LITMIR.BIZ

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hockey but the nun in charge always put me in goal because she didn’t like me. She would referee running around the pitch with her habit tucked into the cord at her waist. One rainy morning when we were playing, she ran towards the goal, calling out to the girls to shoot. I put out my hockey stick and deliberately tripped her up. Sister went down with a bang, and when she got up she was covered in mud from head to foot. My friends loved that because she was a particularly nasty woman, whom we all detested. I had a lot of friends at school, some of whom I still see. Doris Joyce was one of the best and the last person in the world you would think would become a nun. My cousin Noelle was in my class and very kindly says today that she doesn’t remember what a disastrous student I was.

      I disliked most everything about school but I developed other passions to make up for it. I loved driving and I adored my riding classes at Iris Kellett’s school in Mespil Road. It was seven shillings and sixpence a lesson and it was a good thing that Pamela and Roger weren’t interested, as my father complained about the cost and certainly wouldn’t have stretched the budget to allow all three of us to attend. Iris Kellett was the only child of a veterinary surgeon who had left the British Army to help start up Kellett’s, a drapery business in Georges Street. He also acquired the British Army cavalry stables in Mespil Road and Iris helped him run it as a riding school. Iris was a brilliant equestrian and during her lifetime she became known and respected internationally.

      Iris took us down to Sandymount Strand very early in the morning and I had a little pony, Penny, who was very docile and sweet until she got on the beach and then she ran and ran, leaving me hanging on for dear life. I competed in gymkhanas and eventually in the RDS in Ballsbridge, when I rode a pony called Lauralie. This was a great achievement for me and I was thrilled with myself. I cantered around and then, when I got to the first jump, Lauralie stopped dead. You are allowed two refusals, and next time she approached the fence she was over it in a flash. We cantered around, taking all the jumps after that, and were doing well until the fence at the top of the arena when the pony stopped dead, and this time I went flying over. The pony looked at me and seemed to laugh as I picked myself up to do the walk of shame back down past the big stand, where all the children were sniggering at my downfall.

      I was more successful playing golf with my father in Rathfarnham. I was good at it, but hated all the rules and regulations, and the clothes that some of the women wore were horrendous. I had a handicap of 12 when I had to give it up because of a problem with my back and I have never played since.

      I loved tennis and joined the Sandyford Tennis Club and soon became a team member. Going away to compete against other clubs was great fun. Anything to do with physical activity makes me happy but don’t ask me to sit still and concentrate. I’ll never understand how my sister and brother found studying so easy.

      At school, there were no ponies, no golf, no cars or tennis, nothing that interested me. I was good at sport, sewing, geography and art, but that was about all. I really didn’t apply myself or care for that matter and I believe it might have been the Irish exam that brought the wrath of the head nun down on my head. I put my name at the top of the page, Rósmáire Ní Gowan, and then proceeded to draw lots of little horses jumping over fences. At the end of the exam, I just folded my paper and handed it in. I got 1 per cent – I think that must have been for writing my name in Irish!

      The Mother Superior rang my father and asked him to come in to discuss my progress. When they met, the nun didn’t hold back. ‘Mr Smith,’ she said, ‘your daughter is stupid.’ To this day, I believe what Mother Superior meant was I had the brains but I was stupid because I wouldn’t use them; that’s what I like to think anyway. My father didn’t take it like that and he was furious. ‘No nun is going to tell me that my daughter is stupid,’ he said, his prejudice coming to the fore, and he removed me from the school straight away, even though I was only 15. I can’t remember being particularly upset by this decision and I spent a very happy summer, left to my own devices.

      My mother wasn’t pleased at the prospect of having me hanging around the house. Roger was helping my father run the business, Pamela was studying in London, and so Mother made the decision to send me to the Grafton Academy of Fashion Design. She had taught me to sew and knew that I was good with a needle and thread. I always loved clothes and as a child made dresses for my dolls, which were much admired by my friends and relatives. I had one particular favourite doll that had a papier mâché head; the rest of her body was stuffed. Unfortunately, I left her outside one night and it spilled rain and the whole doll’s body and face were ruined, not to mention her taffeta dress. I was heartbroken.

      The Grafton Academy was Ireland’s first fashion design school and was at the heart of the Irish fashion industry. It was run by a pioneering woman, Mrs Pauline Clotworthy, who opened the Academy in 1938. She had been trained at the British Institute of Dress Designing alongside Hardy Amies and Norman Hartnell, who was later to become Queen Elizabeth’s couturier. Pauline Clotworthy was determined to pass on her knowledge and expertise to young people in Ireland. Over the years, the Academy has trained many of the country’s leading designers and I hoped I could be one of them.

      Sending me to the Academy was one of my mother’s better ideas and I started there in September 1953, a month after my 16th birthday. Mrs Clotworthy was a wonderful teacher with endless patience and she took a great interest in me and my work. I was happy there because I was well able to follow instruction outside of the dreaded school environment. I found the art of dressmaking came easily and all the teachers were very encouraging and complimentary about my efforts. I was meant to be undertaking a two-year course but in the following April, after only eight months, I asked if I could graduate with the students who had been studying for two years. At first Mrs Clotworthy said it couldn’t be done but when she saw some of my work she relented.

      In order to graduate I had to make four outfits, which I modelled myself. When I wore the beachwear I’m sure I looked like a scarecrow. I was 5’10”, which I still am today, and a size 8, which I am no longer. I made the evening dress out of felt and no one had ever used that fabric before in dresses. I will never forget that bright pink, strapless dress; the front was knee-length and the back went right to the ground and I stuck big black felt circles around the end of the skirt and even had shoes dyed to match. On the day of the graduation I nearly collapsed when the results were announced: Rosemary Smith, Overall Student of the Year.

      From the Academy, I went to the boutique of Irene Gilbert in South Frederick Street, Dublin, the street famed for fashion houses at the time. Irene Gilbert was a very shy woman but that didn’t stop her from being the first woman to run a successful fashion business in Ireland and becoming a famous couturier. She used tweed material to great effect and liaised with the mills to create the exact colours she wanted.

      Some people preferred Sybil Connolly, another great Irish designer, because of her fabrics, especially the pleated linen, for which she was famous, but to my mind no one could touch Irene Gilbert. One of her most famous creations was a Carrickmacross lace evening dress commissioned by Princess Grace, and she also dressed many celebrities in Ireland, including Phyllis Ryan, the wife of President Seán T. O’Kelly. I was privileged to be working with her as an apprentice and she taught me a great deal. She had the most wonderful finish on her garments and taught me all linings must be hand sewn, hooks and eyes must not be seen. Now I was on my way to becoming a dress designer and, for many years, the press always hung that qualification on to the end of everything – Rosemary Smith, Dress Designer, wins whatever. What the dress designing had to do with the driving was beyond me but maybe it drew attention to the fact that I was a woman in a man’s world.

      There was no real chance to show off my dress designing skills working for Irene Gilbert, as my position in her studio was such a modest one. I was ambitious and left to try my luck at designing for T. J. Cullen, a company situated along the quays, where Temple Bar is now. Old Mrs Cullen was a formidable woman who moved with the aid of a walking stick and managed the place with great authority. My wages were two pounds, eight shillings and eight pence per week and as we lived in Sandyford at the time I had to get up at seven in the morning to catch the 44 bus to work.

      I designed two summer dresses, which the buyers liked, and Cullen’s got orders to make 100 dozen of each garment. I asked Mrs Cullen for a rise on the strength of that

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