MY father’s handkerchiefs were white and about the size of a table napkin. It marked the end of his daily dressing ritual when he unfurled one, shaking out the creases that my mother had so lovingly ironed in.

My child’s version was of moderate size and serviceable colour, but equally well ironed.

I shall not reveal the varied uses to which my handkerchief was subjected.

These ranged from the ingenious to the frankly disgusting. I should never have dared forget it, even without my mother’s stern prompting.

The infants’ department of the school I attended not only polished up my language skills, the headmistress ruled that every pupil should present daily with a clean handkerchief. So we did.

I had forgotten about this until the ever-increasing cost of parking led me to join those virtuous souls who travel to town by bus. I immediately made two surprising discoveries.

Firstly, judging by coughs and sneezes registered per kilometre, a significant number of passengers suffer from chronic respiratory disorders.

Secondly, the use of handkerchiefs is today in terminal decline.

The question is, will I eventually acquire immunity or should I take up cycling?

William Dixon Smith, Acomb, York.