Washday, Old Style

When I was growing up, washday was always on Monday. It started right after the breakfast dishes and the cream separator were washed and put away. Beds were stripped, towels gathered, and all carried to the basement where the Maytag wringer washer and rinse tub were located. While the tubs were filling with hot water, we sorted the dirty clothes from bushel baskets located below the railing of the basement stairs. All week we had been tossing our dirty clothing into those baskets.

The first things to go into the sudsy water were white garments – my dad’s white shirts, our blouses, and handkerchiefs. We pulled the lever on the side of the Maytag washer to start the center post agitating the clothes and went upstairs to check on a pot of navy beans simmering on the kitchen stove.

When the first load had been sufficiently washed we turned on the wringer motor and fed the wet clothes through the wringer into the rinse tub, which sat by the washer. One of us would load the washer with bed linens (all white in those days) while another used a long stick to stir the rinse water full of shirts.

Now it was time to pivot the wringer to a position over the rinse tub and feed the rinsed clothes through the wringer. From the wringer the clothes fell into a bushel basket sitting on an old piano stool by the tub. When the basket was full someone carried it up the basement stairs and out the back door to the clothesline. A bag of clothespins hung on the line, ready for pinning the clothes up. While the washed clothes were being hung up to dry, another washerwoman was in the basement feeding sheets through the wringer into the rinse tub.

So it went, from whites to light colors to dark colors and ending with my dad’s work clothes. He was a farmer, so we had to remove straw and dirt from the cuffs of his khaki pants before putting them into the Maytag. Neither the wash nor rinse water, a scarcity, was changed between loads, but was used to do the entire laundry.

By noon we were usually finished with the wash. We emptied the water from the wash and rinse tubs into a drain in the floor, and gratefully went upstairs to a dinner (our noon meal) of navy beans and corn bread.

After a brief respite we began to unpin dried clothes from the line, laying them in a bushel basket, and carrying them inside to be sorted, folded, and put away or set aside for ironing, which would be done on Tuesday. Beds were made up with crisp sheets  smelling of clean air and sunshine. Then it was time to fix supper.

Eventually, the Maytag wringer washer was replaced by an automatic washer, but the routine of washday remains forever etched in my mind. I treasure memories of the toil, the camaraderie of women of three generations working together, and the pleasure of a difficult task accomplished.

Copyright 2014 by Shirley Domer