Fig leaves for the faint-hearted

My father liked to sunbathe in the nude and also to walk naked on the lonelier stretches of the Black Mountains, where we lived, but he was most discreet in his naturism and would be mortified if accidentally intruded upon. A few years ago I planted this fig tree which would have provided him with the archetypal modesty garment.

In 1857 the Grand Duke of Tuscany presented Queen Victoria with a cast of the famous, 14 f00t high, statue of David by Michelangelo. (It was intended as a sop following the Duke's refusal to sell a painting to the National Gallery.) The gift caused consternation and was hastily consigned to the South Kensington (now the V&A) museum. To spare the queen's blushes, a plaster fig leaf was specially commissioned, to be hung on the (well-hung!) statue, using two strategically placed hooks, prior to any royal visits.
The same device was employed when a copy of the statue was placed in Forest Lawn Cemetery, California in 1939 and it remained in position until 1969. Even today, I learnt that "On the Internet, one company offering marble reproductions of the statue allows purchase of a fig leaf at no extra charge".

Masaccio's 1425 fresco of Adam and Eve's Expulsion from the Garden of Eden was supplied with superimposed fig leaves in 1680 and these remained until the painting's restoration in 1980. It's worth noting that while Eve is shown covering her erogenous zones, Adam hides his face. This reminds me of the possibly apocryphal story relating to the famous university men's bathing place, Parson's Pleasure, on the banks of the river in Oxford. Nude swimming was the tradition but there was (as indeed was still the case when I was a gal at school nearby) always the risk (or thrill) of ladies boating past - although they were supposed to disembark and use a high-fenced path. Anyway, the story goes that on one occasion a lady floated into view and the sunbathing dons all covered their genitals, except for one who covered his head instead. When asked why he had done that, he replied haughtily, "I don't know about you, gentlemen, but in Oxford, I, at least, am known by my face."
(He was Maurice Bowra and not a ladies' man in any case.)

Nudity is not a popular choice in our chilly Welsh summers but at least the fig leaves are handy if required.