IT'S A HANKIE!

One day my granddaughter and I were exploring the contents of my old trunks and stored memories when we opened a drawer to find a collection of handkerchiefs.  Imagine my surprise when she reached for a lovely lace sample and asked, “What is this?”  Taken aback by the question, I took out several to display for her and began my explanation.

 `The handkerchiefs, “hankies” as most women referred to them, are very old possibly fifty to seventy-five years.  They belonged to my grandmother, aunt, mother, and to a dear friend, Shirley.  Many were handmade by embroidery and crocheted lace, an intricate and delicate handcraft that is mostly lost to today’s generation.  In later years, hankies were factory made and ladies added the lace.  Some of these are factory made and others have handmade lace and embroidery.  Hankies were usually carried in a purse, a pocket, or to accessorize.  They were used to wipe tears and to blow the nose (believe it or not).  They were laundered, ironed with care, and folded three-corner style as these examples. 

 In earlier decades, one must not be caught without a hankie.  She may have it carefully folded in her purse, slipped in a pocket often showing slightly, or tucked neatly at her wrist peeking out of a long sleeve.

The hankie occupies a place of honor in the long forgotten hall of fame of feminine wiles. Young women perfected this sham to gain prominence and to pursue their mate.  In the day when women were submissive, demure, and a bit deceitful with trickery meant to catch the eye of a man, they used the hankie as a prop.  They purposely dropped it so the man, who must be the gentleman, will pick it up and have an excuse to speak to the elusive lady as he returns the hankie.  She must graciously respond thus beginning a legitimate conversation with the gentleman.  Hankies began many relationships that ended in marriage. 

Hankies disappeared with the advent of the paper tissue that made its debut shortly after world war two when the frenzy for disposable products began.  Demure young ladies and polite young men disappeared with the advent of women’s lib.  I miss them both.

 My granddaughter listened to my discourse with obvious interest and asked if she could have a few samples.  “Of course,” I said, “take as many as you want.”  As I watched her touch the old hankies with care, I wondered what amazing new invention would replace the tissue in future generations when trees begin to disappear.