“I can hardly
wait until Saturday night to try it.” Ethel to her brother Vance, January
1937
It
was the first Saturday of 1937, and Ethel was excited. She put down the book
she was reading, The Life of Omar Khayyam by Harold Lamb, in order to
contemplate a wonderful thing. The water for this evening’s bath would be drawn
from the new cistern at the back door. “How silly that this should be an event!”
you might say, but the Dobson family had lived on this farm for 40 years
without a viable source of water. Since 1896, Ethel’s father, Jack, had hauled
water for his family’s needs from a spring in Wheeler Gulch, a mile or so to
the southeast of the farmyard.
“It’s going to
be a real boon, for it will more than cut this awful chore of hauling water in
half,”
thought Ethel to herself.
Having
been born in this place, Ethel was no stranger to the bath night routine
wherein all family members took turns bathing in the same water. She had to
admit that she missed the modern bathroom to which she was now accustomed --
convenient but so much more! She could think of a string of adjectives that
applied to indoor plumbing, all of them positive. No, there would be no going
back from this modernization which was now the American standard of sanitation,
but it would never bless her parents on this farm. She was sorry for Mama. Mama
was progressive in her outlook, and Ethel knew it hurt Mama’s pride to be seen
as poor. And besides, as her parents grew older, the challenge of managing life
here, especially in winter, loomed larger. The fact that others shared their
plight was of little comfort. The wave of the future was upon them.
Ethel
was first to the back porch when it was time for Dad to do the honors. As the
sun set and the family watched, Jack stepped to the edge of the cistern. Slowly
lowering a new pail by means of an attached rope, he began to dip water and
fill the big kettle. Then he and Ernest carried the kettle to the stove in the
kitchen. Five of them would need to bathe tonight, so they heated a little
extra water as well.
Even
though the water might be close at hand, the procedure for the Saturday night
bath didn’t change. After supper, Ina closed the door between the kitchen and
dining room, stoked the fire in the stove, and opened the oven door to warm the
room as much as possible. When the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, Jack
brought in the big washtub and placed it before the stove. Ina pulled a chair close
to the tub and laid out soap and washcloths. She placed towels on another chair
near the stove and spread a cotton bathmat on the floor. The three women – Ina,
Ethel and Shirley Jean – retired to the kitchen together. The process went more
quickly if they helped one another. [Sorry – no photos available.]
Ina
was privileged to take the first bath, but she didn’t dally over the task. No
one did. Sitting in a galvanized washtub just wasn’t all that comfortable, and
the room was drafty despite attempts to make it warmer. Besides, others were
waiting and the water cooled quickly. Ethel was ready to pour fresh warm rinse
water over Ina and then wrap a towel around her to shield her from the cool air.
Ina quickly dressed in gown and robe but stayed in the kitchen to help Ethel
and Shirley Jean with their baths.
Ethel
was next, and she was ready to step into the tub immediately. As Ethel had
assisted her mother, so Ina assisted Ethel. As Ethel dressed, Shirley Jean hopped
into the water while Ina supervised.
Once
the women had finished bathing, Ina announced to the men that the kitchen – and
the bath water -- was all theirs. Once they had made use of the bath water, the
two men emptied the washtub and mopped up any spilled water on the kitchen
floor. Meanwhile the women sat “before the blazing fire” in the living room to
stay warm and dry their hair.
And
that was it – the Saturday night bath. And that bath would just have to last
until next Saturday night! KW
[The advertisements are from the December 1936 issue of Good Housekeeping.]
12 comments:
Almost without fail, when I get in the shower I say a little prayer of thanks. I'm so grateful for the hot water, the privacy, and the chance to have fresh water. I realize that for people who knew no differently the Saturday night bath was what it was--a chance to get clean--but I'll have to agree with Ethel; hopefully there'll be no going back.
I agree -- a nice warm shower with clean water in a warm room with the door closed does indeed feel like a luxury. I'm glad we appreciate it.
I wonder, though, if the women weren't ministering to one another -- perhaps a kind of foot washing. I remember how good it felt when my mother wrapped me in a warm towel. I also think of the time that my mother gently dried Hallie's hair with a towel, then brushed it.
I can remember taking baths in the tub in front of the kitchen stove. There were just two of us, and we had to do it every day if we were working in the field. I'm glad to take a nice warm or hot shower. I now have a solar water heater, which doesn't require gas or electricity to heat the water in the summer.
Thanks for this bit of info, Chuck. I only recall bathing at the farm once. As I thought about it, I couldn't remember any bathing during harvest, but we must have. And we had Nina's kids, too, and I don't remember bathing them either.
You know, Chris, so do I. It must have been less than pleasant to go to bed with dried dirt and sweat on your body. I guess you can get accustomed to most anything. I can't remember even a camping trip where I didn't get some kind of body rinse before turning it.
1) I really like those towels 2) isn't that a risqué photo of sunbathing? 3) what do you know about that soap? I wonder how many were returned, if they really contained Vitamin D, and if it did anything at all.
I've been waiting for someone to say something about the risque model. Isn't that awful!!! It's like the publisher said, "We'll just paint out the offending body parts and everything will be fine." Apparently this ad was the first to feature a naked woman.
Back in the day, even in the '50s, a box of soap was considered a thoughtful gift for a woman. Maybe you remember your grandma's collection of soap in the upstairs bathroom. Some brand names -- Woodbury, Yardley, Wrisley. Avon also sold soap in interesting shapes and scents. I dunno -- can one still buy pretty scented soaps?
This doesn't answer all your questions. Will have to do more research.
There's actually a class on making "fancy soaps" at South Seattle Community College. It's just a one day thing on a Saturday. I considered it...
It was 1965 or so when my mother had an opportunity to try a sample of deodorant soap at a motel. She was impressed, believed it really made a difference, and from then on we used deodorant soap. Prior to that we used Ivory bar soap and also scented soaps.
Working at an ad agency for over 25 years, I can tell you for sure that photos get airbrushed. A big star has wrinkles...airbrush her (or him). It's the ultimate in creativity. Today, we call it "photoshopping."
My mother always liked Sweetheart brand soap. I remember when Dial deodorant soap came out. I used it for several years. Later I learned that it was seriously drying my skin out. That ended my love affair with Dial.
I've bought Christmas gifts of scented soaps. Here on the left coast, we have a lot of tourist shops. Besides the usual post cards & t-shirts, many shops have glycerin soap in loaves. Think loaf of bread. The shop owner slices a chunk off of the loaf & wraps in clear cellophance. These glycerin loaves are very colorful with many jewel like designs. Lovely smells like honeysuckle, vanilla, gardenia, lavender, lemongrass & my favorite: mango. When someone comes to visit from out of state, we usually go to a tourist spot & I look for these glycerin soaps while they choose a t-shirt.
Hi Leah! Yes, I remember Sweetheart soap. I think Dial was the first deodorant soap we used. But later Mother also switched to glycerin soap -- maybe Neutrogena -- and she loved it. I remember she also had some with the jewel-like colors. Like you, Mother loved soap.
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