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Memories
of Childhood
by John
Appleby
~
14 ~
One day
was set aside for baking the bread and cakes for the week,
and the kitchen would soon be filled with the sweet smells
of yeast and spices and fruit. The old kitchen table would
creak as my mother kneaded the bread dough, then, when proved,
the tins were filled and put to rise, covered with a clean
towel on the fender. My reward for watching the tempting ingredients
into fruit cake, Granny loaf (raisin bread), or sponge cake,
was the treat of scraping the coatings from the empty mixing
bowls. When the bread had cooled, the loaves were stored in
a knee-high eathenware barrel with a butter-coloured glazed
interior, enclosed by a wooden lid and kept in the pantry
under the staircase.
Mondays
spelled misery. My mother would be in no mood for pleasantries
as she ferried boiling water from the copper, out to the wooden
posstub in in the lean-to "backend". I was sometimes
given the job of dicing wafer-thin slivers of toilet soap
to be added to the wastub. The load of washing had to be pounded
in soapy water with the poss stick, then unloaded, run through
the big wood rollers of the mangle, rinsed , mangled again
and hung out on a long line. This was a rope which would be
produced every washday and secured on to hooks on the walls,
and running the length of our back yard. The accumulation
of a week's clothing and bedlinen took many hours of hard
work, and scratch meals were the order of the day. In winter
the house would reek of steam and yellow soap. All the whites
were rinsed in water tinted with Reckitts blue, a little muslin
bag with a block of indigo blue stuff in it, resulting in
a whiter wash. Thereafter, in winter the kitchen would be
festooned with hanging garments and airing on a clothes horse
in front of the fire. Only in summer, when we could get outside,
was washday tolerable for us children, but we gave little
heed to the fact that our mother had to slave that day and
subsequent days.
©
2003 John Appleby, New Zealand
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