Saturday Night Baths
Before the days of in-door plumbing,
And before we moved to town,
We dreaded Saturday night,
And displayed it with a frown.

That was the notorious night,
Mother exercised her wrath,
Trying to coral us boys,
To give us our weekly bath.

Taking down the washtub,
that was hanging from a nail,
We filled it about half full,
With water from the well.

A kettle of boiling hot water,
Was added to quench the chill.
Towels, rags and lye soap,
Would finally fill the bill.

While we were still little,
We bathed two at a time.
Although it was crowded,
It worked out just fine.

Mother let us play awhile,
Just to let us soak,
Then she'd start scrubbing,
With long laborious strokes.

Not thinking we were that dirty,
We would vainly complain,
But she'd just soap up the rag,
And start scrubbing again.

The task almost finished,
The water a grayish-green.
How could it be so dirty,
And me, turn out so clean ?

Dip by dip, the tub was emptied
And mopping up the floor,
The tub was wiped clean,
and hung on the nail once more.

The bed, changed and fresh,
In comfort we could sleep,
Knowing it was all over,
At least until next week.

© Grady L. Duncan
September 24, 2000

Used with permission

Please visit his wonderful site.

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Thank You So Much Grady Papaw,
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