As a child I lived in church rectories, and to the best of my knowledge each came equipped with a washing machine. When we spent time at the cottage in Muskoka the washing machine was the old-fashioned type, and I watched my mother with fascination as she struggled with the laundry. If memory serves, the machine was gas-powered rather than electric, and mom had to run the sheets, towels and clothing through a mangle after rinsing. It was manual labour that she didn’t particularly enjoy, so we sometimes went to the town of Huntsville (about an hour’s drive) to use the services of a laundromat.
When I moved to Bequia in the 70s washing machines didn’t exist, and I learned from my fellow teachers that I would need to hire a laundry lady. This was something new to me, and, because I didn’t have a clue how to go about asking someone to wash my clothes, I simply hired the lady who took care of laundry for some of the other teachers from abroad. I was hesitant about this arrangement; it felt kind of weird having someone wash my clothes (especially underwear!) by hand, but I was obviously expected not to rock the boat by doing it myself.
The laundry lady’s last name rhymed with “bleach”, something I’m afraid she was overly fond of, and I privately called her “Mrs Bleach”. Armed with a wooden washboard which was referred to as a “jerk board”, a square of bluing, some laundry powder and the dreaded bleach, the good lady attacked my clothes energetically each week. Water had to be used sparingly, which probably explains why my clothes often came off the line stiff as all get-out! Rinsing laundry thoroughly was evidently a luxury. I despaired of bleach spots on my coloured clothes, and as for my underwear? My poor panties seemed to have a life expectancy of one month before the bleaching and jerk-boarding rendered them useless, and I began to furtively wash them myself before I was reduced to going without.
I became used to paying ladies to wash my laundry, even once I was married and had children, it was simply the way things were done back then. It wasn’t until we moved into our house at Belmont in the early 90s that I finally had the luxury of a washing machine, and I have to admit that I rejoiced. I’ve never bought a dryer – our laundry is always hung to dry – but the electric machine, to which fabric softener and a controlled amount of bleach can be added, has made a world of difference when it comes to the life expectancy of my clothes.
Especially my panties!
LOL. Fond memories of clothes very clean clothes from the washing lady but the same clothes wearing out extremely fast.
I remember well getting our laundry done in Bequia in the 90’s when we were on the S/V Mandalay. “Sunshine Laundry” used to come out to the ship and pick up bags of laundry from the passengers. A very convenient service and much needed as we were on a two week trip. Pick up was right after breakfast and the clean laundry was back to the ship by the end of the day. All the whites came back yellow and we usually had to set up a lost and found at the bar that evening – this allowed passengers to drop off the clean clothes they got back that didn’t belong to them and those who were missing a few pieces could stop by and see if their lost articles were there.
They always seemed to turn up. Great memories!
I’ll never forget dropping off my laundry to a lady nearby my apartment. She never bleached my clothes from a bottle, but from the sun. My favourite brightly coloured striped top was sun-bleached on the front and a normal bright color on the back. She draped the clothes on bushes surrounding her home and never flipped them.