Before the age of disposable paper napkins and tissues, there were handkerchiefs. Every woman’s purse and man’s jacket pocket carried one. Men also carried them in the back pockets of their khakis, jeans or overalls. Not only were they a necessary part of your wardrobe, but they were stylish as well.
Mama had quite the collection: flowered, pretty patterns, some even decorated with famous landmarks, like the Eiffel Tower or the State Capitol. Dad’s handkerchiefs, on the other hand, were mostly plain white, but he did have one with a blue plaid border and a couple of monogrammed ones for church on Sunday and “funeralizing.”
One of my earliest memories is sitting between Mom and Dad on the vinyl seat of our white 1963 Buick Electra getting a “spit bath” on the way to church. Dad always made pancakes for us on Sunday mornings and we would slather on the syrup and heaps of butter. We usually made it about halfway to church before Mom gave me the “side-eye” and went to digging in that piece of luggage she called a purse. After she retrieved a lipstick-stained hankie from its depths, she would apply a little Mama-spit – able to remove any substance – and give my face a good scrubbing.
My Sunday school teacher thought I was an exceptionally healthy child since I had such a glow about me, but what she didn’t know was I had just had my sticky face thoroughly cleaned with Mom’s Watermelon Red Avon lipstick via hankie. I can still smell the combination of Wrigley’s gum, syrup, purse lint, Mama’s compact powder and that Avon lipstick.
By the time we drove into the church yard, I could finally open my eyes that had been “squinced shut” against the impromptu cleaning, syrup-free and ready to face the congregation.
My older siblings would laugh on the way to church at my plight, until Mom inspected them too. My sisters were usually deemed presentable, but my little brother would be late to class many Sundays because Mama had to hold him down to tackle his syrupy face. He was a “squirmer.”
Every little old lady I knew (they were all old to me back then) had a clean hankie handy, ready to fan with it or dab their neck or face if it was a hot day. The church usually had plenty of “funeral fans” in the pews alongside the green Broadman hymnals, but sometimes the fans were all in use.
One August, I don’t know how the preacher kept his mind on his sermon with all those fans waving and hankies fluttering. It was almost like a dance of sorts, a distraction that helped me ignore the beads of sweat trickling down my back. It was a hallelujah day when the church finally got air conditioning.
There were other uses for those handy squares of cloth besides a runny nose or an unfortunate nosebleed. Many times, I saw Dad use his good handkerchief to dust off a seat before he sat down; he did the same for Mom, a gallant gesture that has gone by the wayside. I also saw Dad use his everyday ones for a temporary bandage, to open a hot car door handle and wipe his brow when he was building fence or cutting firewood.
Mom kept her mother’s handkerchiefs folded neatly in a drawer. Once, not long after Granny died, I saw her take one out and put it to her face and cry. I was very small and didn’t understand then, but I do now. I know that remembering a loved one’s smell is a tenuous memory, one that connects you in a visceral way, but is fleeting and fades quickly, like the memory of their voice or their laughter.
Since I started carrying hankies at a young age, about 13, I feel incomplete now without one. I usually have two or three on my person at any given time – ready for grandchild spit baths and other duties. People think it’s quaint, even funny, that I’m still carrying such a relic, but I think it’s funny when I see bits of paper sticking to their sweaty upper lip courtesy of a paper tissue.
Mostly I guess it’s just a habit, a comfortable link to sweet memories. I keep hoping they will make a comeback – they are, after all, environmentally friendly and save trees.
When my sisters worked at our local five-and-dime store, they would save their money and buy Mom and Dad handkerchiefs for Mother and Father’s Day or Christmas. You could get a gift boxed set of three for under a dollar. They were of the opinion that you can never have too many hankies. I agree.
Recently, I gave my two adult daughters a couple of pretty floral hankies and urged them to give them a try. They smiled and commented on the spit baths they received on the way to church as children, remembering the smell of syrup, lipstick and purse lint … It’s nice to know some things remain the same.
Dad’s Sunday Morning Pancakes
1 cup flour
1 Tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
Dash of salt
2 eggs
1 cup buttermilk
2 Tablespoons melted butter
Stir dry ingredients together. Add eggs, buttermilk and butter. Stir until well mixed but don’t overmix. Batter will be slightly lumpy. Let rest a couple of minutes before cooking on hot greased griddle.
Pancakes will be ready to flip when most of the “bubbles” have popped. Be sure to add plenty of butter and syrup when serving.
