This is the second post in a memoir series hosted by Irene Waters over at her blog “Reflections and Nightmares” - "Times Past" is aimed at giving some ‘social insights into the way the world has changed between not only generations but also between geographical location’ - I am a Generation X ‘Baby Buster’. My Mum mentioned in this one falls into the 'Silent Generation' - you'll soon see that's far from accurate.. These recollections go back to when we were living in the rural flat lands of Lincolnshire in the UK during the 60s, 70's and early 80's.
Irene asks: Prompt No 2. First memories of wash day. Was it a ritual in your house. Did you have to play a part. What kind of washing machine did you have? Was it the sole province of the women of the household? What was the style of your clothes line? Any memories of doing the laundry you care to share. I am sure that we are going to find some differences both geographically and generational with this one. Help me prove myself right or show that I am wrong by joining in.
Mum was a District Nurse for a large rural patch. Certain things happened on certain days because of that. Thursday was steak pie day. This came from a butchers in the Lincolnshire town 14 miles away where Mum filed her admin once a week. Steak pie – with its random chunks of kidney and tubes that must have been veins from some poor cow, was the last meat I ever ate.. But I digress.
Back then, we lived in a large Edwardian semi with a scullery between the kitchen and back door. This was a long narrow room where everything from wellington boots to sacks of potatoes were kept. “Harry” the oil-fired boiler kept the whole room warm so it was the perfect place for drying clothes. My overriding sensory memory of this warm place was the great noise from the boiler and the combined smell of Ariel soap powder, heating oil and clay covered potatoes dug from the garden.
We had a top loading washing machine in the far corner of the scullery. Mum still has one – I would, if only I could – as you can meddle with the wash as the machine is going. Mum washed every day and ironed the previous day’s washing the following morning before leaving for work – so there was never a pile of ironing.
The top loader was right by the back door – gateway to the garden and our usual entrance to the house. I remember bursting in and out past the blue uniform, edged in white, Mum at the machine as I would come in and out to play. The warmth and smells hitting me each time.
She remembers the women on her district – “still absolute drudges”, in the 70s using a ‘dolly tub and poncher’ to wash clothes by hand. The poncher was a bit like a stool on the end of a pole – rotated by hand so the legs swished the washing around in the dolly tub.
Not long after marrying, Mum had declared she wanted a washing machine. The use of such luxuries was frowned upon. My father’s own mother had ‘managed without’ but despite protestations she bought a secondhand twin tub. She didn’t have to wash our terry-towelling nappies by hand but soaked them in a bucket of napisan before they went in the twin tub. Washing was boiled in one tub and wooden tongs used to transfer the hot clothes to the second tub for spinning.
Next Mum wanted a vacuum cleaner which wasn’t deemed necessary either as my Grandmother hadn’t needed one.. Mum’s response was to buy the most expensive she could find. An Electrolux salesman came to the house once and she bought a floor polisher – despite the absence of the right sort of floor to polish. It was used to point at in arguments. But again I digress!
Lifting the lid on the top loader you had to stuff the washing down around the side of a large round sieve-like tray that the washing powder was sprinkled in. The old pair of wooden washing tongues left over from the twin tub meant you could stir and mash the washing or add forgotten garments, even when the wash was in progress.
When the weather was fine, the washing would be pegged out on a line strung between a tree and a shed. A great long piece of wood was used to prop the middle of the line up once it was laden with clothes. There was a groove in the end to catch the rope in and when I was smaller it was quite an effort to lift.
When the weather was not so good, wet washing was draped over a Victorian-style airer, nearly the length of the scullery and hoisted up to the ceiling. I so loved releasing the rope to let the airer down as well as pulling it back up, that there must have been a time before when I wasn’t allowed!
Mum hated ironing and did as little as possible. When my father was in the RAF and when uniform jackets never came off, she only ironed shirt collars, cuffs and the front panel. I remember the smell of spray starch in a pink can that went on collars. I’m not sure whether this was for Dad’s work shirts or my own rounded white collars because my brother and I did our own ironing in our teens. I remember the bottle-green school uniform skirts – shiny around the seat – made from the home-made first and second year tunic I had to wear. 5 years VFM – until sixth form when we chose our own clothes. I remember all the ‘tricks’ for reducing the amount of ironing – hard, sharp downward shakes of shirts to take out creases, careful positioning of t-shirt shoulders, smoothing of wet seems. I remember being taught the separation of lights and darks and spraying collars with something that must have helped get dirty marks out.
It was a grudging division of labour I know. One our generation – though by no means all – have more choice over. It never occurs to Simon or I that washing or ironing is women’s work although I have friends where that is still the case. Thankfully for me, Mum did push at the boundaries of her time. There are tales of my father querying why he had run out of clean pants and socks, early in their marriage. Mum had thrown all the dirty ones out of their bedroom window. Apparently my poor grandmother quietly picked up after her menfolk. And Mum wasn’t having any of that!
