The
Train CaseThe
Train Case
Last night as I settled into bed I heard off in
the distance the plaintive call of a train whistle. Arlow Guthrie’s
words “the lonesome hobos call” from his song “City of New Orleans” came
immediately to my mind. The trains whistle calls to me from an era
fading into the past. Gone are the days of well dressed men and women
boarding to the conductor’s shout of “All aboard”.
It is with excitement, but also a touch of melancholy that I write this my first article for Fedora Chronicles. I grieve for the romantic, unhurried days of sleeper and dining cars and ladies carrying train cases. A lady always took her train case when ever traveling. It matched the rest of her luggage and accompanied her to her seat. Mystical potions of exotic fragrances and lotions to smooth her skin are tucked in next to her matching silver backed and engraved hand mirror, comb and brush. Bobbi pins still on their store card are snug in one of the elastic, bound, inside satin pockets. Her powders and lipstick tubes are also in there. However, they are only to be applied in private, never in public! There may be a cigarette case and matching lighter engraved with her initials in there next to her string of pearls and linen hankie.
My mother still carries her train case whenever she
travels. It is the same train case that she took with her on her
honeymoon in 1949. It was a gift from my father before their wedding.
It is a symbol of their love and a time lost to my generation. I wish
present generations could take that sentimental journey that takes us back
to the days of when men and women cared more about their appearances,
manners and what the neighbors would think. Oh, how I long for the
days when men were gentlemen and removed their hats in the presence of a
lady.
I can see myself now, my train case held in my white gloved hands. My veiled hat gives me an air of elegance and mystery. I would lift back my dotted net veil so I could sip my tea out of a pretty china cup. I lower my cup to its saucer setting on a crisp white linen tablecloth that was placed there by a smiling porter in a white coat. No cell phones interrupt my listening to a Cole Porter’s song being played on the piano in the corner of the dining car.
Sadly, the days when a gloved hand assists the well turned out lady, in her chic suit, matching gloves and smart chapeau perched at a jaunty angle on her head are gone. Gone too are most of our mother’s train cases. Perhaps the next time you hear the vanishing sound of a train’s whistle you will feel inspired to tuck a comb and tube of lipstick in your purse, maybe even an embroidered hankie. Pin your grandmother’s rhinestone brooch on your shoulder and just maybe a gentleman will remove his baseball cap in your presence.
Listen carefully for that train whistle. It is calling to us. Believe along with me that “the clickety clack can take us back and set our hearts at ease”*.
The girl with the vintage heart,
Lorraine Loomis-Konig
