I read somewhere that a worker carrying a lunch box was a sign that he couldn’t afford to eat out. Whether or not that was the case, a sturdy container was a practical choice. Miners used heavy metal boxes that were often stood on end to serve as a bench, for a break and to wait for the cage to arrive to carry them back to the surface.
Metal boxes were generally used to protect the contents from the hazards of the job site. Children often mimicked their fathers, carrying their own boxed lunch. Any available box at home would do, especially one with a secure lid. In the early 1900s decorated lunch boxes began to appear. The popularity of Mickey Mouse in the 1930s saw the use of advertisement on the boxes.
Dad said that as kids he and his sister used whatever was on hand. He often had a red metal pail with LARD written on the side or maybe Rogers Golden Syrup. I remember those pails being used for carrying water or acting as cookie tins in the dim lighting of the pantry in our cellar stairwell. You still can find those syrup pails at antique sales: the label in white outlined in light green and the lettering a rich red.
As kids we each had a metal lunch kit, one that didn’t have a previous life, with a previous label. I recall an early one, small, shaped like the basket that used to contain Concord grapes. Rounded, the handles stood upright to carry, down to open the box.
A later one I carried to school was a red plaid with a box style, six by eight inches maybe. It was a fairly common style at the time. I remember one year our classroom was held in the smaller gymnasium that we shared with another class behind a temporary dividing wall. A larger school was under construction.
One of the other students had a box like mine. Our lunch pails sat on an open shelf. His sister had brought something for him but put it in my box by mistake. I gave it to the teacher. We made our own lunches at home and I knew it wasn’t mine.
In later years we began carrying brown bag lunches. From our frugal background, we learned to make good use of all things. Brown bags had to last the entire week. We folded them carefully and took them back home with us. We watched in astonishment as the other kids balled theirs up and tossed them toward the wastebasket. Waste indeed. My co-worker teases me about that. “Why are you throwing the bag away? It’s only Thursday!”
Kids’ lunch boxes evolved over the decades. Instead of LARD logos, the popularity of television stars made the selection broad. Iconic favourites were the Beatles, stars from Happy Days and The Flintstones. These progressed to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Star Wars and The Smurfs.
Today’s lunch kits tend to be soft-sided, perfect to mould into the backpacks, along with the gym clothes. The lunch boxes are more utilitarian. The type my dad carried is still in use. His was heavy, likely made of aluminum. The rounded top had room for a thermos. He carried coffee as well as a second thermos with iced tea for hot days. Mom packed him a large lunch.
He worked in construction for many years. Those lunch pails followed him to a variety of work sites: schools, gas plants, residential and industrial projects. He finished his active work life in heavy duty custodial work at the college. Mom took him his lunch at suppertime, often staying to eat with him.
The lunch kit and thermos sat on her kitchen counter for years. They were later used for picnics in the country, outings the folks enjoyed in their retirement.
The kids’ lunch boxes keep appearing on Antiques Roadshow. The appraiser’s enthusiasm for the condition and rarity of some of the items is remarkable. To my thinking, it only has value if someone else actually wants it. The American Pickers get excited over lunch kits too, the ones with cartoon characters or TV stars still recognizable. I watch the two pickers digging through or climbing over someone’s hoarded stacks of memorabilia, often in an ancient barn on the verge of collapse; sometimes in the process of collapse. All to rescue a dented lunch box with the decoration barely discernible.
- Joyce Hoey is a longtime Gazette columnist
