We don’t wash up

(Stories from Cream Horns and Vol au Vents)

Cynthia dumps a washing-up bowl stacked with mucky saucepans,

burnt jam tart tins and gunky baking trays on my demonstration

table.

‘Jenny. They’ve been hiding their dirty washing-up.’

Monkeys! Cunning little … How have they managed that? Every

lesson, Cynthia and I march round like sergeant majors, checking

equipment is clean and ready for the next class. There are drawings of

tools in each drawer and checklists in cupboards. All sharp knives are

back in the knife rack. No one leaves until all slots are filled. But still

they beat us.

Cynthia and I hunt for hidey-holes. Greasy frying pans behind a

cooker. The cupboard near the exit is their post box for the unwashed.

‘Jenny. It’s got to stop.’

Cynthia’s right. I message their class tutors.

‘FROM MISS HYDE. NEXT WEEK’S PRACTICAL IS CANCELLED.

DON’T BRING INGREDIENTS.’

My demonstration table is piled with dirty pans and Fairy Liquid.

Well, it’s not Fairy Liquid. We can’t afford it. Cynthia dilutes the cheap

stuff from County Supplies with water and pours it into old Fairy

Liquid bottles donated by staff. Students will never know.

They slump on the stools around my demonstration table.

‘Some people have hidden their dirty washing-up.’

Silence. Eyes down. Scanning the floorboards.

‘Today is a washing-up lesson. Ted – put an apron on and come and

help.’

I’m ready in my pink nylon overall and matching pink rubber gloves.

‘Fill the bowl with hot water please.’

Ted shuffl es over to the butler’s sink and runs the tap.

‘Is it hot? No. Start again. Hot.’

‘Why do we use hot water for washing up?’

Jill’s hand is up.

‘Miss, hot water gets off grease but you need washing-up liquid too.’

‘Quite right Jill. Well done. One squirt will do.’

‘Class – do you know the Fairy Liquid TV advert?’

I squirt fake liquid into Ted’s bowl.

‘Hands that do dishes will be as soft as your face with mild green

Fairy Liquid.’

I sing and stroke my Marigolded hands over my cheeks like that

pinny-wearing housewife. Silly woman stuck at her foaming sink with

her tiny daughter and all those Fairy Liquid bubble-smeared plates.

What are the men in her household doing?

‘Miss. Why are you wearing them gloves if you want soft hands?’

It’s Alan. Agh! Why is this so hard?

‘Ted. Please wash this dirty pan.’

He struggles with burnt lumps stuck to the bottom and grins at the

class.

‘See? Wash things up straight away. It’s easier.’

Every part of washing-up needs explaining. My students don’t seem

to do it at home.

‘Write down my Washing-Up Rules. It’s on the board with this

homework from the EXAM. Next week we’re doing baps.’

When the bell rings, they rush to leave. Too busy to clock another

rude cooking word.