Welcome to the website of Carrie Henderson, non-fiction writer researching the House Of Mirelle, social history and British vintage fashion. Contact: email@example.com: Twitter @carriehenwrites Skype @carriejourno: Instagram: carriehenphotography #HULL2017
Review of 2016: The Year The House of Mirelle Book Came Alive
At the stroke of midnight on the 31st December Big Ben will tell us that 2017 is finally here.
The UK City of Culture starts on January 1st and it heralds a glorious year of art, music, dance and loads more besides to whet the public’s appetite for All Things Hull.
2016 was also about All Things Hull, but mine was about Hull of the past.
It was a landmark year when The House of Mirelle lifted from the pages of my research notes and came alive.
This year has brimmed with adventure; it took me on a voyage of discovery that was fascinating, full and fun.
Here are my standout moments from 2016:
From research to reality
In the turn between last year and this, the research into The House of Mirelle had generated a list of people I needed to find because they had direct contact with the fashion house.
My big database called The Find List was up and running and I knew why certain people were important to the story. Every single person mentioned in the research findings – yes, every one – had been added to The List, but there were people who were absolutely key.
By January I was ready to ‘go live.’ Those names shuffled to the top were ones I urgently needed to trace, but, I asked myself, how to find them from so long ago and where on earth do I start?
The Mirelle research started right at the very beginning – way, way prior to 1950 so many of the people at the top of The List weren’t still alive.
In 2015 I pondered what to do.
Does that mean I have to leave those people there or is there another way?
How do you go about finding people who are no longer alive and even if I do, can I trace them with only a maiden, family or married name?
What happens if I do find them and then they don’t want to know….Hm!
All these thoughts were scribbled down in my research diary until one day I decided that the internal struggle was there because it didn’t seem right to leave their experiences to one side even if they had passed on.
Finding out why The House of Mirelle was special
I felt something special about Mirelle – the same feeling that’s driven me on since I first discovered it in 2014.
Someone said of shopping there:
“Oh, it was an experience, a real experience, I can tell you.”
The flutter rising and falling in her voice confirmed what I already knew.
“If that’s true,” I thought, “then those no longer alive would have talked about it with their family and friends as well.”
Following this hunch, in December 2015 I decided to trace the family members of those on the top of The List whether I thought they were alive or not.
“I’m in this with both feet,” I said at the Royal Station Hotel in September. “I’ll follow the story through to the end, wherever it takes me.”
Tracing and finding key people
Through more research skullduggery in early 2016 letters started to go out introducing myself. They were sent across the UK to the last known addresses of people or their sons and daughters.
I had no idea how reliable those addresses were, or how reliable my intuition was that people would want to reply either.
One of the first letters was sent back from Gloucester with ‘return to sender, not known’ scrawled across the front in red pen. Yes, it was disheartening but it was at the same time useful to cross that line of inquiry off The List.
“You never know,” I thought, “they might be found later on…”
Little did I know the oft quoted research adage ‘keep your mind open’ would be so true this year.
People’s stories make the history of Hull
The nerves dissipated, replaced by cautious optimism when the first response to one of my letters came back having found the right person.
They said, ‘yes, that’s me, those are my parents’ and from that a whole other story unfolded.
It was one about a family lineage that can be traced back to the 19th century and the prominence of Jewish culture and retail throughout Hull’s history including the present day.
I’d contacted that person because I wanted to ask if they had a photo of an outfit that had been designed and made at The House of Mirelle. They did and I was then even more delighted when they gave it to me to use.
When it arrived earlier this year I saw what I’d originally wanted to see – a real life photograph to illustrate the written description of an outfit.
At the end of this year though I hold that photo in my hands and see what it really represents; a story far wider than the House of Mirelle, the story of Hull itself.
Other people have come forward too in many different ways and have generated many, many different conversations. Their voices follow me as I carry out my research.
Snippets and clips float back at different times, making links between what I’ve researched and what happened for people living the experience directly.
Since early this year finding people has extended from letter-writing to social media, phone calls, emails and texts also.
At the end of this year I feel the warmth of those surrounding me and the amount of Christmas cards on my window sill that have an “HU” postcode is testimony to how welcoming and open everyone has been.
