on the line

Tennyson wrote, “In the Spring, a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love”, but he could have written, “In the late Spring, an older woman’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of washing lines”.

[‘Washing in the Wind’, Joan Eardley]

When we got married, my late brother gave what would have been the father-of-the-bride’s speech. He claimed that, coming from the North but having moved to Surrey, we had now joined the ‘gin-and-Jag’ set. ‘Next thing you know’, he said, ‘they’ll be getting a rotary washing line!’.

[Thomas Bewick, 1797 tailpiece, scene in Northumberland ]

The fact that I’ve never forgotten this scurrilous suggestion just shows how unjust (and funny) it was. I’m as wedded to proper, linear, long washing lines as I am to Simon.

[‘Linge séchant au bord de la Seine’ (1888), Gustave Caillbotte]

As with milk bottles, I have absolutely no inhibitions about washing lines. I don’t feel any need to pretend I don’t wash clothes and towels and sheets. I found it very limiting when we lived in Germany where there was an unspoken rule that you didn’t hang washing out on a Sunday. If the weather is fine and dry enough, out it goes, smalls and all. I like the story about David Hockney’s Yorkshire mother visiting him in California for the first time: “It’s strange – all this lovely weather and yet you never see any washing out.”

[‘Washing on the Line’, early C20, Percy Fisher]

I grew up with a washing line which went to the far end of the garden and back again, a big wooden prop (guaranteed to give you splinters), and wooden pegs. We were forever hanging it out, bringing it in when it started to rain, taking it back out again, bringing it back in damp, getting phone calls from Mum at work with reminders to watch the weather. And yet, despite the ever-present possibility of being rained on, I still believe that line-dried washing, like other ‘-dried’ things (sun-dried tomatoes, air-dried ham, kiln-dried wood, blow-dried hair), brings disproportionate amounts of pleasure.

[‘A City Garden’ (1940), James McIntosh Patrick]

There is so much to love about washing on lines. The sounds, the cracking, the flapping, movement and dancing (‘the olé of a crimson towel,/
the cancan of a ra ra skirt’ as Simon Armitage puts it), the precision and patterns of pegging out and applying the laws of physics as learned at school, the delight in getting everything hung up without running out of pegs, the colours, the folding, the crispness (my sister is horrified by my crispy towels - I don’t use fabric softener as I think it reduces absorbency), and best of all the lovely smell that comes inside and makes the first night of sleeping in freshly washed bedding a total delight.

[Salford, Shirley Baker, 1960s]

Where we live now, none of our neighbours hang out their washing. There are no collective scenes where washing lines are shared and seen by everyone, behind houses to be glimpsed from trains, hung out across streets to be dodged by cars and cyclists, zig-zagging across small back yards.

[‘Courtyard with Washing’ (1956), John Bratby]

It’s interesting that there is sometimes a sort of primness and snobbery about washing lines, the feeling that in some ways they bring down the tone of an area. Maybe now that there are so many tumble-driers and Lakeland-style ‘solutions’ to drying indoors, we see them as blots on the landscape.

[‘A Woman’s Work’ )1912), John Sloan]

This is what’s happened in several places including the Millbank Estate in Westminster where the management organisation (‘run by and for the residents’) attempted to remove washing line poles which have been in use for seventy years (read all about it). Then there have been bans on washing lines ‘for aesthetic reasons’ 🤦🏻‍♀️ in a new Edinburgh development, and residents in a ‘luxury’ Beverley complex are asked ‘to refrain from hanging washing in a manner that may detract from the visual enjoyment of the building or otherwise cause offence to fellow residents'. 🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️ WTF does that mean? I’d be very tempted to say I was copying my favourite artist’s work; I could do a Bonnard on a Monday, a Caillebotte on a Tuesday etc.

[Bolton, c1937, Humphrey Spender]

It surprises/bothers me that people who have access to outdoor spaces are being shamed into drying indoors at a time when heating costs a fortune, tumble-driers are frowned upon for environmental reasons, and when drying clothes outside - hopefully with some sun to bleach whites and disinfect - is cost-free, conserves energy, there’s no shrinkage from a drier, and you don’t fill entire rooms with damp clothing which creates humidity.

[Monday (1959), Bryan Pearce]

Especially now, as the weather warms up, and washing lines are full and flapping again. And I’m reminded that no-one ever wrote a poem* about or painted a lovely picture of a rotary washing line.

Happy Sunday!

*I highly recommend Washing Lines, a delightful collection of poems on the subject.