POPPY-SHOW

Because of a recent foot operation, I was obliged to climb awkwardly onto the surgeon’s examination couch. I was unable to wear my customary slacks because of the bandaged foot, so wore a flared skirt that gaped as I swung my leg into position, thus exposing a view of my undies. This did not bother me at all, as I knew my underwear was clean and well-fitting. But I later said to my daughter. ‘There must have been a poppy-show!’
‘What do you mean, a poppy-show?’ she asked.
‘Don’t you know what a poppy-show is?’ I replied, ‘It is an accidental revealing of underclothes that could be embarrassing.’
I went on to explain that when I was a small student at the tiny Logan Village school in the thirties, it was common to hear the boys yelling when a girl would do a somersault or similar, ‘Yah! Yah! I can see a poppy-show! Britches made of calico!’
It was obviously a very old jibe, as even then our bloomers were not made of calico. No frills or lace, just gathered with elastic, made of soft cotton, but no calico. How many others are familiar with this phrase, I wonder? And nowadays, who cares if we see a poppy-show?