Slosh, Splash, Sploosh, Slop. The four women, hands red raw from being in water for so long, from scrubbing the clothes with stones and brushes over wash boards, from wringing out fabrics coarse and smooth, the water dripping out of the garments into dingey, soapy puddles as they are twisted by the hard working hands. Above, line upon line tied from one building to the next, suspended from them socks, shirts and the like, all drying in the midday sun.
"'ush Rosie! Y'singing is enough t' make the dead get up an' move away! I tell y' Ella, she don' stop!"
Daisy was a large, no, a very, very large woman, covered in a dress of grey that barely contained the body. Bright, ruddy cheeks, and a mop of grey curly hair that was crowned with a white headscarf to match her white, now wet, apron. She was also very tired of the ever cheerful Rosie who seemed to sing more and more of late.
"It's that fella of hers! She don’t stop lately, and I reckon her face is stuck that way!" Said Pru, a slight woman with a bun of dark hair pulled so tightly that it made her skin stretch upon her thin face. Her frame held a very dull looking brown dress that went right to her neck and down to her toes, though her sleeves were rolled up to reveal her boney arms.
"Wha' way?!" Said Rosilea with an amused huff, her hands submerged to scrub at the gusset of her employers underwear. The given response was an exaggerated and inane grin, and her reply a huge splash of dirty water toward the thin womans face, which was shielded quite well by Prus thin hands.
"Oi! Stop that!" Said the young, fair haired and very pregnant Ella, also very curious too "What fella? That one that dropped his trousers at y'?" Her question directed at Rosilea, but before she could respond, Pru piped up with "No! The bard!". Rosie went again to speak till Daisy said "Bard? I thought he were a poet type! Or were it that foreign horse trader?! Tell me it aint that dark man Rosie, y'cant trust 'em!". Rosie just looked from one woman to the next as they spoke, but then was suddenly met with expectant stares from the trio.
Rolling her eyes and after a dramatic sigh, she pulled out the long underwear from the wash tub "None of 'em if y'must know! Though I'm lettin' this old foreign soldier court me, dark 'air, big 'ouse, spoils me like a proper lass too, flowers an' things. Stood up f'me too when this lass decided t'call me a gossipin' 'arlot!" At these last words, the trio looked at her with their mouths agape, old Daisy soon rolling up her sleeves even more. Diffusing the tension, she carried on "Oh I don' care, jus' a bit of jealousy ain't it? 'appens all the time in this blimmin' town, lasses gettin' all upset because a fella don' fancy 'em or wha'ever, aint my fault these lads want t'talk t'me now is it?". Taking one end of the long underwear, Pru the other, they twisted as much water as they could from it to add to the large puddles upon the ground.
Stroking her swollen stomach with a loving touch, Ella said "You want t'watch yourself Rosie! You could end up like me!", causing a look of offence to suddenly cross Rosies face. "I don't let 'em get tha' far Ella! Well, this new fella I do, I mean, we're courtin' and all, and well, 'e can be awfully temptin'! Nothin' wrong with a grown lass 'avin' a kiss an' a cuddle with 'er fella now is there?".
The four carried on a while in silence, the splish, splosh of water, the scrubbing noises eventually joined by Rosies enthusiastic yet horrific singing, causing Daisy to desperately, and loudly ask "What's his name then deary?". With a grin the copper haired girl halted, to reply "Blince!" With a collective groan and shake of the head, the trio caused her joyous expression to sour "Wha'? Why are y'lookin' like tha'? Pru? Ella?". Eventually Daisy spoke "He's a right one for the lasses. Just be careful lass, or y'will end up like our Ella here!" and with a pout on Rosieleas lips, and no more singing, the quartet carried on with their work.
