When I was a maiden, fair
Mama made our underwear.
With five tots and Pa's poor pay,
How could she buy lingerie?
Monograms and fancy stitches
Were not on our flour sack britches.
Panty waists that stood the test,
With "Gold Medal" on the chest.
Little pants the best of all,
With a scene I still recall:
Harvesters were gleaning wheat,
Right across the little seat.
Tougher than a grizzly bear
Was our flour-sack underwear;
Plain or fancy, three feet wide,
Stronger than a hippo's hide.
Goldie the Gold Medal Flour sack doll.
Picture courtesy/General Mills.com
Through the years each Jill and Jack,
Wore this sturdy garb of sack
Waste not, want not, we soon learned,
Penny saved, a penny earned.
Bedspreads, curtains, tea towels too,
Tablecloths to name a few.
But the best beyond compare,
Was our flour-sack underwear.
"Flour-Sack Underwear"
A poem by Ruth Gettle
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