White Hair and Rosie

“Grandma, you have got white hair,” said Rosie.

“Do I really!” said Grandma, “that is absolutely awful. I wonder how that happened.”

Wisely, Rosie replied, “It happens when you’re old.”

Grandma was rather shocked at this revelation and said “I will tell you a story about my hair. It’s a very long but interesting story. The story started when I was a baby and has continued through out my long life. My hair and I did not always see eye to eye. We were always fighting one another. Just like you and Thomas do at times. You sit here on my knee and I will tell you all about my hair and how it came to be white.”

“You see Rosie, I had five naughty children and your mother was one of them and my hair turned white with fright.”

“No Grandma, it happens when you are old. I’ve already told you. I’m naughty sometimes and my mother’s hair is not white. I want to know how your hair really turned white. Babies and mothers don’t have white hair. Tell me your story, please Grandma.”

“When I was a baby, my hair was straight, fair and rather thin. This upset my mother so she was determined that her little girl would have a thick head of curly hair just like her sister-in-law’s children. She had heard that if a toddler’s hair was shaved, it would grow back thick and curly. So she set about knitting a red woollen pixie cap to cover my bald head. Unfortunately, thickness and curliness did not eventuate but this did not deter my mother. A new tack was needed so she curled a strand of hair around her finger and secured the curl with a bobby pin. After a row of kiss curls were dried in the sun, my mother had a curly headed little girl.”

“Did you look pretty, Grandma, with curls?” asked Rosie.

“I guess I did sometimes. I have a photo of myself when I was about two, taken at a studio. Here it is. I’m standing on a piano stool,” said Grandma.

“Your hair does look pretty Grandma but you only have one tooth.”

“I fell over and knocked my baby tooth out and I was known as the toothless terror,” said Grandma.

“I like that name for you, Gran,” giggled Rosie.

“Well, back to the story of my hair. You see the kiss curls solution posed a problem in the length of time the curls stayed in place, so my mother decided that plaits would be the answer for a head of tidy hair. As I grew my hair changed colour. It was a light brown. For about ten years the daily morning routine of cries, knots, tears and smacks were the norm. My hair was brushed and combed, then parted in the middle. She braided two thick plaits which were tied with ribbons so tightly that they daren’t come undone. We didn’t have hair ties in those days. Admittedly, my hair remained tidy all day and my long hair and plaits were a source of joy and pride for my mother.”

“My hair is long,” said Rosie “and I don’t wear plaits”

“No” replied Grandma, “but perhaps you will when you go to school.”

“Did you cry when you had to have your hair washed like I do now?” asked Rosie.

“Yes, probably I did, but don’t tell anyone. Saturday morning was hair washing day. My hair was washed over the laundry tub and many a slap I received for shaking water from my face and hair over the floor. My mother would use Sunlight or Palmolive soap to clean the hair. We didn’t have shampoos and conditioners in those days. Warm water from the copper rinsed the soap suds away. The rest of the morning was spent brushing and combing my hair while sitting in the sun on a stool on the back verandah. My hair would always be done in plaits to keep it tidy and away from my face. I use to sleep in my plaits too.”

“Did that hurt?” asked Rosie.

“I cannot remember,” said Grandma.

“As I grew older my hair became a darker brown and when I went to high school, there was not enough time for the plait routine of a morning so my mother cut them off. This meant that I had to learn to do kiss curls myself. Every night the hair was wet and set in bobby pins ready for curly hair the next morning. Sometimes, all the curls survived, but mostly one or more of the kiss curls came undone and odd straight hair hung down below the curls causing me much grief. Wet or windy weather played havoc with my curls and many a time as a bedraggled straight haired teenager, I returned home disgruntled with my straight hair hanging limply about my face.”

“That is very sad Grandma but I like straight hair. Why did you like curly hair?”

“I don’t remember. I guess it was the fashion to have curls just like it is the fashion to have straight hair today,” replied Grandma.

