Better House Keeping Recipe Book: Why Yesterday’s Lesson Still Matters

I found the little book at a car boot sale in Kent last autumn, tucked between a chipped teacup and a stack of yellowed doilies. Better House Keeping Recipe Book, it said on the cover, in that reassuring serif typeface that promised domestic competence. The publication date was 1938. Inside, among the instructions for suet pudding and furniture polish, was a section I had not expected: a full chapter on the care of personal accessories, including a page titled "Cleaning and Storing Combs and Hair Ornaments." The author, a Mrs. E. M. Delafield (no relation to the novelist, as far as I can tell), wrote with the brisk authority of someone who had seen one too many tortoiseshell hair slides ruined by careless scrubbing.

Mrs. Delafield’s central point was simple: most damage to hair accessories happens not through wear but through improper cleaning. She advised against soaking horn or tortoiseshell combs in hot water, warned readers never to use harsh alkali soaps on celluloid, and recommended a soft, dry cloth for daily maintenance. Reading her words, I realised how much of that knowledge has been quietly forgotten. The book’s title — Better House Keeping Recipe Book — suggests that the author believed a well-kept home included well-kept accessories. And yet, as I turned the brittle pages, I thought: we clearly didn’t learn much yesterday. We, the modern vintage enthusiast, often repeat the same mistakes Mrs. Delafield tried to prevent.

What the Recipe Book Teaches About Material Science

Mrs. Delafield’s advice was grounded in the properties of the materials themselves. She explained that tortoiseshell (real tortoiseshell, from the hawksbill turtle) is a keratin-based material that swells and delaminates in hot water. Horn behaves similarly. Celluloid, a semi-synthetic plastic popular from the 1870s onward, is sensitive to alcohol and acetone — common ingredients in many modern cleaning products. Bakelite, the early thermoset plastic, is more resilient but can become brittle with age if exposed to extreme temperature shifts.

Her recommended cleaning method for most vintage hair accessories was startlingly simple: a barely damp cotton cloth, followed by immediate drying with a soft towel, then a light buffing with a piece of silk or chamois. For stubborn grime, she suggested a paste of baking soda and water applied with a soft toothbrush, but only on Bakelite and hard rubber. She explicitly warned against submerging any accessory with metal components — the steel pins and brass hinges used in many Edwardian barrettes corrode quickly when wet.

This is practical knowledge that many of us, myself included, have had to learn the hard way. I once ruined a beautiful 1920s celluloid hair slide by wiping it with a alcohol-based lens wipe. The surface turned cloudy and never recovered. Mrs. Delafield would have been appalled. Her book makes clear that the first step in caring for a vintage hair accessory is identifying the material — and then treating it according to its nature, not according to a one-size-fits-all cleaning routine.

The Forgotten Art of Daily Maintenance

The Better House Keeping Recipe Book devoted an entire page to what Mrs. Delafield called "the evening ritual." She advised women to remove hair accessories before undressing, to place them on a designated tray or lined box, and to give each piece a quick wipe with a soft cloth before putting it away. This daily habit, she argued, prevented the buildup of hair oil, dust, and styling products that cause long-term degradation.

She was right. Hair oil contains acids that can etch the surface of Bakelite and soften shellac finishes on older combs. Styling products — even those from the 1930s, which were simpler than today’s formulations — left residues that attracted dust and encouraged mould in humid conditions. A daily wipe, taking no more than thirty seconds, could extend the life of a cherished accessory by decades.

Yet how many of us do this? I confess that before finding Mrs. Delafield’s book, I often tossed my vintage hair slides into a drawer at the end of the day, sometimes still tangled with strands of hair. The book’s lesson is humbling: we clearly didn’t learn much yesterday, and we are still paying the price in faded finishes, bent prongs, and broken hinges.

Storage Wisdom from a Pre-War Household

Mrs. Delafield recommended storing hair accessories in a cool, dark, dry place — not in a bathroom cabinet, where humidity fluctuates, and not in direct sunlight, which fades colours and embrittles plastics. She suggested lining drawers with acid-free tissue paper and separating pieces so they do not scratch one another. For combs, she advocated standing them upright in a slotted box, tines upward, to prevent warping.

