Gran’s great big iron mangle

Gran’s great big iron Mangle

 

Granny had a mangle

It really was a beast

Squishy boiled bloated clothes

It’s very favourite feast

 

Monday’s saw the wash board down

And scrubbed the clothes were sent

From the huge great copper pot

One by one they went.

 

Clanking cogs as I turned the wheel

and the song of splurging squash.

Gran’s wooden tongs would feed the beast

Sometimes two more from the wash.

 

From steam the ceiling dripped like rain

Mists hanging foggy grey’s

But for me and Gran on Monday’s

Were such very special days.

We’d laugh at Granddad’s Jamas Going in they seemed to swell

And out the other side

in the basket each squishy  item fell

 

Gran struggled with the enamel bowl

It’s water splashed the floor

To journey to the sink

Time and time to gather more

 

Her twinkled smiling eyes

Would call me her little man But she will always ever be my dear old lovely Gran.

 

(Mike)

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Autobiography, Poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s