Wash Day

....
School began for my older brother and I at Beaumaris State School. We walked the half mile there and back, along with lots of other children until we got bikes. My mother was pretty much house bound looking after the needs of a large young family.

I remember the main wash day was Mondays, and she would pile the week's sheets, towels and clothes on the floor in the small laundry, and crank up the big wrangle washer. The basin was huge, with a large agitator at the centre, and it would grind out an endless rhythm of , "boom-bom, boom-bom", backwards and forwards over the hours it took her.

She would run the first wash through the wrangle at the top, and drop it into the wash trough. Then the water would pump loudly out of the washer, and she would fill it up with cold water, to begin the whole process over again.

Next, the huge loads would be carted out to the super size Hills Hoist, to be pegged out carefully to conserve space, so she could fit it all on.

Our Hills Hoist was much wider than this one.

We loved that big clothesline, and would jump up to grab it and swing wildly around in circles. Eventually it began to sag from the weight of acrobatic kids and the heavy washes, and my father began to mutter darkly about us all ruining it.

My mother made up pink cotton sheets for the entire family, and as they wore out in the middle, she would split them and join the good pieces together, so after a time most would have two or three seams in a single sheet. When they were all hung on the line, we would wind the clothesline down until they nearly touched the ground, then we could make rooms out of them and play house.

My mum had an electric Singer sewing machine, and she taught we girls to use it over the years. We all became quite good seamstresses and learned to make our own clothes. It had a foot pedal, which was very modern, and sewed beautifully, if only in forward and reverse.

The washing would come back inside in huge piles, and what wasn't dried would be hung on the huge wooden 'clotheshorse' to sit by the heater if it was on or in the small laundry.

My grandmother was quite concerned about the huge workload my Mum used to have and came down each week to help iron and mend. She would sew buttons back on, fix back torn hems, and darn our holey socks. She was very expert at this and had a special foot shape over which she would drag the offending sock, then skillfully stitch a woolly patch, pulling the frayed sides together and leaving a comfortable padded heel or toe.