**
Seeing so many boys wearing dresses, kilts, Fauntleroy suits, and other garments in the 19th century, it often looks like boys had no strong opinions about how they dressed. This would be an incorrect assessment. They not unlike modern childre, had definite opinions. The different was in the 19th century parents had more authority and boys more likely wore what was opurchased for them wether they liked it or not. Ernest Shepard, the famed Enhlish illustrator, recalls an episode at a party that illustrates that boys indeed had definite preferences. Ernest H. Shepard of course was the illustrator who drew the original Winnie the Poo illustrations.
Neither Ernest Shepard or his brother Cyril grew up together and were very close. The boys wore dresses when little, but as far as I know did not wear kilts. The boys did wear Fauntleroy suits.
Shepard describes the episode, "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.
Shepard, Ernest H. Drawn from Memory.
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