April 1, 2016 at 6:09 pm
Really enjoyed this piece! My Nanna was from Spalding in Lincolnshire but moved to Leicester when she married in 1912. She lived in the same house from then until her death in 1976 at the age of 94.
She always did the laundry in a dolly tub and had the washboard and poncher too, and the little sachets of ‘blue’ used to whiten the wash. She would never have a washing machine – or indeed an inside bathroom – in spite of my Mum’s offer to install both for free!
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April 1, 2016 at 8:41 pm
Oh wow! I’d forgotten the ‘blue’ – Thank you for reminding me of that! So glad you enjoyed this post Nicola. Delightful hearing about your Nan. Obviously a ‘real’ woman didn’t use machines in those days!
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March 4, 2016 at 4:28 am
Your mom was of the silent rebellion generation! I’m happily a member of the rumpled and dingy rebellion, touting my lack of laundry skills as some badge of honor now. 🙂 What a great memoir post and I agree about the detail of warmth upon opening the door.
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March 4, 2016 at 10:55 am
I love that Charli – that badge of honour! My friends and I touted our body hair as a badge of honour – not shaving on principle – legs, armpits – proudly on show. A fair few boys were totally fascinated by our daring – we never struggled for attention! 😀
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March 6, 2016 at 1:03 am
LOL, that is a suggested future memoir topic — body hair! I passed down that rebellion to my daughters. Though one is a science writer and she was covering a podcast about brazilian waxes and she made her sister go along for research! It was an interesting documentary about why both men and women feel it necessary to remove hair. But I digress!
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March 6, 2016 at 10:12 am
Cor! That sounds fascinating! The current trend for complete deforestation, appalls me – with its link to the porn industry and sex trade.. But I digress!
(And hands off “Body Hair” – planning a BiteSize resurrection in the autumn! 😄)
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March 3, 2016 at 7:21 pm
I’m with Irene too, I’ve never heard of a poncher and I’m amazed that women still used them with dolly tubs in the 70’s! By that time we had a twin tub and I used to love ‘mashing’ the washing into the hot, sudsy water with those wooden tongs. I mentioned in my post about my amazement at the huge washer/dryer sets in the States, and how the ‘washers’ were top loaders unliked our, by then, front loaders (late 70s). But you’ve jolted my memory even further that actually, my laundry/ironing loving Granny had a top loader for years (smaller than the American models, naturally, since her kitchen was tiny, where it was kept), but she swore by it. Your wonderful description of your home, garden, your school uniform, the smells, everything, makes this a sensory delight, taking me right ‘there’, to my own school days (loved my gingham check cotton summer dress and Clarke’s red leather sandals!) And your mum, oh what a wonderful woman! Good for her. I love her spirit and how she broke the mold, while getting the job done as it needed to be. Great post Lisa, loved your memories 🙂 ❤
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March 4, 2016 at 10:53 am
Thank you Sherri – I hadn’t heard of the poncher until I brought this post up with Mum
And Oh! I had forgotten those gingham dresses – ours were green – summer uniform only and I think for the younger years so they were NOT cool. But they were better than the tunic which kind of screamed ‘little girl’! Mine was home-made too and not one from the uniform shop – two years of being different. I think she did it deliberately as part of my ‘training’! – Now I usually love to be different!
I was always in Clarkes and Startright and I know just the buckle sandals you mean! 😀
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March 4, 2016 at 6:34 pm
Haha…not cool! Mine was red and white (like a tablecloth!). I always had the home knitted school jumper or cardigan and felt different because of that. Funny isn’t it how much we remember how we felt about that as much as what we wore. Good training, I say Lisa, I too am so glad to be different…but at the time…maybe not so… ! 🙂
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March 5, 2016 at 8:44 am
Fortunately she didn’t knit!! 😀
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March 5, 2016 at 1:53 pm
LOL 😀 Mine knitted and sewed and taught me both, but I have a funny story about that and how it got me into trouble at school once. Almost put me off for life! Remind me to tell you about it one of these days 😉 Meanwhile, have a wonderful Mothering Sunday Lisa ❤ xx
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March 5, 2016 at 3:39 pm
You too Sherri 😘 xx
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March 1, 2016 at 2:42 pm
Never saw anything like those images of torture equipment. It’s the smells from the boiling that stay with me. Sort of acidic and sour like rancid lemon juice rubbed into the insides of wellington boots. Great memories mind you!
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March 4, 2016 at 10:48 am
Oh gosh! I don’t remember horrible smells (except nappies in a bucket..!) I’m having a hard time conjuring lemon juice inside my wellies.. I might have to try that later 😀
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March 4, 2016 at 3:41 pm
It is good to have a project!
