Reflection

The day the box arrived was one of the happiest days of my mother’s life. A woman who scrimped on herself in order that her family could have the things they needed had very little of luxury to her name. But that day she did.

Money was always tight in the years I was growing up. My father worked steadily, at his 9-5 job, sometimes on a weekend if there was a client he needed to see and as those were out of town contacts, a drive in the country afforded us the opportunity to see parts of southern Ontario in the territory my father covered as a paint representative to various hardware stores.

My mother was a stay at home mother until I was 12, and when she went back to work her wardrobe needs took second place to my father’s. Returning to office work meant needing to look not just presentable but in my mother’s eyes, hopefully, fashionably current. Clothing she would have had sitting in her closet was out of date by then and spending money on a new wardrobe would have been considered frivolous and unnecessary by my father (who was against the idea of her returning to work).

A few years before this next chapter for my mother, she taught herself, with the help of my step-grandmother who was a whiz with a sewing machine and a needle and thread, the basic fundamentals of sewing on a machine. A cousin provided her with a sewing machine she no longer used, having purchased a more current model for herself. The idea to sew hadn’t occurred to my mother until the day I asked her to make me an outfit from a pair of curtains that were hanging in our dining room. I liked the colours and the pattern and could “see” the outfit. I was only 11 years old so making the outfit myself didn’t seem possible, but I had seen my mother hem clothing, sew on buttons – surely she could do what I was asking. And she did. Then, confidence began to grow, she made a new set of curtains for the dining room (that did not become another outfit for me).

Making her own clothes I have come to realize gave my mother a sense of freedom and a sense of control that was lacking in her life up to that point. Earning money meant that she was contributing to the household, but it was also the opportunity to buy items that she couldn’t make herself as well as extras that she thought my sister and I would enjoy.

At the same time my mother was experiencing her reawakening, my father had received a promotion at a new company that offered a points system for sales and with those points, purchases of items were offered. My sister received a new bicycle. I got a tape recorder. My parents got a entire set of furniture for the living room and then the box arrived. The one my mother never thought she’d be able to have.

Everything was packaged so carefully in bubble wrap. And there were paper dividers as well as a protective case to keep everything in. It was the first set of expensive china – a place setting for 8 – that my mother ever had. And it was Royal Doulton – the epitome of taste and class in my mother’s eyes.  Dinner plates, dessert plates, cups and saucers and a gravy boat. No bowls or coffee, creamer and sugar – just what you would need to feed eight people and after, offer a cup of tea or coffee.

My sister and I were told “do not touch” so often we were even nervous about using the dinner plates when they were put on the table. Helping to do the dishes after the meal was a nightmare whether you were washing or drying and often my mother would tell us to leave those dishes, she would do them herself. Blessed relief.

Not too long after these dishes arrived my parents separated and divorced. My mother got the Royal Doulton, though seriously, knowing how much it meant to her I’m surprised my father didn’t ask for custody.  The Royal Doulton continued to be used at Christmas, Easter and any dinner parties she had for friends and family. It took pride of place on her table.

When my mother died, my sister insisted the Royal Doulton was to come to me as I was then married with my own family. Even knowing that I had no interest in expensive dinnerware, into my china cabinet it went and has been brought out on the occasions when I’ve hosted a meal. It happens less often now that my children are grown and living their own lives. I’m the invited more than the invitee.

I brought it out of the cabinet today – at least a cup and a saucer – to have my morning coffee in order to honour my mother whose birthday it would have been today. It brought back many fond memories and a lot of funny memories. And it’s made me reflect about what I’m going to do with this – eight cups & saucers, seven dessert plates, seven dinner plates, and a gravy boat. The gravy boat is used often – I like the way it pours. There have been a few mishaps, but I can still host seven people with it. If there are eight people, they at least get coffee and I’ll use a mismatched plate.

For the first time ever or in a very long time, today I looked at the bottom of the saucer to see what Royal Doulton called this pattern. How appropriate.

It’s called Reflection.