大象传媒

THE WASHERWOMAN 1926

鈥淗arraway man Charlie, Annie hez nee mair kindlin鈥� tae light the copper fire wi鈥欌��

Uncle Jack was a Geordie and like me Mam originated from Gateshead.
He also thought the idea of working out doors on a Farm in the sunshine and fresh air would better his chances of reaching a ripe old age instead of working in the dark digging coal for the rest of his life.

Some used to say, 鈥淎ye weel Jack lad, ye can retire at sixty five y鈥檔ah鈥�
But since some miners died of black lung decease at aged thirty and some got buried alive, Jack鈥檚 idea of being on a Farm after having spent some of his youth down the mines and getting knocked out by a fall of coal seemed to be very attractive.

He had just come in through the back door of No 2 Station road which was a Farm laborer鈥檚 cottage and having observing me Mam in the back garden trying to wield the big wood axe to chop some wood transmitted this intelligence to me Dad who was busy sat in the kitchen reading The Farmer鈥檚 Weekly and yukking on his pipe.

To me, Uncle Jack came over as me Mam鈥檚 Knight Errant.
If anything needed fixing she called Uncle Jack.

But Uncle Jack had learnt that while he went to all the trouble of getting off his huge black charger (his bike) and laying aside his lance (the sweeping brush) and stepping out of his shining armour ( jacket with leather elbows, and waist coat) then chopping the sticks for me Mam鈥檚 copper so she could boil all our clothes, Dad was going to let him.

Hence the message, 鈥淗arraway man Charlie, Annie hes nee mair kindlin鈥� tae light yon copper fire wi鈥欌��
Actually Jack was not related to our family but he had been with our family as long as I can remember
and had always been known as Uncle Jack Rickerby.

Dad who was an ex WW1 Soldier, grunted a reluctant, 鈥淎h鈥檒l be theer in a minit!鈥�
It puzzled me at first how someone could speak the King鈥檚 English correctly with a ruddy great pipe stuck in the mouth.
But on reflection me Dad鈥檚 use of English was supplemented by other words that just happened to fit and were sometimes much more descriptive.
Like the time on the railway station platform when the Lady and two Gentlemen were discussing jokes
and the punch line being reached, one gent rocked on his heels and guffawed while the Lady blushed and simpered, 鈥淥h how lovely鈥�
But Dad on hearing the same yarn would show his nicotine-stained teeth with a smirk and say, 鈥淏loody guddun!鈥�
And I had seen horses with cleaner teeth than me Dad and they had never seen a toothbrush.

On a sunny day Jack would go out and sit on the pigsty wall that was adjacent to the barn, then fishing out his little pipe which was shaped like a letter 鈥淪鈥� from his waistcoat pocket, he packed it with 鈥淒igger鈥檚 Shag鈥� which was packed in a tin in flat layers.
I also pondered the name, 鈥淒igger鈥檚 Shag鈥� to me it translated to a de-hydrated pussy living somewhere in the dry bush of Australia.

Jack would peel off a layer or thin slice of tobacco from the tin then rub it between his hands and this would tease the tobacco into a fluffy shredded ball ready to be stuffed into a pipe for smoking.

Dad also smoked a pipe and would chew tobacco when not smoking and my Mum amongst her many other chores would spent about half an hour polishing the kitchen grate until it shone.

Then Dad would come home after work and having had his tea would settle in front of the fire with the Farmer鈥檚 weekly magazine that he had rescued from the bin where the Farmer鈥檚 wife threw all the house rubbish.

The drill was nearly always the same.
Dad would move his chair from the table to the front of the fire and would put his feet up on the mantle shelf so his butt was getting most of the heat.

In summer time he would sit further back from the heat of the fire.

