Washday was on Mondays in the 50s; women did
the laundry with some wooden tongs, a boiler and a tub.
I always loved the smell of Mondays when I was a kid,
not knowing how much work it was. I’d watch my mother scrub
Dad’s collars, cuffs; she’d starch the whites, the whole load done by hand.
I loved the mangle best of all, which squeezed out tons of water.
“Please mind your fingers!” Mum would warn. I didn’t understand
that one day roles would be reversed: I’d say that to my daughter
(but not about a mangle). Heavens, they’ve long vanished now.
When I say “Mind your fingers” it’s the car door that I mean;
I can’t imagine many children these days knowing how
that charming old contraption served, instead of a machine!
The family washing took all day to do, and life was hard,
but simple little pleasures compensated, I suppose.
I feel a warm nostalgia for that thing in our back yard
and smile to think: A mangle? What on earth was one of those?
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