“Charlie’s dead” was the saying in Surrey, 1960s/‘70s.
When I was about 8 I came home from school to be told, “There’s a present for you upstairs”. On my bed was a pink petticoat, all floofy net and satin bows, with a lace bodice. I was a tomboy and never wore dresses.
I choked back tears and couldn’t hide my disappointment. I’d hoped with all my heart that it would be jodhpurs, and failing that, baseball boots.
I don’t remember who’d bought me the petticoat. My mother wanted me to be a girly girl as my much older sister had been, but I’m sure she wouldn’t have bought something so extravagant. My aunt, perhaps, who didn’t have a daughter.
I never wore the petticoat.