This year has been a huge milestone in bringing the people into the story. It’s been wonderful.
There are still more surprises to come
Last week I spoke to a woman for the first time. At beginning of the year she was at the top of The Find List but was completely untraceable.
It took all year and another coincidence to find her and only happened because someone unconnected recognised her from something I’d shared from my research sources.
Talking to her brings a ‘name’ that reaches back all the way to the 1930s. As a nice aside it reconnected these two people after a long time too.
For me the standout part of 2016 has been incorporating people into the research.
It has been and still is absolutely extraordinary to hear people’s stories, receive their mementos and get to know them and through that, bring the House of Mirelle alive.
The British Library
Depending on how you think about research, spending time delving into the records of the past is either a practical necessity or a dream come true.
This is why loving your subject is essential; there will be things to do that are mundane and to others seem utterly boring but to you it’s all on the path to the book you’ll publish in the end.
This year I’ve got to know The British Library very well indeed. It was in February that I first took myself and a ruler, some pencils, a flask of tea and a big notebook up to Kings Cross reading rooms to ‘tackle 1951.’
I have to fill the gap between sources that I already have and the sources that are only available at The BL, as I affectionately call it.
Starting at the beginning of 1951 I’ve steadily worked through each year there and at the time of writing I am slap bang in the 1960s.
That’s at least 12 of the most wonderful days spent in the reading rooms. When I walk away I have a spring in my step that comes from the ‘wow’ of finding more.
While I’m at The BL I read and take notes of anything that may link in with fashion, Hull or The House of Mirelle and I do it one year at a time all and in one go.
Going there is a treat. It’s an extraordinary building which has free exhibitions, a hustle and bustle of interested visitors and a quiet presence that is matched by the thrill of turning original items over page by page. I literally hold history in my hands.
My research trips there have generated a massive database of background information, articles and notes about what researchers call ‘context.’
So if you want to know what Hullensians were wearing in 1956 or 1960 – I’m your girl!
Coincidences and serendipity
One aspect to 2016 makes me smile. There have been so many coincidences on this journey that they’ve developed into signposts along the way.
Researching and writing about Mirelle is a big project with edges that keep changing and when I’ve put it to one side for a while, a new coincidence calls me back in.
What do I mean?
There was the time I was watching a documentary that had a boat in it called ‘Mira,’ when Betty Bartlett’s daughter Anne contacted me this year, the house I stayed in in Hull and the two people who last saw each other in 1978 – one of whom I couldn’t find – bumping into each other in Hull just as I said: “I don’t think I’ll be able to find them.”
These coincidences have got an energy of their own. They can be personal or about Mirelle but the most recent is quite extraordinary.
For a while as a child I lived in a small village in Lincolnshire. In the 40 years since my family moved away we’ve had no contact with it at all. Near where I currently live I have a friend who comes from Hull and a relation has written a screenplay about The Triple Trawler Tragedy and it was sent to me to read.
I loved it. However it wasn’t that coincidence that stunned me – her relation lives in the same small village where I lived in Lincs.
There’s these, and there are many, many more……
2 Mirelle dresses: Sewing, sales, modelling and buying from the 1950s – 1970s
During 2016 I became the proud owner of 2 House of Mirelle dresses. They come from different eras; 1950s and 1970s.
Each speak to the talents of the buyers who sourced the designs of the day, they really knew their clients and were fashion buying experts.
They also show the talents of the workroom girls who were employed for their sewing and tailoring skills, sales staff who matched the perfect outfits with customers and the models and mannequins who displayed them in the fabulous fashion shows.
One dress is constructed in ways that shows couture sewing skills from the 1950s at their very best.
The other shows how the shop and workroom developed into the 1970s but that the sewing skills used in additions and alterations remained of the high quality expected of the earlier era.
As a dressmaker myself, holding two clothing items in my hands ( with cotton gloves on of course ) that might have been touched by the staff I’ve interviewed about Mirelle is tremendously exciting.
Both gowns are stunning. Fashion historians will view them in one way, visitors to an exhibition about The House of Mirelle another. Which leads me onto….
