By
Tina K Burton
Mollie stopped sorting through her belongings, went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea then took it through to sit at the dining table for a much-needed break. Her old bones weren’t what they used to be, it took her twice as long to do anything nowadays. She gave a sigh and looked around at the half packed boxes, paper, bubble wrap and her possessions scattered over every available surface. How she would miss this house!
Her gaze fell on the pretty, but old and faded box at the end of the table. She stared at it for a while before sliding it towards her and removing the lid. It was her old button box. She wondered whether she’d need it anymore. She was hardly likely to do any more dressmaking with her eye sight being so bad, and it would just take up space – space that she wouldn’t have in her new flat.
Spotting a blue button, she picked it up and searched out its pink companion as the memories of Paul and Caroline’s little cardigans, knitted by Mollie’s mother Grace, flooded her mind.
The twins had been born over fifty-five years ago, but it seemed like only yesterday. She could picture those cardigans hanging side by side on the washing line with all the other baby clothes, blowing gaily in the wind.
She took a sip of tea, then selected a small pearl button, which immediately transported her back to her wedding day. She couldn’t have wished for a more perfect day. The sun shone its face upon the love-struck couple as they danced out of church for the photos; Mollie, in her beautiful dress with its tiny pearl buttons down the back, and Jack looking very smart in his new suit. She could still picture his face as he looked down at her - the love in his eyes. She remembered how happy she’d been that day; looking forward to the promise of a future together with the man she adored.
Smiling at the memory, she searched through the aged box for another button.
This one was a cream fabric covered button, and held no specific memories as such, except that it was very old, and from one of her mother’s wedding shoes.
Grace was no longer around, but holding the button in her hand, Mollie could conjure up her image. The soft, wispy white hair, kind blue eyes and the way she always smelt of violets. She’d loved violet perfume, and Mollie had bought her some every Christmas. Now, whenever she came across the familiar scent, it made her feel all warm and comfortable as she remembered her gentle mother.
Mollie pushed her fingers around the box, enjoying the feel of the different textured buttons; some shiny and smooth, some course and hard, some with scalloped edges, some soft with fabric, until she found one which wasn’t as old as the last. Round, with a green centre and gold edge, it was from a suit that she wore when Caroline got married. She still had the hat somewhere too. It was a lovely, if eventful day. The car broke down on the way to the church, meaning that the bride was more than fashionably late. Her husband-to-be, Tom, paced up and down, beside himself with worry, thinking that she’d decided to jilt him at the altar. The guests all burst into laughter at the relief on his face when Caroline flew into the church flushed and flustered. Thankfully, the rest of the day went without a hitch.
All thoughts of packing now forgotten, Mollie then took out another button. Small, flower shaped, and made from Mother of Pearl, it came from Mollie’s first grandchild’s christening gown. What a day that was!
A boiling hot afternoon in July, the church interior wasn’t cool as they usually are, but unbearably stuffy, with no air. The baby cried non-stop, desperate to be freed from the confines of her gown, and the Vicar had to halt the proceedings whilst someone fetched him a glass of water because he almost fainted. Heat-stroke was the diagnosis. He wasn’t too amused when Tom suggested having a drink from the font to speed things up! The look on his face was priceless, and Mollie had to stifle a laugh. It certainly wasn’t the thing to do - laughing in church, especially in front of the vicar.
Poor Caroline, nothing ever seemed to be straightforward for her, but luckily, she saw the funny side later.
Mollie frowned as she picked up another button, trying to place it. She thought for a moment, then smiled. Of course, how could she have forgotten? It was one of the most satisfying days of her life – Paul’s passing out parade with the RAF. She felt that she must have been the proudest mother there that day watching her son; and she shed some tears too. She just couldn’t help it; he looked so handsome in his uniform. Even Jack’d had a lump in his throat.
That had been a decision and a half for her, deciding what to wear. She’d wanted to look her best, didn’t want to let Paul down, but had put on weight; middle aged spread Jack teasingly said, so none of her suits fitted. After many hours shopping, with a grumpy Jack telling her that everything she’d tried on looked nice, she finally settled on a duck egg blue suit, with four big square buttons on the jacket. She had to find a hat to match too of course, But Jack escaped that shopping trip, and Mollie took Caroline instead. It turned into a lovely day, with afternoon tea at a rather posh restaurant later.
Mollie replaced it and searching through the box, took out one final button. Rather plain, round, brown and not even shiny anymore, it was probably the best and worst button in the whole box. The old lady held it for a few moments, squeezing her eyes shut as tears welled up, then she opened them and tried to focus on it as the tears spilled over and slid down her wrinkled cheeks. This button was a spare one from the suit Jack wore when they got married all those years ago, the same suit he’d been buried in six months ago.
She put the lid back on the box with a sigh, her hand absentmindedly caressing the top of it. Her mother had started collecting buttons soon after she got married, snipping them off old garments or shoes, ready to be used on something else; except, she never did use them. She just kept them in this hexagon shaped box, which Mollie could remember playing with as a small child.
Mollie made her decision. Her impending move to a smaller place meant she just couldn’t take everything with her. She had to be ruthless and either throw things away or give them to the charity shop. Maybe it was time to let go of the past and move on.
However, as she looked at it, she knew she couldn’t completely get rid of the box with its buttons of different shapes, sizes and colours; some very ordinary, some unusual and pretty. She realised that this wasn’t just a box of buttons. It was a box of treasured memories.
More than a lifetime of nostalgia and precious moments lay in those buttons, and Mollie knew just what to do with it. The time had come to pass it down to her daughter, just as Grace had done with her. That way, she’d still be able to see it and share her memories. And if Caroline added to it over time, she could pass it down to her daughter too; eventually there could be generations of memories, all held in the buttons of a worn and faded old box.