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March 1, 2016 at 10:20 am
Love how you’ve evoked the smell of that laundry room, Lisa – and that your mum has given her own verdict on the memory 😉
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March 4, 2016 at 10:47 am
You wouldn’t guess but she does read every post – I know she won’t pop back for the comments (will you Mum?!) – she’ll be out at some ukulele gig most likely.. But this one is one I still hear about from time to time and clearly motivated her to say something! She has my father very well trained and made sure my brother was completely independent (he was a superb cook!) to save any women in his life her generation’s domestic ‘sentence’!
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March 1, 2016 at 1:08 am
Oh, this post is fantastic. The warmth, the smell of laundry soap… (And that photo is awesome.) Such a common story that, if mum didn’t need it, the wife didn’t need it. Fancy I’d get along well with your mother. ❤️
Ugh…women’s work, my arse.
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March 4, 2016 at 10:43 am
You’d totally get on with my mother! She questions everything – I have her to thank for that!
Glad you like this post – it was warm and aromatic to go back in time for this one 🙂
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February 29, 2016 at 3:40 pm
Great post!!! I remember my Grandmother, who lived in Walsall, refused to have a refrigerator – she was spunky, and she said she never needed one because it was so much easier getting dressed, go to the market every day and store things in the pantry/larder. She also refused to ever talk on a telephone, thought they were horrid contraptions and never used one. Don’t think she ever got a washing machine either – or maybe it was one of those things with the wringer/torture device over it. She even had chamber pots under the beds, which horrified me to know end when I would go visit her. She was a fascinating woman!!!! Thanks for bringing those memories to the surface!!!!
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March 4, 2016 at 10:38 am
Oh yes! You have me remembering the larder with treasures hiding on the top shelf! We had one of those when I was growing up (but also a big chest freezer and a fridge!)
And my Grandmother here was a bit afraid of the phone I think. I have an image of her answering it – one of those old bakelite phones and when it rang she would gingerly pick it up with two hands, scrutinise it in front of her for a good couple of seconds (as if checking there wasn’t some homunculus about to jump out) before raising it to her face!
Thanks for reminding me of that. What she’d have made of an iPhone I really can’t imagine.
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February 29, 2016 at 1:08 pm
Wow!! that was great. Fancy finding a picture of a ” Dolly Tub”. Your memory is amazing.
Love Mum xx
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February 29, 2016 at 1:10 pm
I’ve loved this Mum – we should do more of it! How did I ever forget how I became so questioning of the status quo!?
Thank you ❤️
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February 29, 2016 at 12:52 pm
Thank you Lisa for joining in again. You have brought to the mix an implement not mentioned by anyone else and I certainly had never heard of – the poncher. All I can say is I’m glad I wasn’t around in the days that they were used although I bet the women had no need of gym or exercise class. I’d love to hear more of your Mum’s experiences as a District Nurse. I can vaguely remember there was a book series I used to enjoy in my teens that featured a district nurse but it is a dull memory. Your scullery sounds as if it is a room that would be enjoyable to be in, warm and cosy. Roger’s parents house had a small room which they used as an airing cupboard that was heated in much the same way. Your digressions brought back memories too – I was sucked into the Electrolux purchase (mine had a power head) and those animal bits with vessels attached – you just don’t see them anymore. The twin tub – the best machine I ever owned and I’d still have one if I had my way. A wonderful washing post and I’m glad that you have overcome the gender stereotypes that were common in other generations. You and Charli – both Gen X’ers seemed to have managed to distribute the washing out just a little more evenly.
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February 29, 2016 at 1:05 pm
Ponchers, possers.. I gather there are all sorts of dialectical names for a variety of implements to pound at the grimy clothes! Thank you for this prompt – It does us good to remember how bad things were! You carry on like this and there’s an outside chance my Mum will start her own blog to join in with a life-long rant!
This has been a great discussion point for the two of us. I’m reminded where I get my rebellious, questioning nature from 😀
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March 1, 2016 at 1:03 pm
It is funny how such a mundane task can generate so many memories. I have been talking with Roger’s sister (silent Generation) and Roger and their childhood memories are so different from mine and so different from each others although the major points of where the clothes were hung to dry and the twin tub corresponded the little bits varied slightly. Roger was never involved in the washing whereas Susan was and their perspectives were therefore quite different. Would love it if your Mum started a blog. I’m guessing she would be a baby boomer but from the sound of it a rebellious one.
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March 2, 2016 at 8:49 am
The Mum’s blog idea was really a joke (spoken word being her favoured medium) – just to illustrate how fired up she is on this one! She’s coming up 77 so I though supposedly ‘silent’ – though she’s one of a few who refused to be!
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March 2, 2016 at 9:15 pm
LOL. You can always be her blog voice.
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