The House of Mirelle exhibition
2016 has seen the Mirelle archives grow and grow so that it contains photographs, interviews, clippings and programmes donated to me from throughout Mirelle’s history.
This is growing all the time and is so wide ranging and full it has become the Primary Historical Resource for Mirelle.
I have been offered exhibition space at Hull History Centre in November 2017 and the proposal includes a fashion show. One ex-model has even offered her services to the show saying she’ll ‘do her thing’ just like she used to. Marvellous!
It’s wonderful that the people I’ve got to know are so enthusiastic about this idea. Mirelle ran fashion shows throughout its 40 years of opening and they were occasions that people flocked to from miles around.
We may not be able to use the City Hall, Locarno Nightclub or The New York Hotel as Mirelle did in the time but we can make it just as good – a modern version in our time.
House of Mirelle wedding dress
In the midst of the post-Brexit melee, Jo Moore placed an advert in her local newspaper in Perth, Australia.
She wanted to know if anyone could tell her who originally owned the Mirelle dress she’d bought from a Perth charity shop.
I decided I’d help by writing a blog post about it and retweeting it too.
The very next morning, after a flurry of interest, I was interviewed on BBC Radio Humberside and within 24 hours the Hull Daily Mail interviewed Jo all the way from their offices in Hull too.
They followed that up by interviewing me next, admittedly from a shorter distance.
We had help left right and center and social media stepped up and made it a worldwide search.
All the way around the UK and Australia people shared and shared the information, inspired by the idea that the bride would see her wedding dress again.
In a couple of weeks it had been shared over 13,000 times which left me and Jo breathless.
On the 18th September I clambered onto a train at Kings Cross with one large and heavy suitcase, a backpack filled with research materials in display folders, my voice recorder and laptop and headed to Hull.
The coincidences continued….
It was while I was there that I read a block of finely printed text about a family wedding and Mirelle.
A seemingly innocent portion sprang out at me – the address the bride lived in. It was in Pearson Park and, as my eyes boggled, I saw it was exactly the same house I was staying in. At that very moment I was glad I was sitting down.
The time I was in Hull was extraordinary. When you come from a place familiarity means you forget what it’s like for someone seeing it for the first time.
It wasn’t the case though. Everyone had a love of explaining the history of Hull and a real connection with the past.
I did so many things that were unforgettable, You only have a first experience once but I felt it would be every bit as unforgettable even if it was the 3rd or 10th time.
The Hull History Centre was important for answering the questions that can only be answered in Hull and exploring the City on my own was also.
Being taken on trips to The Humber Bridge and a tour of the City centre was as well and the big get together of all the people involved with Mirelle at The Station Hotel too.
I can’t wrap my mind around calling it The Mercure, it’ll always be The Station Hotel to me.
What a lovely afternoon that was. As people contact me, I find they know others. I’ve become a hub around which people ask to be reconnected with people from their past and if they give me permission I don’t mind at all, it’s a thrill of a different kind.
While I was there I was given some illustrations by a Mirelle designer from the immediate post-war period. It was an unexpected moment and brought a tear to my eye that was as hard to brush away as they were when I was then given Mirelle fashion show programmes too.
After that, the same person passed two black and white photos over the table between us.
In them was a woman she didn’t recognise but she thought it was way back in the 1940s. I knew who it was in an instant. I’d met her for the first time only 3 days before.
Now an 88 year old she worked at Mirelle from the close of war in 1945. Listening to her talking was one of the most meaningful conversations I’ve ever had. The air was filled with sewing skills, the influence of rationing, getting ready for fashion shows and making up for clients.
She didn’t see what she’d experienced as that important or why I’d want to ask, but to me as a fashion historian and a dressmaker, the time she spent with me was magic.
The artistry and skills of the Mirelle women are wide ranging and these things particularly connect the present with the past.
Through them we can see the links between fashion and creativity then and now and see the extraordinary collection of talents that centered on Hull’s House of Mirelle.
But I think this photo sums up the most meaningful moment of 2016
I started the first Mirelle notebook in 2014 with one name.
This year a woman got in touch with me, her name is Anne. We talked and she shared that her mother worked at Mirelle as a dressmaker.
