Retrieving the poss-tub

This is not my mother – but it was her poss-tub. At least it was her’s each Tuesday. On Monday’s, she blacked and polished our Sunday shoes and put them upstairs. We weren’t allowed to wear them any other day until our toes made holes in the weekday shoes. She also brushed dad’s Sunday suit and hard hat and they too went into hiding upstairs.

But Tuesday was washday. Come what may, she ‘possed’, soaped, scrubbed, boiled and mangled the whole day. On a Wednesday, Mrs A would come to borrow mother’s poss-tub promising to bring it back after her own washday, which might have been a Wednesday, Thursday, Friday or even a Saturday. The tub rarely came home until Monday when mother angrily went to fetch it, rolling it like a beer barrel down our street. She swore she would not lend it again – but she could never refuse.

When she had the very big pan for boiling the ‘whites’ on the open fire, she always shouted: “Mind out of the way” when she was ready to lift the hot load on to the hearth. Mrs B borrowed that pan many times and had it over one Christmas. When mother had all the best tablecloths – and more – to boil, she went to collect her pan. Mrs B was most reluctant and said: “Can you not manage without it? It’s got my Christmas cake in it to keep moist for New Year!”

Mrs C had five children and provided little discipline. Immediately after tea on a Monday, she came to our door to borrow half a crown to send her bairns to the pictures so that she could have a “bit o’ piece”. We were only allowed Saturday matinees. Mother got her half crown back every Friday pay-day and Mrs C borrowed it again three days later.

Borrowing was a way of life and mother would always lend to those she could trust. Her black hat was lent for funerals, china for tea parties, the iron foot last for home cobbling, the christening robe for a new baby’s service, the wooden steps for someone’s wallpapering and the meat mincer to clip onto a neighbour’s kitchen table to grind what was left of the Sunday roast.

At least they all came home – even if mother had to fetch them herself!

Mary Padget

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Retrieving the poss-tub

This is not my mother – but it was her poss-tub. At least it was her’s each Tuesday. On Monday’s, she blacked and polished our Sunday shoes and put them upstairs. We weren’t allowed to wear them any other day until our toes made holes in the weekday shoes. She also brushed dad’s Sunday suit and hard hat and they too went into hiding upstairs.

But Tuesday was washday. Come what may, she ‘possed’, soaped, scrubbed, boiled and mangled the whole day. On a Wednesday, Mrs A would come to borrow mother’s poss-tub promising to bring it back after her own washday, which might have been a Wednesday, Thursday, Friday or even a Saturday. The tub rarely came home until Monday when mother angrily went to fetch it, rolling it like a beer barrel down our street. She swore she would not lend it again – but she could never refuse.

When she had the very big pan for boiling the ‘whites’ on the open fire, she always shouted: “Mind out of the way” when she was ready to lift the hot load on to the hearth. Mrs B borrowed that pan many times and had it over one Christmas. When mother had all the best tablecloths – and more – to boil, she went to collect her pan. Mrs B was most reluctant and said: “Can you not manage without it? It’s got my Christmas cake in it to keep moist for New Year!”

Mrs C had five children and provided little discipline. Immediately after tea on a Monday, she came to our door to borrow half a crown to send her bairns to the pictures so that she could have a “bit o’ piece”. We were only allowed Saturday matinees. Mother got her half crown back every Friday pay-day and Mrs C borrowed it again three days later.

Borrowing was a way of life and mother would always lend to those she could trust. Her black hat was lent for funerals, china for tea parties, the iron foot last for home cobbling, the christening robe for a new baby’s service, the wooden steps for someone’s wallpapering and the meat mincer to clip onto a neighbour’s kitchen table to grind what was left of the Sunday roast.

At least they all came home – even if mother had to fetch them herself!

Mary Padget

More Stories

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