The automatic washing machine and modern laundry detergents, together with easy care fabrics, may have their advantages in a busy twenty-first century life. But there was a real sense of heading into an outdoor adventure when I watched my grandmother doing her washing on a Monday morning whenever we stayed with her during school holidays all those years ago. Wash day was Monday, and the process began at first light, or even before during the shorter winter days.

The initial task was to fill the ‘copper’, the large tub that fitted snugly into a kind of metal fireplace. The base of this had been packed carefully with strong firewood, pine kindling and a little wick of newspaper to give the fire a start. The copper was always filled with tank water – the town water supply may have been trusted for the bath and the garden, but was considered of too suspect a quality for washing the clothes or, for that matter, making a cup of tea.

Fuel in place, the fire was lit and the water slowly heated. Now my grandmother cut chips from a bar of Velvet or Sunlight soap and stirred them into the simmering liquid with what seemed to be the most important laundry implement of all, the boiler stick. We knew it was important because one of the very few ways we could draw her disapproval was to use this precious stick as a sword when our game called for Robin Hood to duel with the Sheriff of Nottingham.

When the water was boiling steadily, each of the white items was immersed with a poke of that stick. Meanwhile the fire was tended carefully to maintain its rage beneath the copper. Thus, the clothes were washed by boiling, but other procedures had to be followed. Shirts, collars, blouses, skirts and linen all had to be stiffened with a mix of starch and warm water so that they could be ironed smooth when dry. Lawntone was my grandmother’s favoured brand of starch mainly because the factory where it was made was not far from her childhood home.

For white clothes it was traditional to use another product. A knob of Reckitts Blue was added to a basin of cold water and this was supposed to make white sheets even whiter. My grandparents even added this product to their dog’s bath water and vouched for its value in giving Pickles a shinier coat.

Then it was time for a test of strength. After the clothes had been removed from the water with hands that seemed impervious to the heat, they were directed through starch or blue and then the surplus water was wrung from them with vigorous twisting. My grandmother’s hands normally seemed so gentle, but they took on a strength that could have matched a shearer using rusty blades.

For the final stage, into the laundry trolley went the clothes and with the help of a few dozen dolly pegs they were waving in the breeze, drying in the Queensland sunshine. Life was hard, but simple. Work was constant but followed a routine. In fact, one of the major setbacks of the week was to wake to a rainy Monday morning. My grandparents felt the frustration. I was just disappointed to miss an adventure with real pioneers.

Michael Goodwin