Irony

I’m feeling very virtuous because I have finished all the ironing – there is not a single piece of laundry left un-ironed! We have had a lovely couple of days which meant mountains of washing to take advantage of the sunshine, and as a result, of course, mountains of ironing.

I mentioned in a post a little while ago that whenever I peg out my washing I think of other people, mostly my mum who would run down the garden with a basket of laundry and put it on the line so quickly, peg, peg, peg and then up with the prop (it was a length of wood with an extendable extra bit used to raise the clothes line so the washing didn’t dangle on the ground; the prop would have holes and a wooden peg to poke through to keep the extension in place) I also think of my cousin Carolyn who is the laundry expert and my friend Celia who always lends a hand if I’m putting things out – both of them have a completely different way from me of pegging clothes on the line.

Ironing must have been so hard in the old days when I was a child; at least my mum had an electric iron, her mother would have had to heat solid irons on a range or fire to iron her laundry. My mum had an iron but when she was first married, most clothes and bedding were made from natural fibres, natural fibres which took longer to dry and were more tricky to iron. We might hate nylon sheets now, but what a boon they must have been before there were no tumbled driers for drying on wet days, only a clothes horse or maiden to drape things over, and no electric and steam irons to get rid of creases.

I’m sure everyone has their own way of ironing, and I know according to some people I iron shirts wrongly because i iron the body of them first, then the shoulders and collar and lastly the sleeves and cuffs… The family who have to wear the shirts never complain though!

 

 

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