So as to not get my green school gingham dress dirty, I was not so much told, but ordered to put the pink house coat on that was hanging on the handle of the toy cupboard.
With a heavy heart, I made my way over to the toy cupboard, retrieved the pink house coat, and duly put it on.
My only consolation at this time was that at least, unlike my school gingham dress, the garment fitted me.
In fact, the fitting was so perfect, that I wondered if it had been another one of Nanny Mitchel’s purchases made for me from her Gratton catalog.
I was later to find out that this was the case.
In her wisdom Nanny Mitchel had ordered quite a number of female garments, for me to wear this particular weekend.
Where she had got the money from was beyond comprehension as she always appeared to be living a meager lifestyle.
Like the Green School Gingham dress, the fabric of the pink house coat appeared to be rigidly stiff.
I was to later find out that this was because as with the school uniform it was made out of one hundred percent polyester.
Polyester appeared to be a favorite of Nanny Mitchels as it was cheap, not very cheerful, but totally practical.
Nanny Mitchel had always worn these kinds of coats whilst working as the head dinner lady of a local school.
So into the little kitchen I went, closely followed by a very determined-looking Nanny Mitchel, whilst cousin Karen took herself into the living room to watch television.
I viewed all the plates in the sink along with the pots and pans that were scrawled around the kitchen.
Silly as it sounds, by this time in my life, I had never ever washed up a dish let alone a sink full of them.
However, this evening that would change.
For from this day onwards, this was to be one of the many chores that I would be made to carry out.
Nanny Mitchel herself knew I had been idle and lazy at home.
I never helped my mother around the house, my bedroom was more like a pig sty, and I had certainly never ever washed up any dishes.
With this in mind Nanny Mitchel decided that rather than join Karen in the living room, she would be better served supervising my Kitchen cleaning duties.
Nanny Mitchel made me stand, facing her in the corner so that I could watch her instructions.
Firstly though, she was to arm herself with her trusty wooden spoon.
This spoon had been used on my bottom a little earlier.
With this in mind, I was in no doubt what it was there for, and that it was likely to be used again if the need arose.
Nanny Mitchel now made a point of waving the spoon menacingly in my face.
“You Know what this is for Patricia, don’t you?” Nanny Mitchel said in a stern voice.
“Yes Nanny Mitchel, “I meekly replied.
“I had to use it earlier when you clumsily dropped all the cutlery and mats,” she continued.
I looked at Nanny Mitchel with fear in my eyes for I was still feeling the effects of the spoom from earlier
I knew very well from my earlier experience, that even though it had been delivered over my school skirt, that spoon had in itself delivered excruciating pain.
Nanny Mitchel finished her short lecture by making it clearly known that in no uncertain terms the spoon would be used again.
Nanny Mitchel put the spoon to one side of the kitchen to serve as a reminder.
Nanny Mitchel now went to the kitchen drawer and produced a pair of pink rubber gloves.
Nanny Mitchel not so much proceeded to hand me the gloves but to shove them in my hands.
“Put these on,” she barked.
Quickly and with no fuss whatsoever I slipped my hands into the gloves.
At this moment in time, I had forgotten the fact that I was being duly humiliated for fear had now taken over.
It goes without saying, that I had never worn rubber gloves in my life as I had never needed to.
I was later to find out that these gloves had a name.
The name was “Marigolds”
Marigold is something my Nanny Mitchel had called Grandfather when he was alive.
However, that is altogether another story.
The rubber texture of these Pink marigold gloves felt really odd on my hands, the fitting of which seemed to be tight.
Indeed it goes without saying that wearing these Pink Marigold gloves was similar to that of wearing a second skin.
“They are to protect your hands from the detergents you are going to need to use Patricia.” Nanny Mitchel explained in a slightly less harsh tone than she had used previously.
“However, they will not protect your hands from a good whacking with the wooden spoon if you do not do as I tell you,” She warned.
It appeared that Nanny Mitchel had a thing about using the wooden spoon to make her point known.
This was of course along with her trusty rubber-soled carpet slipper, of which she had many pairs of, and had used on a regular basis.
As well as the Pink Marigold gloves being new to me, the word detergent was also something that I had never heard of.
Briefly, I wondered to myself if I should ask Nanny Mitchel what detergent meant.
However, I had second thoughts as Nanny Mitchel did not seem to be in the mood to be asked any questions, let alone questions she may consider to be silly ones.
Nanny Mitchel ordered me over to the sink. where the contents of the evening dishes were laid neatly on the side.
She pointed to the washing-up liquid, which was also pink and smelt of roses.
Washing up liquid or at least washing up liquid bottles was something I did know about.
Previously, when at home I had taken the empty washing-up liquid bottles, filled them with water, and squirted the neighbors out of my bedroom window.
