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The kids are in bed - there are dishes to do
Some washing, ironing, paperwork too
Children, office, housework, sometimes I think life’s hard
But it isn’t really, not when it’s compared
To my mums, who rose up early and who was never late
Lighting the coal fire, sitting in the grate
She then cooked breakfast on a range,
Haven’t things for me, now changed?
Over the range for hours mum would slave
Cooking meals, whereas I have a microwave
And a vacuum, to clean this house of mine
Mum used to beat rugs on her washing line,
I have gas central heating, to keep the house warm
For my waking up to electric alarm
Then straight into the bathroom to have a shower
With instant hot water, mum had to wait hours
For the water to boil in her dolly tub
With its mangle, her weeks washing to scrub
A washing machine, daily, washes my clothes
What I’d do without it, heavens knows
And only a larder and pantry had mum,
No fridges or freezers, with meals ready done;
Between rudding steps and the range black leading,
She always had time for games and for reading,
My children don’t bother to go out to play
They stay in their rooms, on computers all day,
I guess each generation, has its ‘hard times’
I suppose at the moment, I feel this is mine
But, on reflection, of the life my mum had
I consider myself lucky; my ‘hard time’ is not so bad.


© Janette Fisher – June 1995
I wrote this poem about 15 years ago when I was a bank manager and my girls were about 12 and 10

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