“Permanent waves were the next ordeal that my hair suffered. My mother would buy a ‘Toni’ and proceed to give me a head of tightly frizzed hair. This was a painstaking ordeal as my mother was no hairdresser. As well, the perm solution would burn my scalp and many a blister was sported all in the name of beauty. I was always a little disappointed with the result. “It doesn’t look like the girl on the packet,” I would wail. “It will settle down after the next wash” my mother assured me but it took many washes before the hair ‘settled down’. It seemed that my hair had a very strong mind of its own and with a will that was always awkward.”

“I don’t like frizzy hair Gran!”

“No, neither did I, Rosie. In fact I hated it.”

“After I had finished school, my hair was quite dark and when I started working I noticed that I had a few little white hairs appearing. Anyway, I didn’t really worry too much about them as only I knew that they were there. However, when I started working and earning money, I was able to afford to go to the hairdresser for a hair cut and a ‘real’ permanent wave. This was a luxury I gave myself every three months. I was always a do-it-yourself person when it came to hair setting and I bought rollers.. This was a new way of doing my hair and it involved curling hair around a plastic tube which was secured in place with a plastic stick. I would then sit under a Sunbeam hair dryer which was a home version of the hair dressers’ dryers. I would sit with my head in a tight fitting plastic cap until my hair was dry. A lovely soft curl was the end result. Every girl my age seemed to receive a hair dryer for Christmas during the 1960’s. My curls would last a week provided I used hair spray, another luxury.”

“Were you happy with your curls now grandma?”

“Indeed, I was.”

“With my new and exciting curly hair, I managed to lure Grandpa into marriage or so he likes to tell everyone. After your mother, sisters and brother arrived, I found it hard to go to the hairdresser. I solved the problem when I found one in the local paper who would come to the house. I sat the children in a high chair with an arrowroot biscuit and a drink of milk to distract them while they had their hair cut. The biscuit idea worked very well so another biscuit was offered while I had my hair cut and sometimes even to get a new perm. This great arrangement came to a halt when the hair dresser informed me that she was getting married and moving away. Never to be beaten, I forged into the hair dressing business myself. I had watched the hairdresser and thought I could do that so I bought a pair of scissors and had many years of cutting practice- on the children, husband and my mother’s hair. Your uncle still bears the mental scars of those haircuts.”

“Why was he sad, Grandma?”

“He wanted long hair and I liked his hair to be tidy so he rebelled and we both would argue. It usually ended in tears for both parties. Sometimes, he would twist his head so that I made huge gaps in his hair. Eventually, he won and I lost the battle. Even today he claims that I gave him the basin cut. Of course I didn’t. I thought I was rather clever with the scissors.”

“As time wandered through my life so did the grey hairs with ever increasing numbers. My hair was like salt and pepper mixed together. I went through a series of styles as I and my hair aged. Sometimes it was curly and sometimes it was straight. I sported the coconut cut several times, an afro frizzy style once and I even tried long hair only to be told that I looked like a witch by my so called loving father. That long hair was quickly removed. Much to my shame, I have to reveal that I owned a wig. The wig was fashionable in the early 1970’s and thankfully the fashion didn’t last very long as wigs were hot and itchy but it did cover up my greying hair.”

“Have you still got the wig Grandma?”

“I’m sorry Rosie but I threw it out years and years ago.”

“I would love to wear a wig and trick my mummy and daddy and Thomas too. They wouldn’t know me. I like pretending I’m someone else and dressing up in your old clothes.”

“You are just like your mother Rosie.”

“Oh well, Rosie that was the story of my hair. As you can see it is white and cut very short today. I’m a lazy person when it comes to hair,” said Grandma. “Also my hair and I have come to an arrangement at last. I don’t bother it if it doesn’t bother me.”

“Grandma, I would like you to have purple hair as it is my favourite colour.” answered Rosie. “Wouldn’t you like to have purple hair?”

“No” said Grandma, “Uncle Stuart would not like me to have purple hair. I told you he is very fussy about hair and especially the colour. He would probably rouse on me. Remember, you told me that white hair happens when you are old and it has taken me a very long time to get to being old.”