Years ago, more than I care to remember. my niece came to stay a few times and I can remember her saying how much she loved the smell of my house. I'm not sure what it smelt of exactly - essential oils and Calvin Klein maybe - I had progressed from my hippie stage of patchouli and 'aromatic' leaves ;-) to a new age, designer smell era and it clearly resonated with her.
When I was little I always knew if I was in an 'old person' house by the smell. I don't mean a care home with its stale urine, boiled cabbage, medical kind of smell but an aroma of old fashioned fragrances, dust in nooks and crannies with a hint of musty antimacassars that still retained some old Brylcreem in their threads. It wasn't unpleasant as such - it was simply identifiable. You just didn't get that smell in 'younger' houses.
When we were growing up we had an old lady who lived across the road to us and she would babysit us if our parents needed to be absent. My sister and I had to go to her very neatly appointed bungalow that boasted a fish pond in the garden. She was a retired headmistress. In fact she had been my headmistress at my infant school. I loved her. Because of her I think it was the only time in my life where I had some self belief and confidence. Once I left the infants it was all downhill. But I digress. When she babysat we always went over to hers. And as soon as we walked thought the door the 'old person' smell hit us. In some ways it was like stepping through a portal to another place in time and space. Beatrice Warman was very proper and correct. And so was her home. We were allowed to call her Auntie Beattie which I thought was a riot given that she had been my head mistress only to be addressed as Miss Warman.
We loved going there although we had to be on our best behaviour at all times - once a school marm always a school marm. I think it was harder for my sister as she was several years younger but somehow I knew the rules and could abide by them. Auntie Beattie would entertain us by playing card games like Snap or Beggar your Neighbour. I remember one game when my sister was thoroughly beaten by Beattie and her disgust at the loss was to call poor Miss Warman a pig! I can still hear it, 'You pig!" resonating and ricocheting across the chintz. There was a horrible silence. Inside I felt sick. My sister went quiet because I think she knew she had overstepped the mark. Beattie's face seemed to elongate and her lips became pinched and taut. She reprimanded my sister severely almost to the point of tears.
But the one thing we really loved about going to Auntie Beattie's was her abundant supply of Needlers Glace Fruit Drops. These were the Rolls Royce of boiled sweets back in the day. Not anything my impoverished family could afford. My mum's budget could run to a poor equivalent called Winkies which were small marble sized boiled sweets embossed with tiny bobbles, and no matter what flavour you chose they all tasted the same. So they couldn't compete with the Needlers. Huge discs of sweet loveliness. You popped one in and you knew it would last almost twice as long as anything else. I suspect that the company used real fruit juice to achieve those flavours but the sweet itself was so vibrant to behold it was like you were holding a jewel. You could put one up to your eye and see through it with its sparkling colour. I always favoured the red, strawberry ones because the colour made me think of rubies. But Auntie Beattie was a take what you're given and be grateful kind of babysitter and often just handed us one from the tin she kept them in. I'll never forget the feeling of being given one of those sweets. But I bet if I tasted one today it wouldn't taste the same. I guess in part we didn't live in the Sugar Age then so it was such a treat. But they also had an aroma that seemed to seep through the tin and its another smell I associate with Auntie Beattie and. I suppose, 'old person' houses.
But I've strayed and rambled again. Cut me some slack, I'm old! The whole point of this geriatric meandering is to consider whether or not my house smells like an 'old person' house now that I am old?
Somehow my lounge feels vey cluttered now. For no good reason as I've not suddenly filled it with stuff. But I looked around and wondered what a youngster might make of it today. There are hundreds of vinyl long playing records. I know they're back in vogue now but these are originals and date back to the sixties.(My friend's son who is in his twenties, buys vinyl copies of music but...... he doesn't play them! He streams and the records are purely collectors items) I have hundreds of CDs too and I know as I scan their spines that's it is highly unlikely I will play some of them again before I die. The same with the wall of DVDs. They will not be watched again. It's also doubtful that anyone will want them when I'm gone. It's all streaming now isn't it? But do they smell? Do they give off an old lady in the 2020s smell when you walk in the room? Perhaps I should ask my niece but she hasn't visited in a while. I have one of those room diffusers on the coffee table. Vanilla. I can't smell it any more. I could when it was first given to me but I've got so used to it, there's no longer any impact. Maybe that's what a visitor would smell when they came into the room.
But I do wonder whether anyone entering my home knows it's an old lady's house?
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