Whit Monday: Dress Up, Shake Down
I know now that Whitsun is a Christian festival marking the Pentecost — but in the 1960s, it meant something far more immediate to us: the annual ritual of getting dressed up in our Sunday best and being paraded around the relatives like tiny overdressed beggars. We’d trot round the aunties and nans, collect a handful of coins for looking “nice,” and then watch the loot vanish into Mam’s handbag “for safekeeping.” Spoiler: you never saw it again.
Both my brother Peter and I protested this blatant theft of what we firmly considered ours, but to no avail. The fact that we still remember it so vividly all these years later shows just how bitter we were about it. I’m sure this little redistribution of wealth was happening to kids all over the UK — especially in working-class homes, where Whit Monday could mean a modest but welcome windfall. Just not for the kids.
The photo above shows me and Peter sitting on the back garden steps, dressed to impress and ready to begin the great treasure hunt through the extended family. I’m the scowling, miserable one on the left, probably because I was made to sit next to him.
The photo below is a colourised version. Despite being 13 months younger, Peter’s already taller than me, which added insult to injury.
And then there’s the last picture, taken on the same day, same steps. This time our sister Violet had been inserted between us — possibly as a buffer. Peter looks like he’s trying to keep her from escaping.