But one January night it was so cold and Mum scolded, 鈥淚 don鈥檛 know why you don鈥檛 just sit on the fire because no one else can get near it!鈥�

Then it happened.
Dad turned a deaf ear as usual and was turning a page of the Farmer鈥檚 Weekly magazine and eased one cheek of his butt from the cushion on the chair seat and a resounding, 鈥淲aaaaaark鈥� was emitted and a sudden flash like blue lightning shot from the fire to the seat of me Dad鈥檚 dacks and danced there for a brief moment like the, 鈥淣orthern Lights鈥� or 鈥淎urora Borealis鈥�
鈥� Good grief?鈥� screamed me Mum with a step back and hands raised as though to fend of some monster, then on second thoughts she swiftly grabbed out her handkerchief from the top pocket of her blouse and jammed it tight against her nose and mouth, and with a muffled 鈥淪it still while I go fetch a brush and pan鈥�
she hurried out to the back kitchen.
Uncle Jack spat, 鈥淎h think ye鈥檇 better bring a bucket o鈥� watter lass afore the whole ruddy hoos gans up!鈥�

Then Dad fell out of his chair and was now patting his butt frantically with the Farmer鈥檚 Weekly magazine as me Mam returned and let go with about a gallon of icy water kept in a bucket in the back kitchen because the pump in the back garden was frozen up.
Some of the water hit me Dad in the butt, but the rest carried on past him and put the fire out to an opera of hissing and crackling and steam rising to the ceiling and bits of hot coal now burning holes in the mat in front of the fireplace.

With both doors open now to let the cold breeze blow out the fog of smoke and steam Dad was now shaking with cold and had slipped his trouser braces over his shoulders and was standing shivering with his dacks collapsed round his ankles, and lo and behold he had on what looked like a cream colored boiler suit with a trap door at the back over his butt.

However, the heat had scorched the buttonholes and the flap had dropped down and the view we got was
of the Mona Lisa with huge boobs peering through a square mask of scorched knitted Long Johns but minus her head.

However Mum did finally win, because the axe for chopping the kindling was too heavy for me to wield and Uncle Jack was adamant he was not going to do what me Dad should be doing.
Mum gave up in the end and came into the house puffing and blowing.
Dad finally got the message and with a snort threw down The Farmer鈥檚 Weekly and went out and grabbed the axe.

As summer came round again Uncle Jack would sit on the pigsty wall and the pig would come out the sty and inspected the trough and on finding no food but seeing Jack sitting on the wall reared up and with two front feet now on top of the wall on which Jack was sitting, she nuzzled his side trouser pocket.

One day when me Dad sat there the pig knew it wasn鈥檛 the bloke with the apple and bit him in the ass since it was over hanging the brick wall and me Dad had a limp for the next fortnight.

But me Uncle Jack had a soft spot for all animals and would get an apple off the tree and put it in his pocket then go sit on the wall.
The pig would get the apple that was half way out of the pocket and easy for the pig to see.

But finding no apple the pig squealed it鈥檚 disappointment, so Jack eased off the wall and with three quick strides he was into the orchard where he selected a fallen apple that was not too badly bruised and shoved it into his side trousers pocket then went back and sat on the wall.

The disgruntled pig having observed the departure of Jack went back into the sty.
Then Jack was now back sitting on the wall called to the pig, 鈥淗arraway lass, dinny lie there an鈥� sulk, ah鈥檝e got ye an apple, so come on鈥�

I knew the pig wasn鈥檛 literate in English, but I did guess that since every time she was fed Dad would use the knocking of the feed bucket on the trough along with the words, 鈥淐ome on鈥� so I assumed the pig latched onto the, 鈥淐ome on鈥� sound, and translated it to, 鈥淔ood鈥�.

I found out later that if I got a piece of wood and leaned over the pigsty wall and knocked on the trough I got the same result, the pig would come racing out but on finding no food in the trough would stand there and squeal abuse since I had learned earlier in the piece to not enter the sty when she was in a bad mood cos she would use my boots as a toilet and sometimes she would bite.

Sloshing into the house with boots full of pig manure did not enhance my relationship with my Mother.

Dad came into the house looking a bit flushed after chopping the wood and sank down into his chair.
Mum was busy taking out hot loaves of bread from the oven.

That black shiny fireplace was made of cast iron and had a water heater tank on the left hand side of it and an oven on the right hand side of it.
When one used the oven one had to lift with a metal hook the six inch square shutter thus allowing heat from the fire to go under the oven and up the far side of it and on up the chimney.

Mum always kept the fireplace clean and used tins of Black Zebra Grate Polish.
Dad would sit near the fire chewing on a plug of tobacco and spit into the fire.
Sometimes he missed and the hot black shiny metal would respond with a hiss and mark the spot with a smudge of gray, until just before bed time the whole fire grate would look like the bottom of a parrot鈥檚 cage.

