Bespoke

Working in Manchester in the world of bespoke tailoring was a diverting summer experience. Whereas there was a fair share of the fey and flamboyant characters front of house, the back room staff were different altogether.

Our establishment was a small family business, long established as a Civil and Military tailors (On the official war office list) during the war and simple Bespoke Tailors after it. I still have the business cards: civil and military in clear Roman type; bespoke in italic with a flourish.

The proprietor, bearing the same name as the shop dealt with front of house and the finances. The choice and ordering of cloth was organised by him under the guidance of the Cutter.
The senior cutter was the boss when it came to the finished article and he was as punctilious and meticulous as the proprietor was not. The cutter called the measurements for me to take down on a pre-printed card with boxes for each measurement. I was in the office adjoining the fitting room. That fitting room, if I recall rightly, had three mirrors. Three piece suits were the order of the day during the week with sports jackets and flannels for Saturday morning. They weren't flannel really but 18 oz Huddersfield worsted. I am told they still have manufacturers of fine cloth in Huddersfield.

Mr J, the cutter, was a spare figure of a man. " one of the greyhound breed," he called himself. He took the Manchester Guardian newspaper which lay at the end of his bench as tight and neatly folded as the man himself. He loaned it grudgingly and only on the proviso that it was returned as near to the pristine as possible. He took it to the basement with him for his frugal lunch of a cheese sandwich and an apple. Here he cut a slightly lonely figure surrounded by his brown paper patterns garnered through the years and generations. His was a solemn demeanour and I rarely saw him smile, although he did permit himself a controlled, polite laugh with an old and respected client. Other clients were left to whoever was available while he disappeared back to his shears and chalk. On one occasion, I inadvertently sliced through my tape while cutting out some linings. His response to my “Damn!” was ” tut” accompanied with eyes rolled upwards while he looked down his nose disdainfully and turned away. He didn’t suffer fools gladly. In fact he didn’t suffer them at all.


The shop was long and narrow with a deep mahogany counter down the long side and short glass topped cabinet as a counter at the end. The till was situated here; a long wooden affair with an opening on top to access the till roll and to write in the items. The roll turned with the opening of the drawer. That was how things were done fifty years ago. The long counter was used to measure and cut pieces of cloth to a manageable length. Blacks and greys came in 32 yard pieces. Fancy cloths came in suit lengths of three and a half yards or a small number of multiples thereof for the more popular lines.

There were a small sample number of ready to wear items and accessories but the shop was mainly stocked with fine worsted cloth in suit lengths on appropriately sized shelves. It was rarely busy and clients arrived singly and sometimes by appointment. Customers off the street were rare and a matter for careful consideration.

A selection of regular clients and the eccentric world of the outworkers will be the subject of a later Saturday post.

JL Feb 11 13:07