Clare and Chrissie Castagnetti

Tag : Dancing Clothes


CLARE: I had five years of being the only daughter, then Chris came alongand my bubble burst. Mum told me I used to say: “Wedon’t want her. Can you send her back?” Chris was borna rebel; my mother always said she took day for night, and nightfor day. Literally. She’d sleep all day and at night beawake, she was just… different. Chris drove my motherdemented. I remember her saying, “I’m ready to throwher out of the window,” and my dad replying:“Don’t be so stupid, Sylvia.”

We grew up in World’s End, Chelsea. Dad was a chef and wouldbe away from home all hours. He wasn’t there enough really,because he worked so much. It was a terrible life, and he alwaysused to say to Clare and me: “I don’t care what yougirls do, so long as you don’t go into the cateringbusiness.”

Both my parents were born in England, but my father’s familywas Italian, and at the age of seven he’d been sent to Italyand left there with his grandmother for seven years. He came backjust before the second world war with an Italian passport —and was promptly interned. He was sent to the Isle of Wight, wherehe met my mother’s brother, which is how he met my mother.

Italian women tend to dominate and my mum certainly ruled ourhouse. My mother was the one who always had the say over whether wecould go out and how long we could stay out. For instance, I was aserious mod, and all my friends were going down to Clacton oneweekend, but because I was the youngest in that group I had to askmy mum if I could go. She said: “Go and ask your dad.”I never thought I’d get permission, but he said: “Yes,okay.” I told Mum: “Dad said I could go.”“No, you can’t,” she said. “Don’t bestupid.”

Chris and I both went to the Servite school in Fulham Road. It wasa Roman Catholic school, not fee-paying, of course, but the best inthe area. I had quite a hard time, because it was straight afterthe war and, being of Italian extraction, I wasn’t welcome atChristmas or birthday parties for quite a few years. “Shecan’t come — the Italian one,” the parents wouldsay. Even the nuns were nasty to me. But the nuns loved Chris whenshe came along.

She was very good academically, very bright, very gobby too —always had an answer, but made you laugh. I got through okay, I wasa plodder, but she was really gifted.

Five years is a big gap — and we used to share a bedroom— in fact, I shared a room with her until I was 20. One halfof the wallpaper was rock’n’roll, and the other sidewas Noddy. Chris was an absolute Noddy freak. She had a Noddydressing gown, Noddy pyjamas, Noddy slippers with little bells on,plates, saucers and Noddy cups. Everything was bloody Noddy.

When I was 19 Chris would take my clothes. I could go into herwardrobe at any time and guarantee to find something of mine there.But the thing that used to upset me most was when my clothes werecut up, because she would try to make something for herself out ofthem, and just destroy everything. We used to fight a lot, andsometimes it would be fist fights. But on occasions we got on well.We both absolutely adored music, and I’d come home and teachher to dance: Mud Jive, Mickey’s Monkey, all the mod dances.

When Chris got to 15 she dropped a bombshell: she’d hadenough of education and wanted to travel. And the next moment shehad left school and gone. She went all around Europe and Africa.She’d come back to England and do temp jobs to earn somemoney, and then be off again — and take half my make-up withher when she went. But I did miss her. I was always worried abouther and wondered what she was getting up to. She had an Englishboyfriend, and they used to travel together, and when they splitshe moved in with this great Dutch guy, and settled for a while inAmsterdam, although that didn’t work out in the end. Butshe’s got a wonderful partner now, and she and I are goodfriends. Great friends.

I had a pulmonary embolism a few years back, and as soon as shefound out she was round at the hospital, and did not leave my sidefrom dawn to dusk. I was very touched. I’m so pleased thatI’ve got a sister now. You can trust family, can’t you?They back you up, and when push comes to shove they’re alwaysthere for you.

CHRISSIE: I hated my sister and she hated me. Obviously, it was very hardfor her, because Mum and Dad were both working, so she had to lookafter me and was stuck with this sister who was five years younger,and that’s a huge difference with girls at that age. But Ihung around with girls who had older sisters, and their sistersseemed much kinder to them. She never really wanted me around; whenher friends got together, I could tell she was really pigged offthat I had to come too. But, having said that, if there was anytrouble, I knew she would defend me to the hilt, because I wasalways getting into scrapes, and she’d even fight for me. Butafter that we’d go back to hating each other.

