Charity Harding's Haberdashery #2 A Project for the Night

 My name is Charity Harding and I run my own little haberdashery shop. Somewhere in England, sometime in the 20th century, I place my tape measure around my neck every morning and oil my scissors. I wear my spectacles around my neck too, they hang on a golden chain which is dotted with pearls at regular intervals. It often gets tangled with my tape measure. The spectacles bounce off my ample bosom as I trot up and down my pockmarked wooden counter. 

I could see that it was time to draw Mrs Hill into my night scheme. She was browsing with the look of a woman who has been up half the night, sweating like a pudding in a pan. She'd already picked up the same Butterick pattern three times and put it back again and now she was ruffling through my lace offcuts without enthusiasm.  

"Mrs Hill." I put my specs on. I find that people are more likely to do as they're told if I can peer at them over the top of my bi-focals. "Mrs Hill, just come over here and tell me what your trouble is and perhaps I can sort you out with what you need."

She did as she was told and came shuffling over, looking half glazed and half scared, as if she thought I was about to make her buy an impossible project.  She stood in front of me at the counter, her hands in her coat pockets. Slovenly.

"I know what your trouble is."  I took the bull by the horns. Its the best way when they're in that state.  "Night sweats. Up in the night, hot as a volcano, and you want a simple project to do to help lull you off to sleep. Something you can do in a dim light that doesn't need a machine, so you don't wake the whole house up. Am I correct, Mrs Hill?"

Her ears turned pink.  "How do you know?" She asked me.

"Oh we've all been there" I told her "Me included. Nobody talks about it but it happens to everyone."

"Does it? I thought I'd just been overdoing it with the Sanatogen." 

"To those of us lucky enough to live that long, yes.  That's why I've come up with my night scheme." I went to my particular drawer and took out what Mrs Hill needed. A bolt of white cotton fabric, a reel of white Sylko (size 50) and a small ball of Star Sylko in blue. "Men's hankies. What do we always get our menfolk for Christmas? Hankies. More often than not with an initial embroidered in the corner. And where do you think they all come from? Ladies of a certain age make them in order to bore themselves to sleep, Mrs Hill. Take these things here. Hem some hankies for me and add an embroidered initial of your choice. Consider which male names are the most common, mind you. I need more Js than I need Zs. I'll sell the finished goods in December and you get ha'penny for each hanky sold. A bit of pin money if you'll pardon the pun."

A bit of a cloud lifted from Mrs Hill's shoulders as she re-tied her rainhood with purpose. "Right. Right! I'll do that. Only 5 months to Christmas eh Mrs Harding?"

My good deed for the week. They don't call me Charity for nothing.

Visit my Amazon page for stories of the 20th century