My first memories of life were pinched by poverty.

The pinch of poverty had been chronic.

I was eight years old when I wore my first little undershirt actually sold in a store across the counter.

And then it had been only one little undershirt.
When it was soiled I had to return to the awful home-made things until it was washed.

I had been so proud of it that I insisted on wearing it without any outer garment.