Wash Day

 
When I was young Wash Day was traditionally Monday. At that time the laundry was not done by shoving the lot in a machine and pressing a button. It was a lengthy process involving a lot of hard work.

There was no need to nip down to the gym to get fit – by the time the housewife had swilled a few wet sheets around the tub and wrung them out she had biceps like a Chippendale.

Then the wash went through the mangle and had to be hung out to dry. Rain at this time was a darned nuisance and resulted in items hanging by the fire on a wooden drier or over the bath. In larger kitchens a contraption of wooden rails and ropes that lowered on pulleys from the ceiling helped to some extent. Nana had one of those.

Then there was the pressing and ironing and airing – virtually everything seemed to need ironing in those days.

Leaving the washing until later in the week was said to be the sign of a sloppy housewife and
“They that wash on Monday, have all the week to dry
They that wash on Tuesday, are not so much awry
They that wash on Wednesday, are not so much to blame
They that wash on Thursday, wash for shame
They that wash on Friday, wash in need
They that wash on Saturday, Oh! They're sluts indeed.”