Perhaps because of the problem of not being able to starch a 1950s nylon net petticoat to a stiffness which would show off your very full skirt to full advantage, there was a brief vogue for another method, one which borrowed from the Victorian crinoline.
This technique was particularly popular for petticoats made of paper nylon – a fabric whose name is not considered worthy of record in my 1993 edition of Chambers Dictionary.
Which is not really surprising, since its disadvantages considerably outweighed the benefits claimed for it – quick swish in the wash tub, then hang on the line where it will literally drip dry creaselessly, so there is no need to iron. A major selling point, supposedly, for hubbie’s shirts.
These were so vile that they are, I believe, entirely & solely responsible for the continuing, wrong-headed notion that man-made fibres are to be regarded with horror, spurned by all right-thinking people in favour of something natural, & preferably organic.
There were three main problems.
The first was that it didn’t absorb moisture – an advantage in the sense that dirt & stains were only on the surface, so easily removed by gentle washing, but unpleasant in the way the material just clung to any patch of even slightly moist skin. Totally impossible in summer, even as a short sleeved sports shirt worn loose over the waistband, not tucked into the trousers.
The second was that it quickly went yellow or grey, partly or mainly I think because of a photochemical reaction which could not be counteracted by old-fashioned laundry soap powders. In an age when a woman’s whole moral character was judged by the whiteness of her whites hanging on the line, this was disadvantage indeed.
The third was that they generally came only in white – it took time for the dyers to find dyes that would work. Nothing more subtle than royal blue, scarlet or black was available as an alternative to this so-called white.
But – no ironing! That was a real attraction for one of those multi-layered petticoats with yards of fiddly gathered frills to be pressed free of creases.
They still needed to be stiffened to do their job of holding out your skirt, however.
There was, as it happened, a 1950s fashion for cane or basket weaving as a home based craft or hobby for all ages, all the family. Plant pot holders, small handbags, even lampshades. Thin cane was easily available in all lengths.
It was also the age of the hula hoop.
Inspiration struck somebody.
An ingenious binding along the inside seam of each frilled layer made a channel pocket into which you could fit a piece of cane cut to the required length – cane to be removed for washing or to allow your petticoat to be folded into a drawer if you did not have space to hang it.
I made myself one in royal blue.
Soon there was an alternative to cane on the market – thin plastic strip, very similar to the kind that, in much shorter strips of course, was used to make the stiffeners in the collars of mens shirts.
But fashion changes – thank heavens. The skirt was fine for dancing or parading around town, but you really did not want to sit down too much, partly because of the problem of sweating but also because if you were not careful the act of sitting would push the front of the hoop to lift your skirt to an altogether too revealing height in front of your nose.