We talked some more and while she did her name rang a bell.
Faint and distant it took looking back through 2 years worth of notebooks, my diaries, my databases and resources to find out why.
In a small book from 2014 I discovered a name. It was scrawled there in a rush long before I had explored what Mirelle was, before I’d even decided I was interested enough to go any further.
It was a sentence that meant only that I’d noted something down.
It said: “Betty Bartlett, dressmaker.” She was a fire warden at Mirelle during the war.
When I told Anne that her mother was the reason I’d started on the path 2016 has found me in, we both fell silent. She didn’t know it was there, she had been completely unaware of it up until that point.
We decided that we’d go to The History Centre for very the first time and view Betty’s Fire Warden card together.
You can’t take photos at the History Centre or use them without their permission because of copyright, but the assistants working at the desk took this photo of us holding the Fire Warden Card gladly – it can’t be seen clearly but they could see how much it meant to Anne.
We examined it inside and out though as I was aware that this was a very personal moment.
I’m not researching my history, I’m writing and researching the history of others. Sitting there holding the Fire Warden Card with Anne summed up 2014, 2015 and this year also.
It speaks to the journey I’ve found myself on and how meaningful it is to me and others.
Looking at it heralded something else important…
From January 1st 2017 as the fireworks explode in the sky above Hull I am ready to start writing….
Social media is a powerful thing and the Hull History Facebook pages are no exception.
This morning I read a post on Old Hull started by Jane Hitchin. The picture at the top was of a wonderful old red brick building with the words The Hull Braves Guild painted across the front. You can see the photo in this post and follow the link to the Facebook page above.
Reading down, it appears that this building may be demolished on 22nd August unless the planning committee decides otherwise. I was particularly shocked by this decision as The Hull Braves Guild is also part of the story of Mira Johnson and The House of Mirelle.
Mira was a lifelong and selfless personality in the landscape of Hull’s charitable organisations. Throughout her life she worked to benefit charity including The Hull Braves Guild.
Public donations came from her staging large theatrical fashion shows that took place – mostly – in locations in Hull including The New York Hotel and Guildhall.
On 12th December 1950 a fashion show called ‘Frills For Festivities’ was held at Guildhall which benefited the Hull Braves Guild. It was staged on the suggestion of the then Sherriff’s Lady Mrs F L Bailey.
On 29/11/1951 again at the request of the then Sherriff’s Lady L Rosen, another House Of Mirelle fashion show took place at Guildhall which, again, benefited Hull Braves Guild.
They were large scale public events with considerable attention paid to them and full houses in terms of attendance. Both occasions speak to the importance of Hull Braves Guild in the minds of the public officials and the public at this time.
It is unthinkable that the building that housed the charity could be demolished. It is a vital part of Hull’s social history and must remain.
If you want to help the protest against the demolition of this building and such a prominent part of Hull’s social and architectural history, please email as follows:
Email address: firstname.lastname@example.org
Please use the reference in the email header: Ref. No: 16/00737/PAAD
Feel free to quote the section in this post in bold if you want to set your email into historical context.
The link between Mirelle, Mira and The Braves Guild is one that speaks to its relevance to Hull’s history overall. For this reason, I’m watching the public protest against this closely.
I think Mira would be outraged and possibly even hurt on behalf of those the charity helped.
Once gone, this building will never be replaced.
She would be standing at the front of the crowd saying in her passionate lead-from-the-front simplicity, that the building absolutely must be allowed to remain.
The jiffy envelope from the second hand book seller arrived in time for Christmas.
When I reached in to pull out the book I discovered that it wasn’t the size I’d expected – it was much smaller and lighter in my hands.
I ran my fingers over the textured leather cover feeling the dips of the gold picture and the white lettering before I opened it up and saw the face of Kay Pearson looking back at me. She was pictured at a piano surrounded by friends.
I am lucky to own a copy of Life In Hull From Then Till Now, it is a book long out of print.
It was published in 1978 after a story about Kay Pearson’s life was featured in the Hull Daily Mail’s Jane Humber section.
