My Nan (my Mum's mum), Rose, was born in 1910 and orphaned at just ten years old

It’s a story of incredible hardship, from the workhouse to working in service, which you can read more about in my other blog post: “My Nan's early life, from being orphaned, to the workhouse, to working in service”

But how does a story from the 1920s fit into my life decades later? It all started with a trip to the barbers

Growing up, I had shoulder-length hair. However, not long into my teens, I decided it was time for a change. It was the height of the punk era, and after seeing so many people with shorter, sharper styles, I decided to have it all cut off into a crew cut

I remember walking into the barber’s shop and being met with a laugh. "Crew cut today?" he asked, clearly joking because he assumed there was no way I actually wanted to lose that much hair. When I looked him in the eye and said "Yes," he stopped laughing. He kept asking me, "Do you really want this?"

Anyway, a crew cut it was. I left the shop feeling a lot lighter on the head and headed home

When I walked through the front door, it was a bit of a shock for my mother. But it was my Nan, who was staying with us at the time, whose reaction I’ll never forget. She started to cry. Seeing her in tears was the last thing I had ever wanted, but it was that moment of emotion that caused a story she had never told anyone to finally come out

She told us about the day she was orphaned and sent to the Workhouse, Wigmore School in West Bromwich. This was the ritual for every new arrival

She was taken down into the basement where the boiler was kept. She was told to strip, and every single one of her clothes and belongings, which wasn't much to begin with, was thrown straight onto the fire. Then, they shaved her head, and her hair was thrown onto the boiler as well

In those days, flies and head lice (nits) were rampant, and the practice was designed to ensure no infections entered the school. But for a ten-year-old girl who had just lost her parents and had no one left to look after her, undergoing that in front of strangers was deeply traumatic

Conclusion

It’s strange how a simple fashion choice, a teenage whim to look more punk, can bridge the gap between generations. I wanted a crew cut to look "cool" and feel lighter; for my Nan, that same image was a haunting reminder of the day her identity and dignity were stripped away by an institution. It serves as a powerful reminder of how much the world has changed, and the hidden burdens that our elders often carry in silence