As a rule, my first order of business wherever I land is to find a hairdresser. And this is how I came to know Mervin, a friendly fellow who did my hair from Southampton to Scandinavia. Mervin's going to meet me in the spring, well sort of. He was already scheduled to work on the ship. But, when my better half asked, "Are we going to the Mediterranean or Mervin?" - I did not have an honest answer. You see, taking after my mother, I really don't like to wander very far from home. And when I do, I like to have my hair done - more on that in a minute.
Digressing, according to our doctor daughter, we're in what she calls the "sweet spot." It must be all downhill from here because Betsy urged us to begin gadding about, when the opportunity presents itself. Digressing again, she graduated (debt free) from Tulane School of Medicine in 2017, and she married in 2018. After all that, our load was considerably lighter in 2019 by the time we began to formulate some travel plans. But even those that are best laid often go awry -- we did not see the pandemic coming down the pike in early 2020.
It isn't just our daughter doling out advice. Similar instruction is suddenly appearing on all fronts. My late mother's close friend, my trusted advisor Elsie informed, "Do all the things you want and would like to do in the next 20 years. Time flies!!!" Momma was twenty years her senior, and Elsie is twenty years mine. Notably, the governor of the great state of Mississippi is her nephew.
Returning to the race against time, on every adventure I perseverate, "When are we heading home?" Rodney embraces me, his cure for my homesickness. Another antidote is anything that reminds me of home, like having my hair done - some sort of connection from here to there. I'm always searching for familiarity; it offers comfort. And this is exactly how it was in London where I glimpsed a croquet lawn on a recent journey, transporting me to an earlier era.
As I understand it, the game - once known as crooky - came to England in the mid-nineteenth century from Ireland, but long before that it originated in France. Wimbledon was actually founded in 1868 as a croquet club. Becoming a most popular game in Britain and its colonies, croquet made its way to the United States in the 1860s where its popularity waxed and waned. It made a resurgence in the 1930s and 1940s, particularly post-World War II when it was sold as a game for children, primarily playing in the backyard. And this is where I - the only child of World War II era parents - come in. Apparently, my folks had waited an eternity to purchase a croquet set.
For Christmas 1971, an intriguing gift from my parents - painted wooden mallets, colorful wooden balls, and little wire hoops, called wickets - appeared under the flocked tree. Something from Santa that was not on my list, a welcome surprise. I do wonder where Momma and Daddy got it; it did not come from the TG&Y.
Croquet was easy enough to learn for a seven-year-old, with mallets that knocked bright balls of blue, red, black and yellow through the wickets, into a wooden stake for the win. My mother and father taught me the rules - I learned the meaning of roquet (when your ball strikes the opponent's) - and helped me set up the nine wickets and two stakes across a level expanse of closely cropped green lawn, not in the back but in front of our home on the Enon Road. I readily took to the game and so did my friends. Of course, we did not play the competitive, six wicket version.
There is some serious croquet, complete with tournaments, being played in Mississippi - I think the six-wicket version - with an enduring tradition in the Magnolia State that the players wear all white. I glimpsed the croquet court at the Jackson Country Club where my Daughters of 1812 meetings are held. And I was invited to play croquet on a weekend visit to the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island. But, closer to home, it is my understanding that there is a Red Stick Croquet Club which plays in Baton Rouge.
And the game is also quite popular in the state of North Carolina. My first cousin once removed, Franklinton native Margaret Magee Joffrion informed not long ago that her husband Dr. Van plays a very competitive game of croquet where they live in Asheville. They wear British whites and observe British rules - a very sophisticated game of croquet, indeed.
The arts even reflect infatuation with the game. "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" by Lewis Carroll featured a fairy tale version of croquet. And Norman Rockwell - last year I toured his studio in Stockbridge, Massachusetts - completed a painting, known as "Croquet." There are also famous photographs, a valuable one of Billy the Kid, the American outlaw, apparently playing croquet. And renowned author William Faulkner of Towan Oak in Oxford, Mississippi, also was said to have played the game.
Back to Washington Parish, I learned from renowned historian Daunton Gibbs that his grandfather H. W. Graves (1858-1951) played croquet in the front yard of the historic Nehemiah Magee home just to the west of Mount Hermon. Similarly in my case, it also was and still is front yard croquet. We have the ideal area at our farm northeast of Franklinton - a level expanse of closely-clipped grass, making the perfect playing field. Getting back in the swing, I pulled out my vintage croquet set for some practice. The old game is a cordial one, not only for young people but for all ages. The makings of a splendid Saturday afternoon at home.
And, for the record, our farm is our favorite place in the whole wide world. Making my point, why play in Timbuktu when we can play at home? Croquet, anyone?