The publisher, Bradley Publications and Co, was as tickled by her story as the ivories that Kay played from childhood.
I’m also lucky to have this book because Kay’s story spans over 70 years of history in Hull from the turn of the 19th to the 20th Century until the 1970s.
Her story is told without artifice, flourish or it seems, that much conscious editing and it’s good for it. It’s retained a feel of someone sitting down at an old-fashioned typewriter to recount their life from start to the point when it was written.
At one point at the outbreak of the Boer War, the typeface even changes, as if the moment was a rift in time that could never be breached.
Kay’s voice speaks clearly from the pages. It reads as if she is talking out loud to an audience that she obviously enjoys.
Her life story is extraordinary. This is a spoiler free blog except to say that it’s the details of her life as a women that makes this book so fascinating.
It is at times a brutal account of female life: cleaning The Article, evidently an essential part of post-birth kit in the early part of the century, turned her 14 year old stomach and ours as reader also.
Her story has many up’s, down’s, dips and turns and at the same time charts the social history of women and the changes that the 20th century brought too.
Her stories of clothing make for fascinating reading.
By the time she’s in receipt of a widow’s pension in the 1950s she notes that one criteria of the pension is: “I must dress decently.”
This was given to her after the state stepped in and democratised fashion throughout the war years through the CC41 scheme, something that historians talk about benefiting the working classes of Britain more than those with money.
Throughout, Kay describes shopping, clothes, fabric and fashion in a way that reminds me that fashion as we know it these days has such a connotation to consumerism, extravagance and luxury.
There is an accompanying recognition of how, in comparison with ‘then,’ the ‘now’ is easy.
True poverty was part of Kay’s life.
At the turn of the century, her mother made a hearthrug from old bits of coats and trousers. Sometimes she’d “buy a soldiers old red uniform from the ragman that she’d cut into 2 inch strips and it made a splendid splash of colour on the ‘clipped mat’ as it was called.”
But she was an opportunist. She earned pennies on Sunday afternoons in the early 1900’s running errands because “men and woman enjoyed parading the whole length of Queen Street down to the pier and dress was not complete without a rose, gardenia or carnation to wear.”
Luckily her sisters were good needlewomen and helped her mother make a “new dress …in a delicate pink or grey,” so that she could wear it with rag dolled hair in a childhood performance.
She was still using this dress as a costume in 1978, it survived so well over the years.
To us these days, we’d think that it was a rare skill but Kay said that she wasn’t a skilled seamstress – despite this she handmade the outfits for her two daughter’s wedding days in 1941 and 1942.
It took her 16 weeks to prepare for the 1941 wedding: “there was materials to decide upon and purchase for the bride and bridesmaids. My daughter’s choice of wedding ensemble was plain, but choice, taking me exactly 10 weeks to complete.”
She adds detail that describes how precious this was in the horrors of the Hull Blitz:” I dread to think how many occasions I had to dismantle the gown from the hangers and store in numerous travel cases for safety, as air raids occurred.”
In 1942 her second daughter got married quickly, as was the trend at the time. Kay again made a wedding outfit from scratch after her daughter and her decided on “materials, styles and colours”.
By 1949, towards the end of rationing she looked back and recorded her thoughts: “All gowns, including my own, were complete for the great day, were really something, so much that I marvelled at my capabilities of dressmaking and a four tiered wedding cake into the bargain!”
We are left with this description to imagine the clothes she made.
And what of her own wardrobe?
“From the time I reached 15 years, I had saved up enough money to purchase mustard serge to have a costume made.** I purchased this from a shop called Sultans in Great Passage Street, the cost 3 shillings and 6d.
“A girl, apprentice to the trade, who did odd jobs of work on the side, made up the material at a charge of 5- and very nicely too – I felt a proper “swank” in it.”
And of her own wedding in 1915?
“Finances in our household were down to zero..to obtain a bridal gown was out of the question, however, material was purchased at a store Willis and Co, on the corner of Waterhouse and Carr Lane.
“Five yards of pale blue ninon*** at a sale, price 9 3/4 per yard. It cost 4 – 8 1/2 d.
“My eldest sister concocted a dress and jacket for me, and the left over pieces were made into two small head bonnets for the bridesmaids who were arrayed in white.
