Grab A Hanky

Another topic Tinka and I touched on during our "Day Tripper" (Beatles, 1966) conversation was handkerchiefs.  Kleenex tissues were first made in 1924, but our mothers eschewed them.  Why pay for something to throw away when you could use a perfectly good square cloth that could be washed (and ironed) over and over again?  Handkerchiefs, hankies for short, were used to wipe noses, dry tears, and if you had a smudge on your face, Mother would spit on a corner and clean you up.  No, really, they did that.  All mothers kept a hanky tucked up a sleeve for just such occasions.  Going out the door to catch the school bus, I was bound to hear, "Do you have your hanky?"  I was sure some terrible fate would befall me should I ever forget.

There were utilitarian hankies, white and plain, for everyday use.  That's the kind kids got and my father kept in his back pants pocket.  Then there were the fancy ones, possibly patterned with flowers and/or adorned with lace.  Those were to take to church or tea with the ladies.  They could be purchased, but my mother either crocheted or tatted her own, and they were things of beauty.  I still have some of the last ones she made, sitting outside in the sunshine because her eyes had gotten so bad she couldn't see to work the fine thread in her apartment.

My father had his own set of handkerchiefs to wear in his suit breast pocket, folded in the fashion of the day, points up or squared off.  No doubt about it, my dad was a dandy.  He wouldn't leave the house until his handkerchief was just so.

Hankies have gone the way of school lunch sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper.  Tissues and Ziploc bags have taken their place, undoubtedly more safe and sanitary, but "Do you have your tissues" just doesn't have the same ring.

Stay well.  Be safe.