The following items describe boyhood clothing preferences:
Note: Two boys quarreled over weather it was sissier to wear a lace
collar or a
kilt. According to the boy in the
Fauntleroy suit and
blouse with lace collar:
Before Christmas Day there was a party at our school in Baker Street.
It was for the kindergarten, and the High School for Girls had lent us
their hall for the occasion. There was a conjuror, and as a number of the
bigger girls were there it promised to be a good party. I was very pleased
about this, as I always seemed to like bigger girls, and I boldly asked
one or two to dance. I could not dance at all, but one of them, a very
nice girl named Maud, took a lot of trouble to show me how, so that I
felt quite grown-up, and I suppose this made me rather cocky. Then one of
the boys started to chaff me about my lace collar, a thing I was sensitive
about. He was in Scotch clothes and I didn't think much of his get-up
either. Anyhow his taunts were more than I could bear and I lashed out at
him. He retaliated by kicking me. Stung to fury, I made a dive at him. We
were close to a table which had a lot of glasses on it and over it went,
glasses and all. For some reason, I got all the blame. As I tried to hide
the tears of rage by picking up the broken glass, a stern-faced woman in
an apron said I was a naughty little boy. Even Miss Turner, my favourite
mistress, looked severe and said I ought to know better. Covered with
shame, I retired to a corner and had the mortification of seeing Maud
dancing with my late opponent. The evening was ruined, and I was glad
when the time came to go home. Silent and crestfallen, I wrapped myself
up, and Martha got no answer when she asked me how I had enjoyed myself.
Cyril was very sympathetic over this misfortune. Perhaps it was as well that he did not witness the incident, for he would most certainly have intervened on my behalf and then it would not have been fair, two to one, and even more glasses would have been broken. After some sleepless nights over Maud, I decided that she was not worth troubling about. The anticipation of Christmas made forgetfulness the more easy.
Ernest H. Shepard (the artist who drew the original Winnie the Poo illustrations) in Drawn from Memory
Note: Poem supposedly written by a Victorian boy, but almost surely a man looking back at his boyhood.