Betty Toddy’s Remarkable Dress

Back in the days when George III sat on the throne of England, in the far westerly town of St Just, a little girl was born. Her name was Elizabeth Williams. But because there were so many Williams in St Just, each Williams family earned a nickname. Some became known as the Cobblers, some the Bibbs — and in Betty’s case, her family became known as the Toddy’s.

So Elizabeth Williams became Betty Toddy.

As Betty grew up, she loved nothing more than dressing up. In those days, they dressed up for feast days and church, putting on their Sunday best. Each year, just before the Harvest Festival, Betty’s mother would go to the drawer that held what remained of Betty’s grandmother’s fine clothes and old possessions. From these, she would make a new dress for Betty.

Betty was so excited she could hardly sleep the night before the Harvest Festival. She was determined to be the best-dressed girl in St Just.

When morning came, she put on her new dress — lace ruffles hanging from elbows to knees — and danced around the house. Then she would go back to her grandmother’s drawer and decorate herself with beads and rings. She would finish her outfit with a pair of high-heeled black velvet shoes with silver buckles, though they were far too big for her feet. She clomped around the house in them, delighted, before heading off to church.

But walking in such oversized shoes meant Betty was always left behind by her family. She would arrive last at the church, usually just after the service had already started. Reverend George Scobell, the vicar, had often begun his sermon by the time Betty entered. But he always paused and smiled when he saw her. The whole congregation would turn to look — at Betty Toddy, dressed in lace, beads, rings, and those clumsy black  velvet shoes.

By the time Betty was in her teens, she was living on the edge of St Just in a small house with her brother Jacob. They had enough land to keep two black-and-white cows, a dozen chickens, and to grow a little grain.

The dresses Betty had once worn to feasts and church no longer fitted. She had carefully stitched the torn and tattered lace from them onto her best checked apron. Now, she wore that apron over her everyday dress on special occasions. The black velvet shoes now fitted, though they were scuffed and the heels were coming loose.

Somehow, Betty was always the last to slip into church, but Reverend George Scobell would still smile at her. None of the rest of the congregation turned to look. Betty was determined: by the time she left her teens behind, she would once again own the finest dress in town.

   Betty had started saving for a brand-new dress. She kept a small box under her bed where she dropped her pennies, one by one. Her brother Jacob worked in the mines and was always hungry. Despite this, Betty often sold the eggs, milk, and butter to get money for her new dress — unknown to Jacob’s rumbling tummy.

With the end of her teen years approaching,  it was time for Betty to get a new dress made ready for the harvest festival. A trip to Penzance was needed. She had saved up three weeks’ worth of butter to sell, and tied all her savings tightly in a little purse tucked into her pocket.

It was eight miles to Penzance. Thankfully, she caught a ride with Farmer Bibb. Once in town, Betty set about selling her butter — some of it three weeks old. If anyone dared question its quality, she’d simply say, “Don’t you know that butter from black and white cows is grey?”

Amazingly, by the end of the day, all the butter had sold. Her purse was as full as it had ever been.

Betty made her way to the mercer’s shop, owned by Mr. Pidwell. He had fabrics from all over the world. Betty looked carefully through every bolt of dress fabric — but nothing caught her eye. It had to be special.

Then, halfway up the bed-linen shelf, she spotted it.

The most wonderful fabric she had ever seen — it was alive with colour. Trees and flowers of every kind danced across it. Birds sang from the trees, cows and other farm animals wandered through the fields. In fact, there were more beasts on that fabric than ever entered the Ark!

“How much is it?” Betty asked, heart pounding.

Mr. Pidwell smiled. “Two and twenty pence,” he said.

Betty tipped her purse onto the counter. Mr. Pidwell counted the coins carefully, then smiled again. He had known Betty’s family for years.

“Well,” he said gently, “that’s just enough.”

And with that, the fabric was hers.

By the eve of the Harvest Festival, Betty's dress was made, it had red sheep on each shoulder and a blue bull on the back, it really was the best dress that anyone's heart could wish for.

Betty had saved a few more pennies to take the black velvet shoes to Mr Cobbler to have them repaired.

The night before Harvest Festival once more Betty couldn't sleep. This time she was going to have the best dress that St Just had ever seen.

In the morning, there was much baking to be done. Betty made broth and dumplings, and a figgy pudding.        

                                                                                                                                                                      
Time was running away. She put on her dress, the now-mended velvet shoes with a silver buckle; then found what remained of her Grandma’s old possessions. She put on the beads and the rings, and finished it all off with a silk cloak to walk to church.

Of course, Betty was late. She pushed open the door of Penwith Church with as much noise as she could make. Reverend George Scobell paused his sermon and gave the biggest smile. All in the congregation turned to look as Betty dropped the silk cloak to the floor — and there she stood.

It truly was the best, most beautiful remarkable dress anyone had seen in St Just — maybe the most beautiful dress to this day that has been worn in all of Cornwall!

Some say that if you listen outside Penwith Church on Harvest morning, you might still hear the clomp of velvet shoes, and see a shimmer of red sheep dancing through the sea mist.