Di.Poppitt
GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN
Reading Alberta's post set me thinking about the awful Mondays in our house, and a lot of other houses I'm sure.
We woke on a cold winter's Monday and we could have been in an igloo. It was wash day and the day to black lead the grate, so the fire couldn't be lit.
When I got up Mom was hauling water by the bucket load into the wash tub, which filled the kitchen. The sink was full of clothes soaking, and there was a bowl of water on the table in the living room for me to wash. The fire under the boiler was lit after I had gone to school.
The clothes were 'maided' in the tub, transfered into the boiler where they cooked until they were considered clean, taken out and put through the 'blue' which was always in a small tin bath. As if this wasn't enough most of them then went through the starch bowl.
By the time I got home at lunch time the place was in turmoil, and mom's temper was foul. She would be no where near finished and I dreaded going through the door.
On a really cold frosty day the clothes sat on the line like a row of cardbord soldiers, and as I gew and could reach the pegs I was sent to unpeg them and bring them in. They were frozen to the line and once I'd wrestled them off they crackled as I staggered back with them. My fingers were numb and woe bedtide me if I dropped anything.
There were days to top all of that, when the line broke............. :roll: :roll:
We woke on a cold winter's Monday and we could have been in an igloo. It was wash day and the day to black lead the grate, so the fire couldn't be lit.
When I got up Mom was hauling water by the bucket load into the wash tub, which filled the kitchen. The sink was full of clothes soaking, and there was a bowl of water on the table in the living room for me to wash. The fire under the boiler was lit after I had gone to school.
The clothes were 'maided' in the tub, transfered into the boiler where they cooked until they were considered clean, taken out and put through the 'blue' which was always in a small tin bath. As if this wasn't enough most of them then went through the starch bowl.
By the time I got home at lunch time the place was in turmoil, and mom's temper was foul. She would be no where near finished and I dreaded going through the door.
On a really cold frosty day the clothes sat on the line like a row of cardbord soldiers, and as I gew and could reach the pegs I was sent to unpeg them and bring them in. They were frozen to the line and once I'd wrestled them off they crackled as I staggered back with them. My fingers were numb and woe bedtide me if I dropped anything.
There were days to top all of that, when the line broke............. :roll: :roll: