When she was my age – in her seventies – my maternal grandmother had two pairs of shoes and a pair of slippers.
Both shoes were lace-ups on sturdy, two-inch heels, of the kind nannies or schoolmistresses wore.
My paternal grandmother had two similar pairs and a pair of Wellington boots because she lived on a farm.
Both had roughly the same uniform: tweed, pleated skirts, cream blouses and a long cardigan with a pocket for a handkerchief.
My mother. She was aware of trends – big bows at the neck and padded shoulders when Mrs Thatcher was power dressing.
