Dashing Away With The Smoothing Iron

 A band of heavy cloud lay along the spine of the Downs all day yesterday. I was hoping it might shift a little eastward and give us some rain but it never did. I don't know if the towns on the far side of the Downs- Seaford, Newhaven, Brighton- were getting any but I assumed they were and was envious. 

I went to the Friends Meeting again. The people there are elderly and middle-class and in talking to them I find myself channelling my friend Professor S.B.- who was educated at Winchester and Kings and has the nicest manners of anyone I know. One of the elders had her dog with her. I'm not a dog lover but this little animal was so pretty- and radiated so much goodwill that I had to go over and fuss it. During the hour of silence it lay down and went to sleep. The vibe gets to it, said it's owner (only she didn't use the word "vibe") and it succumbs.

I have often wondered why we hang onto an iron and ironing board when we never iron anything- but now I know. One of the things we have to do before sending my mother into a nursing home is put name tags in all her clothes- and the ones we bought need to be ironed on. I have always told myself I hate ironing but once I get into it I find it pleasant and relaxing. Once upon a time my mother affixed name tags to my school clothes and now I'm doing the same for her. And so the world turns...

When I was a kid there was a song I knew which began something like this...

'Twas on a Monday morning
When I beheld my darling
She looked so neat and charming
In every high degree.
She looked so neat and nimble-o
A-ironing of her linen-o

Dashing away with the smoothing iron
She stole my heart away."

There was, I should imagine, a verse for every day of the week- but I only ever knew the first and have no idea how the narrative developed. I haven't heard it in decades.

I bet it's online, though....