“Wash on Monday, iron on Tuesday, sew on Wednesday, visit on Thursday, bake on Friday, clean on Saturday, church on Sunday.”
This was the homemaker’s creed in the 1920s, no questions about it.
We had huge set tubs made of soapstone in our basement. Early Monday morning the week’s laundry was put in soak after being rubbed down with Fells Naptha soap (no soap powders or bleaches then).We were careful not to put socks in with whites, as the dark colors all ran.
The clothes were scrubbed on corrugated washboards, an excellent way to keep a flat stomach. All clothes had to be rinsed twice and rung out by hand or wringer, then they were hung out on the lines to dry. Mother said she could tell how neat anyone was by the way they hung their clothes.
When dry, the pillow slips, tablecloths and napkins, dresses, shirts, petticoats and handkerchiefs were sprinkled and wrapped in towels to be ironed on Tuesday. Irons were so heavy, and they were heated on the woodstove, and it took most of the day to complete the ironing. Mothers worked so long and hard, but there was so much satisfaction and pride in caring for their families.
Every Tuesday and Saturday the ice would be delivered. Two brothers in an old, drippy covered truck drove into our yard. They both wore rubber aprons that covered their fronts and backs, plus felt hats. Both were very tall and very thin and very shy and probably very cold. One would go into the house and measure how large a block of ice we needed. He came out and showed his brother by hand measurements, and they proceeded to cut it. The ice was packed in sawdust. They had huge ice tongs, so one slung the ice on his back and carried it in. We usually got a 20-cent piece. In the meantime, all the neighborhood children had slivers of ice to suck on. What a treat, especially on a hot, hot day. Then on to the next house in the drippy old truck.
Will Rogers Visits
Will Rogers, who was a movie star, was also a humorous entertainer. He spoke at the Pinehurst Theater one winter night in the 1920s. The James and Jackson Boyds arrived after the program had started and as all the seats were filled, they had to sit up on the stage with Mr. Rogers. Now, the Boyds were a wealthy family — James Boyd was a Princeton graduate and a well-known author. Mrs. Boyd’s father was secretary of state under President Grover Cleveland. Both Boyd brothers lived in beautiful homes.
Will Rogers knew them both well, but after they were seated, he told the audience that they were farmers and had to finish plowing and slopping the pigs, etc., before they could change into their good clothes and get to the theater, so he forgave them for being late. Even the Boyds laughed at that!
More on the Boyds: They almost always attended the movie theater on Friday night. There was always a short feature, then Fox news. Just before the movie itself started, Mr. Piquet would go down the aisle and open the side doors and both James and Jackson Boyd plus their wives, and often guests, would come in and sit in the comfortable box seats. Mrs. Jackson Boyd was always knitting socks, which she continued to do, even in the dark theater and even in front of Rudolf Valentino or Douglas Fairbanks.
Jewish Couple
In the mid-1920s a couple came to Southern Pines and built a lovely house on East Massachusetts Avenue, up across from Highland Pines Hotel, which burned many years ago. Their name was Bernstein and they were Jewish. I don’t know how they bought land and built here, as Southern Pines did not welcome Jews at the time — a shame.
This all took place before I was born. My older sister, Doris, told me that after the Bernsteins had lived here for several years and had never been invited to anyone’s house, Mrs. Bernstein sent out 20 beautiful invitations to Southern Pines did not welcome Jews at the time — a shame.
This all took place before I was born. My older sister, Doris, told me that after the Bernsteins had lived here for several years and had never been invited to anyone’s house, Mrs. Bernstein sent out 20 beautiful invitations to some local matrons, asking them to a tea party.
Can you believe this? Not one woman put in an appearance. My own mother was one of them; she felt guilty and ashamed forever after, as well she should. I did, too, as she used me for an excuse — I was born five months later. I’m sure Mrs. Bernstein cried her eyes out that day.
I only hope her young nephew wasn’t there on a visit. His name was Leonard.
