Mom's Handbag

Ah! There is much to be said about enduring style, is there not?
I still have in my possession the handbag my mother held on the day she married my dad in Dublin, Ireland, right after WWII, August 1945. At this writing, that makes it 67 years old; not exactly Smithsonian vintage but nearly. It doesn't have a label so I don't know where it was made; undoubtedly it was purchased in Belfast, Northern Ireland, where she lived. Just beautiful.

Here is the proof in her right hand!
I also used to have the suit, a scarlet wool 40s style, but it got too moth-eaten and sadly, was discarded. Oh– and that's my future dad, the US Army sergeant who swept her off to America.

I'm currently reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and wonder how, in Northern Ireland, 1945, she could have gotten her hands on such a handbag– with leather and practically everything being rationed. My mom, being young and cute, would brag a little of how her own mother encouraged her to flirt with the fellow they called "Billy Butter" to get extra –what else?– butter! I have a feeling that, the minute the war was over, my dreamy-future-mother went on a meager shopping spree.  P.S. Good book!