Along with the Milk Lady, and the Baker, I remember the Iceman, too. All of them with their horses and carts. I have written about them, as glimpses into my past. This beautiful poem by Christopher J Irving is so well written, I wouldn’t bother to try and write it myself.
The Iceman
I remember the iceman,
the horse and cart
pulled up outside our house
and he with huge ice cube
slung over his shoulder
in Hessian sling
would march across the lawn
into our kitchen
deposit this giant iceblock
onto the the tray
of the ice chest
Perhaps rich folks
had refrigerators back then
but most, like us had ice chests
and coppers for washing clothes
with washboards and Reckitts Blue
and wringers bolted
to a concrete sink
Later we got a kerosene fridge
with a tank that slid in and out
for filling with kerosene
and a wick that burnt
and sent a smoking stink
until it was adjusted
to burn just so
The greatest kitchen crime
we kids could commit
in sweltering summer months
was to leave fridge door agape
contemplating contents
whilst heat raced in
undoing the work of hours
And even today
there is nothing
that will send me
up the wall
and set my nerves on edge
more than the sight
of my son
in heat wave conditions
idly contemplating the contents
of the fridge
door ajar
during leisurely bouts
of indecision
by Christopher J Irving (c)
Leaving the Iceman behind.
When we left the Goldfields of WA to move to Perth in the 1950’s, our lives were much more comfortable with “modern” conveniences, like electric refrigerators and milk in bottles. Even washing machines, with hand wringers that popped off all your buttons!! Damn things. But life in the country could still be pretty primitive.
In fact, I started my married life, at the age of 19, with a glass washing board, a scrubbing brush, a copper and a pair of rough old concrete tubs.
I considered myself fortunate to start with a kerosene refrigerator, although I never did get the hang of the smelly thing.
Because we lived on a wheat and sheep farm, working as a married couple, without mainstream electricity, it was our only option – besides a Coolgardie Safe. Yes, I had one of those, as well. Â We also had a cow, and truth be told, I think I would have preferred the Milk Lady of my childhood.
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Thanks Lesley, the image of the washboard evokes memories.
Indeed it does, Chris. Some of them, I suspect, we would rather forget – except they make us what we are.
Mum was in Coolgardie when she met Dad. They moved to Karlgarin. I was born in Kondinin and at the age of two, we moved to Wyalkatchem. The first house there may have had a kero fridge, it definitely had a thunderbox. The old bloke with his horse and cart would come along the back lane taking the cans and leaving empties for us. The next house we lived in had a kero fridge, wood stove, a copper and a double concrete trough with a hand ringer clamped to it. Our back doorway had no door on it. It wasn’t needed anyway. We just went out and no one ever locked their doors or windows. You didn’t need to. ‘My memories of the Wheatbelt. 1959 – 1969’
Thank you for your lovely comments, Rod. I will look up your memories of the Wheatbelt. Yes, we had a thunderbox, too. On the farm we had to empty our own. When we moved to the city, the nightcart used to come along the back lane. Memories, eh!