In England, when I was a child, there was a weekly festival, 'The Festival of the Whites', otherwise known as Wash Day!
WHITER THAN WHITE!
Monday was Wash Day! Without fail!
White washing was a Holy Grail!
Rissoles for lunch, always, on Monday,
Made from the roasted meat from Sunday.
No time to cook the usual feast;
The burden must not be increased!
Mothers, with such restricted lives,
Made a fetish of being wives,
And sparkling laundry was the aim.
One-Up-Man-Ship the only game!
The purpose of her mighty labours
Was to out-do her next-door-neighbours!
Remember Blue-Bags on laundry day?
Blue-Bags to take away the grey?
How the whites were soaked awhile,
Until they made our mothers smile;
Until sheets hanging on the line,
Fluttered, dazzlingly divine;
Till we saw Mother's spirits soar
For her's were whiter than her's next-door!
Blue-Bags to the rescue every time,
For shoddy laundry was a crime.
Blue-Bags set our mothers free
To see life as it ought to be;
Not as something dull and flawed,
But WHITE to make neighbours over-awed!
Maybe all of us use tricks,
To give our little egos kicks.
Could we but make our dreams come true
By doctoring our lives with blue!