Her storage advice aligns perfectly with what modern conservationists recommend. The British Museum’s care guidelines for organic materials echo her principles: stable temperature, moderate humidity, protection from light, and physical isolation. The difference is that Mrs. Delafield wrote for the everyday woman, not for a museum curator. Her tone was practical, not precious. She assumed that readers wanted their accessories to remain beautiful for daily wear, not merely for display in a glass case.

That balance — between preservation and use — is one of the hardest to strike. I have met collectors who keep their vintage pieces in sealed boxes, never wearing them for fear of damage. Mrs. Delafield would have disapproved of that, too. She wrote: "An ornament that is never worn is an ornament that has lost its purpose. Use it, but use it with care." This philosophy resonates deeply with the principles of Scandinavian Winter Edit: Vintage Hair Accessories with Nordic Restraint, where the emphasis is on intentional, mindful use rather than hoarding.

What We Still Get Wrong

Despite Mrs. Delafield’s clear instructions, I see common mistakes repeated at vintage fairs, in online forums, and even in some care guides. Here are the three most frequent errors, all of which her book explicitly warned against:

• Using modern jewellery cleaners. Ultrasonic cleaners, ammonia-based dips, and steam cleaners can destroy vintage hair accessories. The heat, vibration, and chemical action separate laminations in tortoiseshell, cloud celluloid, and loosen settings on rhinestone pieces. Mrs. Delafield wrote: "No machine can replace the gentle hand."
• Applying oils or polishes. Some people treat dry Bakelite with vegetable oil or furniture polish. This attracts dust, can go rancid, and may soften the surface over time. Mrs. Delafield recommended only dry buffing for Bakelite, and a very occasional rub with a tiny amount of beeswax for horn — nothing else.
• Storing pieces in plastic bags. Airtight plastic traps moisture, encouraging mould and mildew on organic materials. Mrs. Delafield advised breathable fabric pouches or open trays. She even suggested wrapping combs in clean cotton handkerchiefs — a charmingly specific detail that works perfectly.

These mistakes are not born of carelessness, but of a lack of accessible, accurate information. The internet is full of contradictory advice, much of it untested. Mrs. Delafield’s book, for all its 1930s domesticity, offers a reliable baseline precisely because it was written by someone who understood the materials from direct, daily experience.

Bridging the Generations

What struck me most about the Better House Keeping Recipe Book was not the specific instructions, but the attitude behind them. Mrs. Delafield treated hair accessories as worthy of care — not as frivolous trinkets, but as functional objects that deserved respect. She wrote about cleaning a tortoiseshell comb with the same seriousness she devoted to roasting a chicken. There was no condescension, no sense that these were unimportant tasks. She understood that the small rituals of maintenance are what keep objects alive across generations.

That attitude is something we can reclaim. When I now wipe down my vintage hair slides each evening, I think of Mrs. Delafield and her recipe book. The action takes less than a minute, but it connects me to a longer tradition of thoughtful ownership. It also saves me money and heartache: I have not damaged a single accessory since adopting her methods.

For those interested in the broader context of how vintage hair accessories were used and cared for in earlier decades, the Roman Revival in British Hair Accessories offers a fascinating look at one specific era’s design philosophy, which in turn shaped how those pieces were worn and maintained.

A Final Practical Note

Mrs. Delafield ended her chapter with a list of supplies every woman should keep in her dressing table drawer: a soft cotton cloth, a silk square for buffing, a small jar of baking soda, a soft toothbrush, acid-free tissue paper, and a wooden box with dividers. She recommended replacing the cloth every month and washing the silk square by hand with mild soap. She also suggested labelling the box with the date of last cleaning — a habit that helps track whether pieces are being maintained regularly.

I have adopted this exact kit, and it cost me less than ten pounds to assemble. The cloth is an old cotton handkerchief. The silk square came from a charity shop scarf. The box is a repurposed wooden cutlery tray. It works beautifully. And every time I open that drawer, I remember the lesson from the Better House Keeping Recipe Book: we clearly didn’t learn much yesterday, but we can learn today. And with a little patience and a soft cloth, we can keep our vintage treasures beautiful for another eighty years.