“My ensemble was made up of a straw hat trimmed with forget-me-nots, and a pair of my younger sisters shoes, I carried a bunch of flowers.”
Kay doesn’t include any photos of these family occasions, choosing instead to show pictures of Hull which are often faded and hard to make out on the page.
They are interspersed with snippets of programmes from performances she took part in or produced, and photos of herself performing in her later years also.
But one photo of her youngest daughter Betty, exists. It is the final photo in the book. Standing in her back garden, she is dancing for her mother as she took the photo.
She is smiling and holding the skirt of her dancing outfit which has the signs of being hand made also.
I’d ordered Life In Hull From Then Till Now, because I’m interested in Hull’s social history through oral history telling. That’s a phrase that means collecting and studying history through listening to people talking about the past.
Kay started to write aged 81 and that’s exactly what oral history is all about – talking about it and writing it all down. It’s part of the method I’m using in researching the House of Mirelle also.
As Kay said: “people always feature in any walk of life, some times fictitious, however every word you are about to read is fact and has needed no research.”
She was absolutely right.
Kay Pearson was a musician, mother and without realising it, a pure social historian of Hull.
In my school days we learned about history by reciting a seemingly endless list of dates and events.
“Chartism, The Corn Laws, Peterloo and World War 2,” chanted me and my friends as we held our history homework in our hands, waiting to enter the musty-dusty, dated classrooms.
By the time I took A level classical history things had got better.
Plays written by ancient voices made us gasp and laugh and we imagined living in the ancient ruins we visited. Descriptions of the lives of the average Joe or Joan were more interesting than reciting lists of kings and queens and prime ministers and acts of Parliament.
Classics made history better – it wasn’t necessary to ‘do lists’ to learn any longer.
What made the difference was the people’s voices that spoke out from the pages of history. Despite being over a thousand years past, it was fresh and said more about the time than any encyclopedia or text book. Voices and experiences and arts and culture made history come alive.
Researching the House Of Mirelle started with the modern equivalent. The research into the background of the fashion house means doing a lot of reading, then a lot of questioning about what I find, then even more reading and fine-sifting of information I’ve discovered.
That research has to happen before getting to the next bit – asking people about what they remember of the fashion house in real life. Like ancient history, this part makes the black and white information from the pages of materials I’m reading leap into life.
The House Of Mirelle did the same. It started with an interview:
The person said: “my aunt remembers it, she said it was ‘posh.’ She never went there….she thinks they made clothes for the Royal Family.”
I sat there listening to her, thinking of the pages of the text books, fashion books and magazines, the pages of information about the history of Hull, the lists of questions in my note books and drafts of the first chapters.
I listened to her voice some more and the House Of Mirelle became real again, so many years after closing it’s doors and the last item was bought, her voice and her memory was bringing history alive.
Shopping expeditions to the high street or browsing online to buy that must-have pair of shoes is far away from the couture shopping experience.
Couture, or hand-made clothing made to an individual’s requirements is every bit as glamorous as it sounds and its history is not entirely French!
Although ‘couture’ is a French word meaning ‘sewing’, the business was invented by a British fashion designer called Charles Frederick Worth.
This grand-sounding gentleman worked as an apprentice in various textile merchants in the 19th Century. While he was learning about fabrics, a skill essential for any fashion designer, he visited art galleries and studied portraits of historic women. He was consumed and inspired.
On moving to Paris in 1845 he set up a small dressmaking department in the firm Gagelin which was so successful that in 1858 he’d branched out on his own. The ‘House Of Worth’ is widely regarded as the first couture house in history.
His creations were so extraordinary that they were received with acclaim. French royalty ordered and bought them, American women flocked to Paris to view and buy and European aristocracy bought and wore House Of Worth creations.
His fashion house had a strict heirarchy of ‘hands’ or employees, a Directrice – or head salesperson who was in charge of selling the clothes – and their skills were second to none.
His garments were extremely expensive, exclusive and completely out of reach of the average woman. They were living works of art.
