Teacups and Friendship, Witnessing Friendship and Life Across the Table From My Elders
English Land Girls Eileen Barry, Audrey Willis, Betty Long and Audrey Prickett enjoy a hot cup of tea in 1942 on a Sussex, England farm during 1942. Ministry of Information Photo, Imperial War Museum
The gift bag that Tracy handed to me produced a moist sheen in my eyes and warmth to my heart. She had no idea that her simple token was triggering a flood of memories that were transporting me back before I was even old enough to attend school.
I was gazing down at a pair of hefty coffee mugs the color of onyx, and nestled between them was a 5" aluminum pail filled with an assortment of tea bags. The glaze finish on the outside of each mug was matte in texture while the handle, rim and inside were gloss. Using the surface like a slate chalkboard, Tracy had written a greeting on the outside of each mug in colored chalk. How clever! Yet even the act of holding that stick of powdery chalk in my fingers provided a reinforcing link to my childhood.
It was practically a rite of passage for little girls of my generation to own a miniature version of their mother's tea service. I received several sets, in fact, from the assortment of female relatives who were eager to instill lessons in social etiquette. All this focus was being directed toward a girl-child who was showing early signs of what they probably considered an abnormal interest in activities her father enjoyed, rather than domestic skills.
A hodgepodge of mismatched pieces from my old toy sets still survive, which ironically is not terribly unlike the mugs, teacups and saucers in my kitchen today.
Much to the delight and hopefulness of the aforementioned well-intentioned women in my family, I must have staged countless tea parties because those toys bear the patina of frequent play. The customary guests at my child-sized table were a handmade brown corduroy rabbit with button eyes and a floppy-eared yellow fleece dog whose nose would squeak when it was squeezed. The occupant of the fourth chair was subject to my whims of the day; perhaps a Teddy bear would be granted the honor of attending, or even my tabby cat (provided that he was feeling particularly patient, since he was often required to wear a baby bonnet).
My first recollections of being included in the grown-up ritual of women gathering to visit over a cup of hot tea date back to when I was at least four years old. I was always on my best behavior, because I intuited this was a special privilege. I can still picture my great-grandmother's sunny kitchen with her canary singing along with the whistling teakettle. After the tea had steeped in the pot for a few minutes, she would elegantly pour a small amount into my cup. My serving amounted to approximately one-part tea and four-parts warmed milk. I never complained about that, because I was so grateful to receive any share of the obviously prized liquid. My mother even allowed me to add one cube of sugar so I could carefully imitate the gentle stirring as the sweet granules dissolved. I practiced drinking with my little finger aimed at the ceiling and concentrated on attempting to place my cup on the saucer as daintily as possible after each sip.
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