Laundry

May 01, 2023

Do you ever sit back and contemplate life and how many changes you've witnessed during yours? You may be still fortunate enough for everything around you, and at your disposal, to be all that you are familiar with. I am currently feeling all of my 50 something years as I sit here writing this. Much as I did whilst visiting a local rural museum, exhibiting an eclectic array of antiquities, amongst which, this relic sparked a myriad of memories.

A tin bath. Known in our house, quite simply as, The Tin.** And it was this similar find that sparked those memories and got me thinking as to how life had changed, just during my lifetime thus far.

The Tin. Growing up as we 3 did in the 60s-80s, we were not afforded the luxury of a washing machine. If there had been money for it there most definitely wasn't space in a scullery kitchen that you good scarcely swing a cat.* Washing by hand was the order of the day back then, with an occasional trip to the launderette if funds allowed.

The Tin. Beds stripped, Sunday mornings would see it on the gas stove, white cotton sheets bubbling away, the smell of Ariel in the air. A wooden spoon on hand to stir things up and ensure every inch of sheet was submerged in that cauldron of bubbling broth. It must've taken some strength to manoeuvre it across to the sink, where the laundry would embark on the next leg of it's journey to cleanliness. Step aside tin and make way for Spin Dryer.

It's fraying cable with round 3-pin plug, connected to a somewhat dodgy 3-way adapter, it was loaded with the steaming sheets. Whilst one hand was concentrated on keeping the perishing end of the hose steadfast over the sink, the other was firmly placed on the lid, given some weight, holding it back from it's own force sending it travelling across the confines of the scullery kitchen. The old Belfast sink would be filled with water for rinsing, before the spin dryer would be loaded once more.

Without the luxury of a tumble drier, so began the job of pegging it out on the line, and winching it up sufficient height that the dog couldn't reach it. If the weather was off, then a clothes horse was stood in front of the open fire, and so began a relay of drying: double sheets passing the baton to single sheets, single sheets to pillow cases. The occasional spit from the fire leaving it's mark on the fresh white sheets.

We have ir easy now don't we. I don't have a dryer, relying on clothes horses in the winter, and unable to contain my excitement over the first line-dried washing of the year! But the convenience of loading the machine, putting a wash on and leaving it to do its thing, is something I am forever grateful for.

In memory of The Tin, I gave my dishcloths and cleaning rags a good boil on the hob this week, courtesy of The Big Saucepan. You'd be amazed how lovely the came up. Not sure I'll be doing the same with the bed sheets any time soon though!

*No cats were ever swung.

** Back right, was closer to ours.