“Squirt a little washing up liquid in the sink Patrica,” came Nanny Mitchel’s first order.
Grabbing the washing up liquid with my now Pink Marigold rubber gloved hands I did as I was ordered.
“Not too much Patricia,” Nanny Mitchel corrected me as I started to over squirt the pink gooey stuff into the sink.
“We do not like waste in this house,” she further interjected.
As told to I stopped squirting the washing-up liquid into the sink.
“Now you are to fill the sink with hot water only Patricia,” came Nanny Mitchels next command.
This washing of the dishes was now starting to sound like some form of Military operation.
I was to learn the hard way to follow Nanny Mitchel’s orders to the letter or else face the consequences.
I imagined that this would possibly be the same for any army-based operation.
However, Nanny Mitchel Kitchen was not an army assault course.
At least for the time being I did not think it was.
I started to fill the sink with boiling hot water.
I gave a wince as some of the hot water splashed onto my arms.
“That is why we wear rubber gloves, Patricia, in order to protect ourselves from the hot water,” SaidNanny Mitchel in a lecture-styled voice.
“You do not have to turn the taps on quite so full Patricia,” Nanny Mitchel continued in a condescending voice.
“That is why the boiling water splashed you.”
“Silly Girl.”
I was now starting to have my fear overtaken by humiliation as Nanny Mitchel’s voice was now becoming somewhat a little more gentle, though still with twinges of firmness.
The sink was now full of hot water with soapy bubbles.
Nanny Mitchel now proceeded to give me a green scratchy cloth, which I was later to find out was called a scouring pad.
“Now, one at a time, you carefully place the plates in the sink, and wash them, Patricia,” came Nanny Mitchel’s next command.
“When I say Carefully, I mean carefully.”
“Place them in the sink, do not dare drop them” she continued.
One at a time I placed the dishes in the sink.
Although the pink rubber marigold gloves were affording me some protection, I could still feel the boiling hot water through them.
This made the rubber of the gloves slightly stick to my hands.
“Once you have washed a dish, you place it on the draining rack,” came Nanny Mitchell’s next instruction.
Very slowly I started to wash each dish and place it on the draining rack.
I say slowly because Nanny Mitchel was standing by the draining rack inspecting every dish I washed.
If one was not to her satisfaction it was soon put back into the sink and I was ordered to wash it again.
The washing up itself was to take much longer than it would have taken someone who was used to the task.
Nanny Mitchel was now getting a little irritated and her voice which had started to become a little more gentle and understanding started to take a sterner tone.
“Patricia,” she started to interject.
“You really are far too slow.”
“Karen would have had the washing up done by now, dried up and put away.”
I knew cousin Karen’s name would have to come into a conversation during my attempts at washing up.
She was, after all, Nanny Mitchel’s Treasure.
“If you do not start to get a move on I am going to have to use the spoon again,” She threatened.
With this threat now placed firmly in my head, I started to move up a gear and carried out my task somewhat faster than I had previously been doing.
In order to speed up the task at hand, Nanny Mitchel decided to do the drying up and put things away herself.
Had she not done so, we would have been in the Kitchen forever.
With the washing up now complete Nanny Mitchel handed me a cloth which was commonly known as a Jay Cloth.
My next task was to wipe all the surfaces down.
This I did, however, I failed to wet the cloth beforehand.
This was now starting to really anger Nanny Mitchel, as it appeared to be so obvious to anyone that in order to wipe the sides down, one first needs to dampen the cloth.
Nanny Mitchel questioned me as to whether I was being awkward or just plain stupid.
Whilst Nanny Mitchel made a grab for the wooden spoon, I plopped the cloth in the water, took it out, and proceeded to clumsily splash the water all over the Kitchen surfaces.
I had by now tested Nanny Mitchels Patience to the limit.
Once again the wooden spoon came down with a smack.
This time, the smack was not as bad as it had been before, as it was across the bottom of my housecoat.
However, it was still hard enough for me to take heed.
“Wring the cloth out first, before I wring you out ” Nanny Mitchel shrieked in my ear in a voice that was now high-pitched like a banshee.
“We do not want to flood the kitchen!”
I put the cloth back in the water this time wringing it out.
I then proceeded, as told, to wipe all the surfaces of Nanny Mitchels Kitchen.
However, this was to be another slow process as no sooner had I wiped a surface, Nanny Mitchel would tell me that I had missed a bit and I was to do it all over again.
That evening I was told by Nanny Mitchel that cleaning the Kitchen had taken nearly an hour longer than it should have done.
She went on to tell me that it took her only fifteen minutes to clean the kitchen after dinner from top to bottom.
It goes without saying that whilst staying at Nanny Mitchels I was going to learn how to do this chore, either the easy way or the hard way.