Realising they needed to safeguard the standards associated with the name couture, Le Chambre Syndicale de la Haute Couture established a set of guidelines. Anyone calling themselves a couture house must adhere to them. These rules were tightened up in 1945 at the close of World War 2 and are still in use today.
Parisian fashion held the world in it’s hands. By the 1900s it was simply the center of fashion worldwide.
But Britain wasn’t forgotten – it had its own couturiers too.
Based in London the work of Digby Morton, Norman Hartnell, Bianca Mosca, Hardy Amies and Edward Molyneux established British fashion in the international marketplace.
In 1941 they became the founder members of the Incorporated Society of London Fashion Designers – or IncSoc. These designers were asked to create patterns for Utility clothing under the clothes rationing scheme in World War 2. The results of the CC41 designs have remained in the British consciousness since.
They used quintessential British tailoring skills to create a wardrobe that was simple, understated and elegant. With the Utility scheme for the first time couture creations were entirely within reach of the British public.
The House Of Worth was by no means the only or first fashion house but Charles Worth was such an extraordinary publicist that his name has been associated with the establishment of couture fashion since.
His success is also a story about how a couture fashion business relies on publicity and promotion, social connections, reputation and word of mouth recommendation.
It was as vital then as customer service and branding is now.
Mira Johnson, Directrice of The House Of Mirelle followed in his footsteps. She was the powerhouse behind Hull’s fashion house and like Worth, a consummate publicist. She harnessed the power of the press to advertise ‘her fashion house.’
Through doing so she left a legacy for us to admire in the pages of journals and newspapers of the era and everlasting awareness of the couture designs found in donations to Hull Museum made by the House Of Mirelle.
From the air, England is a patchwork of cities and country, stitched together with granite and rock and fields and streets.
Hard against the North Sea is the UK city of Hull, cradled from that vast expanse by the River Humber. She reaches into Yorkshire in the North and Lincolnshire in the south with the city rooted in the crook of her arm.
Follow her out from the land of safety and your eye falls across the other country: one of rolling and glassy navy blues.
This is a cold sea, a bitter sea, a connecting northern flow that binds Hull with Europe. It is the strength of the sea that in medieval Britain, trade grew and with it the port at the estuary of ‘Mother Humber,’ respect for her lifeblood given in this name.
When docks were built to accommodate trade and industry, Hull became a gateway to the wealth that Europe brings. British woollen products and textiles were transported out from the enormous ship-filled berths, bringing wealth to the growing middle classes.
At first optimistic, this advantage turned when the North Sea blew against Britain in the war.
Hull’s gateway to world conflict would affect business, homes and family life as well as the character of the city for years to come.
In bad weather Zeppelins flying to London in the first world war turned back. The airships dropped their payloads of incendiary bombs onto the roofs and heads of the citizens of Hull. People lost their homes, business and lives.
In the aftermath Hull came to realise that a war could be fought from the sky. The people rioted for better protection. In preparation, 40,000 air raid shelters were built in the City but between Word War 1 and the outbreak of World War 2 in 1939, airship technology had advanced.
With it the dark, sky line threat of aerial attack was realised. Air raid shelters were scant protection from The Hull Blitz. The as-the-crow-flies distance from Nazi occupied Europe gave Germany the arrows they needed to bomb the City and port of Hull.
In 1941 the City lived in constant terror of a Nazi bombardment seconded only by the London Blitz.
95% of houses were damaged. The toll of dead and injured was in it’s thousands. 152,000 were made homeless.
The beautiful, historic Georgian, Victorian and Edwardian architecture in the city center caved under the storm.
Half of it was destroyed, taking with it thriving retail and industrial businesses, hospitals, churches, pubs, schools, cinemas, factories as well as homes.
Albion Street, within the lopsided square of roads encircling the old City, looked very different at the start of the war that it did at the finish.
The library, at the head of the street, attempted to maintain normality by opening its doors, but the people who lived in the brick terraces cowered throughout the Hull Blitz until finally, vast swathes of it was destroyed.
The air raid shelter to protect those who lived and worked nearby was a painful nothing, an inadequate and resounding tin hat against the driving onslaught of bombs.
But within this magnet to terror, the House Of Mirelle survived…