A few years ago as
I was strolling through the china department of a local department
store, I came across a dining table display that set me to giggling.
The linens, china, crystal and silver were all quite elegant and
carefully coordinated. The flower arrangement was a stunner. What
set me off was the sight of twelve perfectly matched napkin rings,
each correctly placed on the napkin to the left of the forks.
The fad for matched
napkin rings has grown since then, and nowadays even the catalogues
feature such sets. Excuse me, but doesn't anybody in this modern
generation realize why we HAD napkin rings in the old days? They
weren't meant for decor, and they certainly weren't meant to match.
They were simply a means of identification that allowed us to
reuse our napkins, usually for a week at a time. In the days before
miracle laundry machines, before detergents with or without bleach,
(never mind cold-water soaps or power boosters) people didn't
toss napkins into the laundry after every meal.
Anyone who has ever
hand-scrubbed a damask napkin across a washboard, rinsed it, set
it in the sun to bleach, hung it on the line to dry, dampened
it before ironing, and then ironed and folded it and placed it
back in the drawer, is not about to take on the task more often
than necessary. Unless there had been an utter disaster like a
spill of grape juice, or an emergency napkin thrown on spilled
gravy to keep it from flowing over the edge of the table, or an
uncle who had had a bit too much Scotch and thoughtlessly blew
his nose on the best double damask, we refolded our napkins at
meal's end and placed them neatly in napkin rings that were clearly
ours, each one different from anyone else's. If they weren't of
different design, at least they sported one's initials engraved
in the silver. Those who couldn't afford silver often crocheted
the rings in a different color or pattern for each family member,
so that from meal to meal you used the same napkin and contended
with your own germs only.
The idea of mistakenly
using someone else's napkin would have caused us as much disgust
as the younger generations now feel at the idea of actually reusing
a napkin for seven days in a row. I can still in my mind's eye
see the napkin rings that belonged to each of the seven members
of my family, perhaps because setting the table was my job from
the age of about four, as was polishing the silver rings every
couple of months.
Daddy had inherited
his Grandpa Barnhart's napkin ring, a very heavy, masculine circle
of silver edged with parallel, raised silver bands. Mother's was
a flat clip, silver in a triangular floral design with her name,
"Mary," engraved in the center. My grandmother Kelsey had a wide
silver band, chased with pretty curlicues, flowers, and stars,
and a raised, fluted edge. Great Aunt Martha's was a narrow one
that had belonged to her mother, with the initials APB (Abigail
Pomeroy Burleson) in script on it. Grandmother Brown had one that
had a scalloped edge. My brother's resembled a drum. Mine was
an absolutely plain band about an inch and a half wide that my
grandmother Kelsey gave me with the promise that she would one
day have it engraved with "Whatever your initials will be," meaning
that I was expected to grow up and get married and have a new
last name. I never got around to taking her up on that, and after
my first marriage went awry, was glad that I hadn't, or I'd have
had to wait for a second husband whose surname began with a "C"!
I use that ring to this day. It is still perfectly plain, and
it suits me fine.
There is one other
ring, one that my mother used from time to time for company. It
is quite ornate: a concave silver ring, with delicate, raised
silver roping at the flared top and bottom edges. There are large
initials in fancy script elegantly engraved around the center:
"M.S.A.K. from G.W.R.," with attendant small designs. My great
uncle Otto, who inherited the ring from his aunt M.S.A.K., had
an additional, explanatory message engraved, just under the roping:
"Georgie W. Richmond to Miranda Sarah Ann Kelsey" around the top,
and at the bottom: "Then to Otto Kelsey, November 1876."
We know that Miranda
was born in 1817, and died in 1871. She never married, and was
lady principal of the school where my great grandfather (her brother)
met my great grandmother (her pupil). Legend has it that the first
night he went into the dining room during a visit to his sister's
school, Great Grandfather looked up and saw a beautiful girl coming
down the stairs. "Who is that?" he demanded.
"Oh, Charlie," his
sister snapped, "she's just some farmer's daughter from over t'
Wyoming County. You can do better than that!" Apparently Charlie
didn't think so. He married her and fathered four children, the
youngest of whom eventually became my grandfather.
Of Georgie W. Richmond,
we know nothing. Nor do we know the occasion for her gift of an
engraved napkin ring. The mind creates its own scenarios: Was
she a former student with a crush? (Unlikely: surely she'd never
have addressed her teacher as anything but "Miss Kelsey"); a teacher
in the school? an old friend or neighbor? Was the relationship
perhaps one of those Victorian "passionate friendships?" Or was
Georgie perhaps a man?
We'll never know, of
course, nor will we know how the napkin ring came into the hands
of Uncle Otto five years after Miranda Sarah Ann's death. She
died in Iowa, and by then her nephew Otto was a young lawyer in
Geneseo, NY. But Miranda Sarah Ann Kelsey and Georgie W. Richmond
live on in my imagination, and the napkin ring lies in a drawer
with the good napkins.
My family's use of
fine linen napkins and silver napkin rings labeled us as dinosaurs
even when I was young. We fortunately had a washing machine, even
though we didn't get a dryer until the early '50s. But we also
had three elderly ladies living in our household, all of them
eager to be helpful. My wise mother gratefully accepted their
services for simple chores like ironing or mending. Not only was
she relieved from those chores; the grandmothers and auntie felt
(and were) useful. The two grandmothers took turns ironing the
napkins, and Aunt Martha would sit nearby, reading aloud. It was
a pretty good deal. Nowadays when I iron, I listen to music or
turn on the television, but neither one of those can touch the
magic of Aunt Martha's voice.
I must confess that
I no longer use the damask napkins except for holiday dinners.
Wash and wear is definitely the way to go. Nor do I keep napkins
on the table for a whole week. But I do use the napkin rings,
and I don't wash the napkins after one use. I dare say I've saved
precious little in the way of detergent and water by using them
as I do, but they're certainly cheaper than paper napkins.
We children of the
Depression had all sorts of small, saving ways drummed into us.
