Rub-a-dub-dub

Today

We're off to Brighton tomorrow so I made sure that all the clothes were washed, dried and put away. Not too onerous, especially as the sunshine enabled al fresco drying.

We have a running joke in which Paul comments on the magical appearance of clean socks, underwear, shirts etc. He did seriously thank me the other day for ensuring, over forty years, an endless supply of clean clothes and bedding. "All part of the service".

In My Day

Mamma also had the task of ensuring an endless supply of clean clothing for herself, a husband and four children. Apart from sheets and shirt collars, she did it all herself, by hand. Washing involved putting detergents or soap powder into a large bowl and rubbing and pummelling the items. We had a washboard which consisted of wooden slats on a frame. Really dirty stuff was rubbed fiercely up and down this object.

White items were washed with washing blue. This was contained in a muslin bag and suspended or swirled in the water. For very large items we sometimes requisitioned the bathtub. Hankies were boiled in a saucepan (did we also use it for food? I hope not!).

Then the soapy items were wrung out by hand and rinsed in what appeared to be endless draughts of cold water. When you had either a: decided that you'd rinsed out all the soap or b: got bored with trying, you gave them another wring and then put them through the mangle to get out the maximum amounts of water. The washing was either hung out on the line or, when it was too wet and cold, on indoor airers or draped over the fireguard. Mamma swore by gypsy pegs which she bought from an itinerant hardware vendor.

I was often involved in all these tasks. My hands went from too hot and slimy with soap to red and freezing from the cold water. I often had insufficient strength to turn the mangle. If I'd failed to rinse an item properly this would often result in slight burn marks when I ironed so I had no hiding place.

It was hard labour and I'm surprised we didn't all develop huge muscles. We were certainly very careful indeed about thoughtlessly slinging clothes into the dirty laundry.

These items found their way into our cupboards or the vastly overloaded ironing basket which was beyond the ingenuity of humankind to empty.

Eventually Mamma acquired a washing machine which had a mangle fixed to the top and which managed to tie shirt sleeves into impossible knots and, several years later, a spin dryer which used to dance across the floor in its attempts to get the water out of our laundry. 

A few years ago I was on a self-catering holiday with some friends and suggested one day that we get some laundry done while we went out. They were indignant. "We didn't come on holiday to do washing!" they exclaimed. "But, ladies", I said "It's a machine. We don't have to do anything." They were not convinced; in their minds, I think, they still saw themselves standing over a galvanised sink with a washboard and mangle.