My mother's dressing table

As I lay awake in the wee small hours, unable to drop off, for some reason my mind flitted back to my childhood and the forbidden thrill of creeping into my parents' bedroom when Mum wasn't around. I found myself standing in front of her dressing table which was by the front window, carrying out a mental inventory of the items on it. The dressing table was made of dark brown highly polished wood, and had two or three lace doilies on it, on which other items were placed.

Here is what I recalled. One handbag, stiff dark brown plastic with a clasp and short handles. My mum never used a shoulder bag. Her bags were just like the Queen's, small, solid and neat, made to be carried in a hand clad in a white lace glove, or dangled from a wrist. Mum always placed her handbag on the dressing table when not actually using it. A round box of face-powder and a fluffy powder puff.

One tortoiseshell-backed (probably Bakelite) mirror, brush and comb set. One long, narrow, matching tray, a tidy for hair grips and the like. One bottle of Mum's favourite perfume, L'Aimant, by Coty, the bottle always placed neatly back in its black box. And a manicure set.

Mum's manicure set, circa 1955, was a marvel. It contained items you never see today. Inside the brown plastic holder were a metal nail file, something called an orange stick (was it made of wood from an orange tree?) for gently pushing back the cuticles, and a square block the size of a pencil rubber, made of some chalk-like substance. Mum called it a buffer, and indeed its purpose was to buff up the nails to a natural-looking shine, as nail polish was only used by film stars and 'fast' women. I never saw Mum use nail varnish.

In the 'tidy', there was sometimes a lipstick in a gold tube. When I slipped off the case, I would see a worn-down stub of Mum's favourite old rose or coral shade. How upset she used to get when the manufacturer discontinued her favourite shade. I know the feeling! Of course nowadays, with so many cosmetics companies vying for our money, it's easy to find a replacement, but back then there were only three or four companies, names like Goya and Max Factor.

The bedroom always had an indefinable scent which smelt of Mum. It was warm, dusty, friendly, sweet, a mingling of powder, perfume and highly perfumed lipstick - they always added a powerful fragrance to lipstick in those days, which altered the taste of your food for a while, until it has a chance to wear off. I sometimes wonder if, thirteen years after her death, a faint scent still lingers in that room, soothing whoever now owns the house to a restful sleep, accompanied by the light touch of a warm, calming hand on a troubled brow.



(Apologies to whoever I stole the photo off. It was the closest I could find to my mum's old set.)