My mom was a uker. She played a Vega bari, not the Arthur Godfrey model. She was a teenager during WWII, when I guess she got the uke. It smelled like mahogany, of course, but so much else.
It had a humongus crack on the lower bass bout. Three or four inches long, and I could almost stick my pinky finger through as a little kid. She said she whacked somebody with the uke.. the implication was always it was my dad-to-be.. that caused the damage.
So old mahogany. And both of them smoked, so that. But I swear I remember the Atlantic Ocean, and sweat, woodsmoke and spilled gin. Her raccoon coat.