WHAT ABOUT WASHING-UP?

New Zealand Listener, Volume 11, Issue 277, 13 October 1944, Page 20

WHAT ABOUT WASHING-UP?

Thoughts Over The Kitchen Sink

(Written for "The Listener" by

BERTIE

HEYMANN

debate on the advisability of | conscripting women for domestic service must have interested many of your readers. My own interest is real but detached. I shall not benefit from whatever decision will be taken. My sons are not in the maid-needing age any more but rather in the aid-providing, and I am neither frail nor old enough to be entitled to conscripted or non-conscripted help. I am éven hoping that my interest in the matter may remain detached and general for a long time. 6 recent Parliamentary Yet I do not belong to that female section of our community who play bridge in the afternoon, and Mr. Fraser’s reference to them did not make me blush. But I do not like housework, and I know that many other women, bridge or no bridge, do not like it either. The results achieved are not equal to the efforts employed. The aim of creating something which in the best of instances may be called "spick and span" seems rather poor and does not encourage enthusiasm in the long run. The idea that one could "eat from my floors" if I scrubbed and polished them sufficiently has offered me little consolation. We do not eat from the floor; I can’t see any reason why we should, either. Liking What We Do T realise, of course, that the emotional approach to our duties is no concern of Parliament. So we must help ourselves. Since we cannot always do what we like, we must try to like what we do. This ‘appears to me more important than labour-saving gadgéts, and it seems that whoever has made a step forward in this direction ought to communicate it to others. I have made such a step forward in one particular branch of housework, one which does not affect the housewife only but the whole family, one which seems to top the list of domestic dislikes: the washing of dishes. Formerly I believed that the washing-up is so specially disliked, or at least so much. talked about, because it affects the entire family. But I found that women, the silent sufferers, of the wash tub, the floor polish, and the darning needle, hate it just as much as do husbands, sons, and daughters. I also found that it is only the dinner washingup which meets with so much animosity. Nobody seems to feel so bitter about lunch or breakfast dishes. I do not believe that the number of plates, or the greasiness of pots and pans has anything to do with this fact. I have come to the conclusion-and I am inclined to call it a discovery-that the dinner washing-up is disliked because it has to be done after dinner. We do not mind how hard we work, how much we rush during the day. But once we settle down to our evening meal something inside us seems to say: that is the finish.

Something inside us seems to snap. We want to enjoy the last bit of sunshine or the comfortable chair by the fire. We kept going until we raised the spoon to our lips; we do not feel like starting again. Nobody would mind the dinner washing-up if it could be done before dinner. The "Speed" Method Therefore, since it is the last obstacle between us and relaxation, there are only two ways to deal with it: either to get it done as quickly as possible, or to make it a tolerable interlude. We have therefore invented two methods to meet these demands: one I should call that of "speed," the other one the method of "distraction." We never make up our minds which to use; they happen. That the method of speed will be employed is indicated by one of us jumping up in the middle of a lively discussion on the strategic position of our troops in Holland or some article about post-war planning, and shouting: "Let’s do the washing-up," and the others yelling back: "Yes! Let's!" The method of speed achieves its best results under an _ outside’ stimulant. Therefore we race each other or give ourselves a time limit. We try to break the records of the day before (and the records only!) A radio programme may provide assistance. We can do the dishes in practically no time if we want. to listen to the Charlie McCarthy show. Our training would entitle us to enter any "Speedy Dishes" competition and to do so with confidence.

Distraction 8 When one member of the family moves and another one seconds "that the wash-ing-up be done," when those in favour have been asked to say "Aye" and the "Ayes" have had it, we know that the method of distraction has been decided on. There are many sweet uses of adversity. We have found some; and are constantly finding new ones. The possibilities are unlimited. We play parlour games, "animal, vegetable, mineral" for instance, or "hidden towns," an entertainment which consists of telling a long-winded story in which the name of a town is hidden unobtrusively. It is not so easy to hide Addis Ababa or Los Angeles unobtrusi¥ely. We have performed charades during the washing-up. They must be one-man shows and without fuss, of course; something like this: You say "Ding-dong." That is the first syllable. You drop on the kitchen floor and groan; that is the : second. You recite (as near to the original as possible): "Never before in the (continued on next page)

| Thoughts On Washing-up (continued from previous page) story of mankind have so many owed so much to so few"; that is the whole thing. The solution, of course, is Church-ill; the washing-up is not exactly speeded up by one worker falling to the floor and the others watching him, fascinated, but it is made easier. Try for yourselves. Sometimes we sing. I learn all the song-hits of the day, standing at the sink. I am proud to say that I was the first woman among my friends to know "Pistol-packing Momma." I am now ‘engaged in practising "Mairzydoats and Dozidoats" (or however you may spell it). The volume of our voices exceeds their quality by a long way. I think that is the reason why we like to sing while we are doing the washing-up. The clatter of the dishes makes our shortcomings less obvious. We used to make up limericks while we did the dishes. We produced pieces of poetry like this: There was a young husband of York Who ‘liked nothing more than roast pork "But dear," said his wife "Don't eat with your knife "You must learn to eat pork with a fork.’"’. You might say that it is easy to make rhymes on cutlery while one is drying it. Of course it is. You can do it, too, Or on crockery if you prefer: A Mammy. somewhere in the States, Sighed deeply, ‘‘There’s something I hates, That’s washing them dishes And therefore I wishes I could throw them away with the plates." Generally we do the washing-up without Dad. It is a silent agreement in our family that he should have a rest, enjoy the garden, or read the paper after dinner. He helps us, though, in an emergency. But we can’t use either of our methods when he joins us; he has not our training for the speedy one, and he cannot stand the noise of our singing. Sometimes the milk of human Kindness is overflowing in one of us, or, unfortunately, in all of us at the same time. Then the boys offer to do the dishes without me, and I refuse to accept the offer. This almost ends with tears. The only time, in fact, that we are unhappy about the washing-up is when we are supposed not to do it.

Counting the Cost Occasionally, however, when I am very tired, I accept the kind*offer. Memorable among these instances is one when I was sitting happily by the fire, while the others did the work. Then Stephen came in, stood calmly in front of me and said: "After ‘severe fighting the Germans suffered heavy losses. Our casualties are one glass cracked, one broken." In all fairness and as a warning to those who might want to profit by our, experience I have to confess that we are great breakers. Sometimes I wonder whether I should not call our second method one of destruction rather than distraction. Soup plates and cups are our favourite victims, for some mysterious reason. When we have guests for _ dinner we cannot give them soup except in cups (of the "best" set). Our coffee, tea, and cocoa we all drink out of mugs. Not that we mind. They have, we find, a special charm; they are more personal than cups. Dad has a white china one; ours are yellow earthenware, one with a pimple, one with a crack, and one without a blemish (for the time being). (continued on next page)

(continued from previous page) Finally I must mention one binding rulé: under no circumstances do we allow out dinnet guests to help us with the washing-up. We have a number of reasdns at hand, if we meet with resistance. They range from noncommittal politeness to the most altruistic assurances. Perhaps we are really as unselfish as we appear; but in my heart of hearts I believe our true reason is that we prefer to do our breaking by a_.selves.