Suddenly Mum snapped, 鈥淵ou can read that later, how about filling the copper with water for me鈥�
Silently Dad put down the Farmer鈥檚 Weekly and went out to the pump and I could hear the wheezing of the handle going up and down, then footsteps in the back kitchen, then the splashing of water as the galvanized bucket and the white enameled bucket were emptied into the copper.
About half a dozen journeys and the copper would be filled to about six inches off the top.

Sometimes if a wind was blowing the back door would bang shut like a shotgun going off.
Dad would now have to stop at the closed back door and put one bucket down so he had one hand free to trip the sneck on the back door handle.
Putting one foot inside the door to hold it open he would then reach back and grab the pail of water that he had put down in order to open the door.
Me Dad left school at thirteen and did not get around to studying the laws of gravity nor was he acquainted with the laws of physics.
Mind you, being aware that if the wind was blowing into his face, he had to do an about turn if he wanted to jettison any liquid manure onto the grass with out filling his own boots.

So it came as no surprise that as soon as the bucket left the ground it tilted at an angle that deposited about three pints of its cold contents into the back of me Dad鈥檚 left boot.
鈥淢anure!!!鈥� yelled Dad, (that was not the word he used, but it does give one a mental picture)
鈥淣ow what have you done?鈥� Mum came rushing out of the kitchen half expecting to see me Dad wi鈥� one leg missing.
鈥淕ood Lord, is that all that鈥檚 bothering you, why don鈥檛 you put a brick against the door to hold it open?鈥�
Going back into the kitchen Mum shoved the wandering strands of her fair hair back and re-secured it with a hairgrip and heaved a heavy sigh.

With a clean pair of dry socks on and boot having been dried out in front of the fire, Dad finally got the copper filled.
Dad then got some old newspaper and some sticks he had just chopped, and sitting a few bits of small coal on the top he lit a match and set the paper alight.

After he checked to see it had caught and was going to burn, he came back and grunted, 鈥� Ah filled yu copper and lit t鈥� fire an鈥� its goin鈥欌��

With the bread all out of the oven and standing on the upturned baking tins to cool, Mum went into the back kitchen to find it was now pouring with rain outside and because Dad had forgot to shut the back door it was slanting in and through on to the floor wetting all the mats, and the water was creeping slowly towards the pantry which was two feet lower than the rest of the house.
The pantry had half a dozen sides of bacon under salt on the floor of the pantry.

Mum closed the back door then using a towel soaked up the water and wringing the towel out into a bucket and kept soaking and wringing until finally the floor was dry.

Then Mum began adding soap powder and Reckitt鈥檚 blue to the now boiling water of the copper.

Sheets and pillowcases were added and the washing session was under way.

Later snowy white sheets and pillowcases would be blowing in the breeze along with handkerchiefs under wear that looked like pale yellow knitted boiler suits with trapdoors held up by two buttons at the back.

Bloomers and knickers would be on the line drying while all the males in the house were out at work and would be off the line by the time they got back home.

There was a wooden wash tub and dolly legs that I had seen me Mam slaving over many times and the old heavy mangle that Mum would wind with one hand while feeding sheets through with the other.

The mangle had a four legged cast iron adjuster screw on its top arch.
Turned clockwise this put pressure on the leaf spring that held down the top wooden roller.
Sometimes if this was turned too tight a blanket would not go through and it had to be slacked off to allow the blanket through, but reset to squeeze the water out of the thinner sheets.

Sometimes during potato picking seasons I would sit on the couch in front of the fire and see the shadows on the wall in the back kitchen thrown by the small paraffin light hung on the wall.
My parents would be up at dawn and having packed a lunch basket we would all go out into the fields and pick potatoes.
I thought it was back breaking work but I often reflect how we used to sit and have our tea.
Then when all was cleared away and Dad was sitting having his pipe of baccy my Mum would begin washing and ironing the clothes.

The shadows on the wall as my Mum used to dolly the clothes in the tub was like watching someone wrestling with an octopus.
I would go and try to turn the mangle handle just to ease her burden and she would smile and say 鈥� Thanks hinny, but I can manage鈥�
I think I was more a hindrance than help, but those were happier times when we sat and pegged a rug or did crossword puzzles together.

Here鈥檚 to all the Mothers where ever they may be.

T.O.B. 2005

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