HANDKERCHIEFS

People don’t seem to use handkerchiefs these days but Joe and I always liked them. We weren’t dressed properly unless we had a clean hankie. I have tried paper tissues but didn’t like them. I mean, why should we have to pay to blow noses and what do you do with them when used and you’re away from home. Nah, give me linen every time.

My aunt was a stickler for ironing handkerchiefs, always making sure the folds were EXACTLY right. She was eleven years older than me and we were born in the same month so it didn’t take me long to catch up! Yes, I too have grown to be methodical, and probably fanatical, when I do some ironing. It brought me some kind of satisfaction so what the heck! I guess the aunt felt the same. At least Joe could use a linen handkerchief without worrying that it looked like a piece of rag. Anyway, his professional appearance demanded linen rather than scrappy tissues. You should have seen him in his business suits with just the corner of a handkerchief showing on the breast pocket. Ooooh is it any wonder I fell for him!!

Joe’s hankies are still in the cupboard, packed in the original basket he kept them in. Over the months since he died I have almost thrown them out but then nostalgia would overcome me and they’d be put back in the cupboard.

How daft is that? I didn’t go doolally over his suits or shoes or gloves or scarves or books, so what’s with the handkerchiefs? Is it because I laboured over them? Oops – I don’t think labour is the right word since I loved ironing and matching borders so they looked newly acquired.

Lately I seem to have acquired some sanity, realising that when I go someone else will have to dispose of them … all at once. No-one else will want them since I’m told that handkerchiefs have been replaced by tissues. Anyway, one at a time is all I can cope with and even then I feel emotional. I’ve managed two so far, only another thirty-eight to go.