kept this
fashion going for years, until the approach of my sixtieth birthday.
I wanted a new look to mark the occasion and there were
other things happening that year including the birth of our first grandchild. I
was beginning the next era of my life, being someone’s nanna. There are now
three beautiful grandchildren to dote on, but this was then.
The main decision, or rather, mistake, was the short
hairstyle. Goodbye to long, blonde locks and goodbye to purple. It seemed a good
choice at the time, but the next day I was back in the hairdressers, unhappy
that it wasn’t right, and then a few days later I was in another salon with my
tale of woe and having some improvements done. Reminder to self, I cannot style
my own hair so keep some length and keep it simple. I’m a few years on now and wonder about having
the purple hair again. Who said ‘With age cometh wisdom’?
I have some purple boots, which I love and some purple-ish
jeggings which don’t match with them but I have my eye on some dark red pixie
boots. I think I’m ready for a red hat now, as well.
Jenny Joseph's poem,
Warning
When I’m an old woman I shall
wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go,
and doesn’t suit me
And I shall spend my pension on
brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve
no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement
when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops
and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public
railings
And make up for the sobriety of
my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in
the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s
gardens.
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and
grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages
at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a
week
And hoard pens and pencils and
beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that
keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in
the street
And set a good example for the
children.
We must have friends to dinner
and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a
little now?
So people who know me are not too
shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old and start
to wear purple.
Jenny Joseph (1932 – 2018)
Thanks for reading, Pam x
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