Lament On The Absence Of The Thurles Clothesline.
The clothesline was a news forecast to the neighbours passing bye. There were no secrets you could keep when clothes hung out to dry.
It also was a friendly link for the neighbours always knew, if company had stopped on bye, to spend the night with you.
For then they’d see those “fancy sheets,” that towel upon the line; they’d see that “special table cloth,” with its elaborate design.
This line announced a baby’s birth from the folks who lived inside, as brand new infant clothes were hung, so carefully with pride.
The ages of their children too, could so readily be known, by watching how their sizes changed; you’d know how much they’d grown.
It also told when illness struck, as extra sheets were hung; your nightclothes and a bathrobe too, when irregularly were strung.
It also said, “On holidays now,” when lines swung limp and bare. It told, “We’re back,” when full lines sagged, with not an inch to spare.
New folks in town were scorned upon, if their wash was dull and grey; as neighbours carefully raised their brows, then turned their eyes away.
But clotheslines now are of the past, for dryers make work much less. Sure now what goes on inside a house, is anybody’s guess.
Ah sure I really miss that way of life; it was a friendly sign, when neighbours knew each other best, by what hung upon their line.