Ivory Soap Ad circa 1910. “No other soap is so pure.”
In the 60′s Ivory Soap sold itself on being pure. But the concept of “pure” wasn’t quite what it was when Ivory Soap first started promoting itself widely, in the 1900-1910 era. That was the era when just about everything, food, medicine, makeup and cleaning products, even milk, well, especially milk, promoted itself as pure, because, in the decades before, many consumer products were found to be tainted with dangerous elements. Lead was the most common additive, because it actually tasted and smelled nice. In the 60′s I recall being drawn to the smell of car exhaust, which I knew to be dangerous. The lead in the gasoline!
A balmy Saturday in April. Mrs. Montgomery, Margaret noticed, was taking advantage of the fine weather and had her carpets out. Rather early she thought. Margaret was on the back porch, hanging some rags to dry. She had no intention of embarking on any major spring cleaning, so she was somewhat irritated when Mrs. Montgomery, seeing her, waved and shouted out”So Margaret, when are you going to put yours out?”
I’d rather not, in case of rain, Margaret shouted back, annoyed to find herself apologizing to her neighbour for her housekeeping. “i’m doing the windows,” she added, defensively. In fact, she had done one window and had no intention of doing more, not today.
Why couldn’t nice weather be enjoyed for what it was: Nice weather and not an opportunity to do more work.
Flora was in the garden, raking. Mae was on kitchen duty. Flora had received her results from Easter Examinations. They were neither here not there, so she had not bothered to bother her mother about them, not yet. Her plan was to finish her hat, visit Miss Hudons’, and see if there was a future for her in millinery, first. Insurance of a sort.
Mrs. Montgomery put down the broom she was using to beat her hall runners, and walked over toward Tighsolas, her boots sinking slightly in the muddy grass. She was on an intelligence mission.
“How are your Edith and Marion making out in the city? she asked. Has the snow melted? No more falling into snowbanks, I hope.”
Margaret had told her nosy but kind neigbour about the tramway incident, for it was the most innocuous piece of news about Marion she could offer up to the woman, harmless. If fact, she didn’t have much news from either daughter, a true embarrassment were the fact widely known. Edith wasn’t writing much and Marion wasn’t big on giving out information at the best of times. Her two daughters were going to see the Merry Widow at His Majesty’s, that as much she knew, but she didn’t say, for she wasn’t sure how Montgomery would take it.
“Yes, the snow melts much faster in the city as you know. Well, except for the snowbanks.. The sun radiates off the building and the cobblestones heat up.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Montgomery. “I only ask because Nathan is going to the city.. so I wonder what boots he should wear. He has been looking to buy an auto. He is planning to sell the horse and even build a shed for the auto.”
Margaret stood still, amazed.
“That’s wonderful, he can take us out motoring,” Flora said. Flora had read about many such excursions in stories in magazines. The motorcar figured promintently, these days in the literature. All elegant people rode in them.
Mrs. Montgomery replied, “Well, they are very expensive and very dangerous, I see no point, but men will be men. They love their toys.” Flora noticed that she seemed at once proud and unhappy about the impending purchase.
“Well, I’d rather a fine horse and carriage any day, than a car.” And then she stopped, realzing the Nicholsons could afford neither and that this was common knowedge.
“Me as well,” replied the neighbour, pretending not to see the irony in the statement.
Flora gazed upon the two matrons, aware that much more was going on here than an exchange of local news. Mrs. Montgomery was happy to be able to say that her husband was buying an automobile. Some autos cost as much as 3 thousand dollars.
Mrs. Montgomery then returned to her carpets, just as Florence Peppler, Margarets’ niece, appeared from across the street.
“Have you heard?” You probably know that Mr. Driver who bought the Saunders’ old place has been ill with Grippe and seems to have lost his reason. They were trying to watch him, but yesterday morning he got up at four o’clock, his wife was alone with him and tried to prevent him going out. But he turned on her. He got out and no trace has been found of him. They think he must have got into the river and men are looking by the bank. The river keeps very high, still, a terrible thing. Mrs. Driver blames all those patent medicines he has been taking. They have addled his brain, all the opiates and impurities.
And they were dragging the lines at La Benere for George Sutherland’s body. He had been acting strange for a while. He wandered away from home last Saturday, a reward of 100 dollars offered for any clue.
It is a strange coincidence,don’t you think?
Margaret wasn’t so sure about that. It seemed but another reminder that some women had it much worse than she did.
