Deleted Notes & Queries response - Why do eyebrow and eyelash hairs stop growing?
Tragically the slo-mo drug from the film 'Dredd' has got its hooks into the jannies who moderate The Guardian website. They can now only delete comments several days after they were posted. We wish them a speedy recovery and hope that their powers of censorship will eventually return to normal speed.
Those wishing to read my belatedly-erased contribution to a discussion regarding the outer limits of eyelash growth may find it below.
~
There was a time when turning the page on a redundant chapter in your life was as easy as leaving your job at the textile mill, casting off the name chosen for you by your parents (in this case 'Margaret Jacklin') like it was a set of clothes that no longer fit you properly, and prancing seductively onto the stage of a theatre in another town to perform under the moniker 'Flapper Marrow.' Later, after the naked spectacle of vaudeville had lost some of its lustre, and the giddiness of freedom had resettled into equilibrium, a further relocation and another name change might be merited – This time to Lucy Larmon, who performed an act that was less broad than the one touted by her mothballed predecessor, on stages that were every bit as wide, and who entered demurely from the wings, as opposed to stalking down the centre aisle between the unruly audience.
Larmon was adept at slamming the door on her past, and convincing those who sought to establish her sketchy origins that what lay before was as dull as blank slate. She put these talents to good use later on in life, outwitting the debt collectors who had amassed in pursuit of own substantial arrears and those of her first husband, Kenneth Clancy, who had died at the age of 44; an inevitable consequence of his fondness for gin. Two of these agents – Colin Lucas and Joseph Judd - suspected that Larmon and the extravagant 'Flapper Mallow' (who had departed Manchester leaving behind substantial debts) were one and the same. They eventually joined forces to form The Lucas Judd Recovery Agency, which remains in business to this day. If you are ever unfortunate enough to receive a knock on the door from their collection agents, you now know who to blame.
Larmon was a natural beauty. John Dumsday, writing for this very newspaper, described her as 'leporine' when referring to her eyelashes, which were 4cm long and, according to the besotted commentator, “capable of ensnaring the attention and the cooperation of any red-blooded male within batting distance.” Thomas Halson claimed that Larmon produced a current of air whenever she blinked in your direction, though he wasn't known for spending much time looking at women.
Youthful good looks are a fickle foundation. On 9th September, 1876, Larmon wrote:
“Eyelashes brittle. They now break at the barest touch, like the fine stems of champagne flutes. This morning, I blinked away a little more of my allure, which descended, like autumn leaves, into the bathroom sink. As my dear K so often remarks from the depths of a headache: 'Stoicism in the face of despair.'”
She blamed the deterioration on her stage make-up. Given the abundance of heavy metals and other malignant chemicals that were commonly used in the production beautifying creams and powders, she may have had a point, though her eventual solution was no less dangerous.
A callous remark published by Halson concerning her “stubbled gaze” drove her into unannounced retirement. A few weeks later, salvation arrived on eight legs: Leonard was a pradera rosa (pink meadow) tarantula. He had been brought to England from Argentina by the zoologist, Bernard Harrison, who occasionally occupied the attic apartment above Larmon's place of residence, on Farthing Mews, in Clerkenwell.
Larmon's introduction to Leonard occurred when Harrison knocked on her door in a state of great distress, his face having been peppered by a defensive volley of the spider's urticating hairs. As she tweezed out these fibres, one by one, she couldn't help but notice their length and similarity to her own lashes, though these were a rich Autumnal tone that looked like they might compliment her freckled complexion. Within days a set of artificial lashes had been created and Larmon's retirement was postponed. She attributed the subtle but noticeable change in her appearance to a restorative visit to the French spa town of Aix-les-Bains. For decades after, her admirers would follow in her false footsteps, in the hope of turning their own eyelashes a deep russet colour, alas to no avail.
Larmon became adept at safely harvesting the hair from Leonard using a handbag mirror. The death of the tarantula precipitated another mini-retirement for the singer. Harrison who was, by this time, in his 60s, was dispatched to South America to obtain another suitable donor. Perhaps fearing that a few years hence, another plaintive batting of Larmon's artificial eyelashes would send him on a further jaunt across the Atlantic, he returned with a large number of the spiders – enough to see his neighbour through to the end of her career.
For many years, a free-range population of tarantulas occupied the terrace houses on Farthing Mews. Present day residents, who may be reading this in abject horror, while glancing around nervously, can be assured that a combination of cold winters and enthusiastic pest control have pushed back the range of these arachnids to the sub-equatorial regions.
I hope this is of help.
Comments
Post a Comment