Looking for Mrs Tiggywinkle

When I was little, the Tale of Mrs Tiggywinkle was one of my favourite Beatrix Potter books.  I didn’t care much for Pigling Bland or Jeremy Fisher but the prickly little washerwoman with a kind heart appealed to me. I have never, however,  at any age, found much to like about laundry.

I remember having to wash so much by hand in the days before twin tubs and tumble dryers. But worse than the washing was the ironing. Now I know that some people enjoy the process of unwrinkling wrinkles, smoothing out collars and cuffs, pressing in pleats. Not me. Even if I try ironing while listening to the radio, it is a chore I just want to rush through as fast as possible so that I can go and do something more interesting. 

I also associate laundry with Women’s Lib – so much so that washing and ironing have sometimes been the Scylla and Charybdis of our marriage.   In fact I still remember my pique and disbelief when, during my first maternity leave, my other half asked me to iron his shirts on the grounds that I was at home and he was at work. 

Although I occasionally complied rather resentfully, as soon as I was back spending my days doing a job for which I was paid we reverted to the previous arrangement whereby I ironed my clothes and he ironed his. 

As the years went by the family expanded. By this time we were both earning more and we agreed we would spend some of the extra income on a laundry service. Once a week a man came round and collected the shirts and dresses and tablecloths and whatever else was too creased to be used again without being ironed.  

I failed to persuade the other half that the newfangled non-iron shirts were a godsend - although I bought no other kind for the children’s school uniform ever again. And I mostly stopped buying myself anything that couldn’t be machine-washed, tumble-dried, hung up and put straight away. 

Time passed.  The ironing man retired. We retired. True, there are fewer cotton shirts to be ironed now. But the other half now mostly wears cotton tops of the kind that can’t go in the tumble drier because they shrink.  I wash them, and let dry them on hangers in the utility room. Sometimes he washes them and does the same. So far so fair.  But they still need ironing. 

Anyone know where I can find Mrs Tiggywinkle?