Secretly, though, I admired her. She looked good, she was veryglamorous. When she first got into make-up I wanted her make-up,down to her lilac eye shadow. I wanted everything that was hers,especially her clothes, and she wouldn’t give me anything,literally, even when things were too small for her. She washorrible to me. So she made her own cross to bear by treating methat way. I learnt very quickly how to antagonise her and get myrevenge.

I used to steal her clothes — in my little mind I imaginedthat I could transform them completely by remaking them, and thatshe’d never recognise them, and they’d be mine forever. Obviously that would turn out to be a disaster, and I used tobury them under this loose floorboard in our bedroom and just watchher scream and yell. “Where’s my jumper?” shewould shout about some trendy thing she’d got at a boutiquein the King’s Road. I started going to pubs when I was veryyoung, because you could dance there. That was what people did inthe ’60s. She would order me out of the pub, because shedidn’t want her younger sister there, but of course Iwouldn’t go, and then I’d end up cadging a drink offone of her boyfriends, just to irritate her. She’d fly intoan absolute rage and say to him: “Why are you buying her adrink? She’ll just stay longer now.”

Sharing a bedroom was murder. I suppose she’s told you aboutthe meeting of the wallpapers. She had rock’n’roll onher side, and I had Noddy. We shared a double bed in those days— you did when you were working class. But God forbid yourolled over into “her” territory. Clare always had thisdividing line, and you’d suddenly get an elbow in the back:“You’re over the line.” Also, Clare had her owncup. God forbid you used Clare’s cup. I couldn’t carewhat cup I used. “I was sitting in that chair first.”It was all stuff like that. We’re so opposite, it rubbed mycharacter up the wrong way. It was very niggly. That was ourrelationship, that’s what it was like.

I was very useful when she wanted to practiserock’n’roll, however — dancing with the chair gotboring — so when I got in from school, it was: “Comehere, I want to show you something.” We both loved dancing.We had a record player downstairs — although of course thatwas always “hers”. And I couldn’t afford recordsanyway, until I had a Saturday job in a record shop.

I remember one night when Clare was having a party. Mum and Dadwere going out and they said she couldn’t have a party unlessI could come. I remember it was a summer’s night, and I wassitting on the windowsill, watching them all dancing — thismod dancing — and snogging, and just yearning to be part ofit. Clare just seemed to be really sophisticated and cool to me atthat time. However, once I turned 15 I wasn’t under hercontrol any more, and I took off, left the country. I didn’tmiss her. You’re very selfish when you’re young,aren’t you? I was away for my 21st birthday party, and when Ilook back I realise my family must have really missed me, but itdidn’t enter my head that they might. I didn’t thinkabout Clare at all. But whether I loved her or hated her, there wasa sense that Clare was always there. Family means a lot to me toonow, but it meant a lot to Clare at a very young age.

When I came back to England, I joined her working in the modelagency she’d just set up, and then I was old enough to feellike a contemporary — a 21-year-old can hang around with a26-year-old, no problem. Clare started to share her feelings, andsuddenly she wasn’t this big sister, where everything wasperfect in her life. I’d always been the wild one, and thedramas were around me, but I saw she had her own dramas andproblems, and I was old enough now to relate to them, and to beable to talk about them, and we became friends.

I can’t bear to see Clare low, or, as women do, startdoubting something about herself. After the break-up with oneboyfriend, I heard she was a bit down, and I invited her out toSpain when I was living there, to come and stay with me. That wassomething different for Clare, because she doesn’t reallylike change, and doesn’t like to travel. But she was great.For once she didn’t knock my world, or judge me, and she hada good time. It was a real turning point in our relationship, atime when I could offer something back to her.

Things have completely changed. We’re women in our ownrights. Of course we have different perspectives, but it’s agreat relationship now, and has been for quite a while. Idon’t think Clare has really ever been able to work me out.But what I love about her is that she never stops trying.