5. Oct, 2017


The second question you textiles always ask is how long have I been a Naturist. (aka nudist, nothing to do with ecology.

My answer of 68 years always earns me an askance look, but it is true.

Growing up in Gorleston-on-sea, the western and far superior part of (Great) Yarmouth, us kids of the immediate post war period, did not need to read Tom Sawyer, we WERE Tom Sawyer. We had a river, granted the Yare was hardly the Mississippi, miles of open countryside to infest and THE BEACH.

The Beach. On sunny summer days we lived there, but under one major impediment. There were no artificial fibres so we were equipped with woollen swimming trunks lovingly knitted by mothers.

They were all well and good until us wearers went into the water. They were then as comfortable as sodden nappies (diapers for my American readers). Without going into anatomical detail they were then extremely uncomfortable even for us small boys…

One day, emerging from a swim, I simply stripped mine off and only under legal duress have ever worn such things again. I have just not kicked the habit.

I was only seven but there was less fear of paedophilia in those days, mainly because there were so many kids about to keep an eye on each other and when hunting in a pack, were more dangerous to adults than adults could be to us.

I feel a Northern Ireland story coming on…
Little protestant boy and little catholic girl decide to go for a skinny dip. While undresssing, the little boy noticed that the little girl was staring intently at him. so demanded to know what it was that she was looking at. She replied…
“Mammy told us that you protestants were different from us catholics but not just HOW different!”