Creating her first collection of hats was a daunting prospect but a trip to the millinery wholesaler’s in South William Street and a delivery of essential materials from the Milliner Warehouse in London and Beauvoir’s in Paris had ensured that she had everything she needed to begin. Despite the shop renovations and the sanding and the wiring of the new lighting, she had worked night and day to design and make hats that she hoped women would consider both irresistible and delicious.
The city was awash with cherry and apple blossom, the countryside and gardens covered with white hawthorn blooms and with every breeze the drifting petals covered the pavements and paths. She herself was nervous, adrenalin flowing as she covered reams of white paper with sketches and rough drawings of what she wanted. A Japanese print of a cherry tree on her mother’s noticeboard – thin trunk and slightly curved branches reaching skywards, its starkness softened by a spray of blossom – inspired her, made her giddy with excitement, as she too strove like the unknown Japanese artist to create simple shapes, black, white, red, jade green and a pale pink. She put each design up on the block, taking her time, as the materials stretched and developed the shapes and curves and lines she wanted. She held her breath as she took them off. Checking how each would sit on a head, she added brims to some and painstakingly worked with fine wire and silk to fashion each individual petal of blossom, perfect orbs of white and pink and black and a creamy rose to contrast with and soften the crowns and brims. Each hat was different, and the eight headpieces with their simple wraparound wire-covered shapes that clung neatly to the head, all with a bold dash of colour, had also somehow managed to retain the Japanese influence that had inspired them. Overcome with sheer joy as she finished her ‘White Blossom’ collection, knowing that each hat was as individual as she could make it, Ellie was nonetheless filled with trepidation as she put five of the pieces on hatstands in the window.
The opening of the little hat shop was a great success. The place was packed out with well-wishers, wine and champagne flowing as journalists and fashion stylists chatted and good-naturedly admired her work. Two of Ireland’s newer designers vowed to remember her when they were showing their next collection. Her ears were red with all the praise and flattery bestowed by Dominic Dunne on her work and the refreshing new look of the hat shop perched on the corner of South Anne Street.
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she said afterwards, ‘for all your kind words and for taking the time to come tonight and do the opening.’
‘Ellie, it’s a pleasure and the very least that I could do,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘I just wish Madeleine was here with us both to enjoy it.’
‘Maybe in some way she is,’ whispered Ellie, conscious of a reassuring sense of her mother’s presence at this time when she needed it most.
It wasn’t a large collection – but Ellie had put her own stamp on each piece. The hats were original, beautiful, each a small, delicious individual work of art. Seeing the admiring reaction of her guests and the photographers pleased her enormously.
‘Ellie, everything is gorgeous enough to tempt anyone to spend a fortune,’ declared Francesca Flaherty loyally as her husband Paddy insisted on buying his lovely wife the most expensive hat in the place, saying the glinting green silk matched her eyes.
Ellie was brimming with happiness as people admired her work and Kim made sure she mingled with everyone. Some strange temptation had made her send Neil Harrington an invitation. She wasn’t surprised he didn’t show, but had to admit to being disappointed. It was daft, for she didn’t need his approval.
The chic little shop on South Anne Street quickly attracted attention as the bright window displays of colourful hats and unusual headpieces enticed women of all ages to step inside. The ‘Blossom’ hats were greatly admired and sold quickly. Variations on them were ordered. A glowing mention in the weekend section of the Irish Times helped, as did the use of two of her hats in a fashion shoot for Image magazine.
The young milliner concentrated much of her efforts on creating just the right atmosphere, for the purchase of a hat was such a personal affair. There were mirrors and good bright light and two re-covered comfortable chairs. A large glass vase was constantly filled with fresh flowers and greenery, which added to the gaiety of the place, and outside two cream-painted stone urns of violets welcomed customers as they stepped through the door. Clutter was kept to the minimum, as it was her hats that she wanted people to notice.
Interiors were one thing but providing a unique collection of hats that appealed to a certain type of customer was essential. Ellie decided also to create a fun range of gay hats in strong colours, yellow, pink, red and orange, using tulip-print material that she had ordered in from Amsterdam, and another based on simple straws with big print bows and dancing yellow, orange and red silk flowers.
Women of all ages loved them and in no time Ellie found her order book beginning to swell.
Standing outside the doorway of number 61 and seeing her name written above it, Ellie experienced a sense of joy unlike anything she had ever known. She was proud of the shop and proud of following in her mother’s footsteps and continuing the tradition of hat-making.
‘You’ve done a great job, Ellie. You’ve transformed the place,’ said Sissy Kavanagh, who, together with her sister, Kitty, ran the small newsagent’s along the street. ‘You make the rest of us look dowdy.’
David Hannah and his wife, who ran the jeweller’s down near the corner, were also impressed.
‘You must have spent a fortune!’
‘Not as much as you’d think,’ she confided. ‘I didn’t have that type of money, just a small loan. But I decided to start afresh. Everything was cleared out and I expanded the shop’s floor space a bit and redesigned my workroom. The fancy lighting makes a difference too.’
Some of the older shopowners said nothing as they inspected the place, for all of them were nervous of the huge construction project that was due to begin in a few weeks’ time. Many feared that, like the other small businesses, they too would have to close down.
Harry Regan, who ran the shoe shop across the street, admitted he was also thinking of selling up.
‘Couldn’t you just do something similar to what I’ve done?’
‘Ellie, girl, it’s not worth it. I’m too old and none of my kids are interested in the business.’ He shook his head. ‘And don’t tell me that when that fancy shopping gallery opens across the street there won’t be an expensive shoe shop or two in there. No, it’s better to take the money and go now, while I have the chance. The shop’s been good to me.’
Ellie would be sad to see him close down, as he had been a good friend to her mother over the years.
‘Seeing your shop, though, does my heart good,’ he added, looking around him. ‘It reinvigorates the street. Makes me remember what it was like when we all first moved in. Polished brass and glass and canopies – a bit of style, that’s what the place always had.’
‘It’s such a lovely street,’ agreed Ellie, ‘I couldn’t imagine the shop anywhere else.’