Something Simple

Something Simple

Henry doses the top loading machine with detergent and fabric conditioner, turns the dials to the required wash cycles. He watches the water gush in until it reaches capacity then drops in garments – colored's today - gently pushing them below the water’s surface to ensure they are covered. The agitator starts to turn. It’s the part he likes most, watching the agitator turn back and forth, the myriad colors of the garments swirling together like spilled paints, the calming rhythmic slush-slush sound of the water. He could stand and watch for hours. Except he has other jobs to get on with in the laundry room. Pegging out the earlier loads to dry, baskets of ironing, starching and darning. Heavy going some would say but if you asked Henry a hundred times over what he’s most grateful for in his life, his answer every time would be the chance given him by Mr Sheridan to run the laundry room at Forest Springs Retirement Home.  

    Wheeling the trolley which carries the linen baskets full of damp garments across the lawns, Henry whistles a tune, lifts his hand to wave at the residents who sit waiting for breakfast in the dining room. Henry begins to hang the clothes, peg after peg until he’s filled three washing lines. He stands back to admire the array of delicate silks, floaty nets and steadfast cottons, flapping and fluttering in the warm summer breeze like shadows and ghosts. He is mesmerized by the sight, thinks himself a lucky man indeed. His last job had been in a laundry too, but no outdoor space to hang his washing, no summer breeze to air the clothes. The room had been tight, soulless. This space was open, free. A space only his dreams would have once provided him.

    Henry returns the carts to the laundry room, a whistle on his lips. He parks the cart, begins a stock-take of supplies - fabric conditioners, Meadow Flowers fragrance, adored by the ladies; spray bottles of corn starch, favored by the gents for their cuffs and collars; the specialist detergent for delicate skins Henry had spent weeks researching following an outbreak of dermatitis. He’d presented evidence of the likely culprit to Mr Sheridan. An impressed nod from the owner of Forest Springs had seen an increase in Henry’s supplies budget, the affected residents appreciating Henry for alleviating their symptoms. He’d been especially proud of that.

    Henry fills the iron with water. First it’s the shirts, starched collars and cuffs, the way the gents like them. Next the gents’ slacks, a square of damp muslin laid over the legs to secure the military grade creases which add form and structure. Last but not least the ladies’ dresses, intricate pleats fixed in position, lace trimmings flattened with the cool tip of the plate. Henry is careful to hang each garment, ensuring they remain pristine for delivery to their rightful owners. He is of the opinion that although the residents are old and frail and don’t get out much, it doesn’t mean they shouldn’t dress smart. To Henry, there is nothing like a freshly laundered shirt or blouse to lift the spirits.  

    Next comes the mending and darning, a technique skillfully executed by Henry. He had taught himself the craft in his last job and he appreciates how much of his attention is taken with its intricate workings, how deeply his mind must focus. And Henry needs focus, he came to understand this a number of years ago. It was his lack of focus and purpose which had caused him to falter for several years. His previous job and his employment now at Forest Springs had presented him with direction, instilled a sense of responsibility within him which has kept him on the straight and narrow, provided much needed stability. He cannot comprehend where he’d be now if this wasn’t the case.

    With the laundry returned to his satisfied customers Henry removes his green lab coat with the embroidered Forest Springs logo on the chest pocket and hangs it up. He replaces it with his jacket, gives the laundry room the once over to ensure it is ready for his next shift. Then he closes the door behind him, makes the short trip to the resident’s lounge to bid them all a good night.

    On his way out he is stopped in his tracks by a tap on the office window, Mr Sheridan beckoning him in. Henry obliges, Mr Sheridan hands him a small brown envelope, his weekly pay-packet. Henry thanks his boss with a relieved smile. He’d forgotten it was pay day and his rent is due. The men bid each other a good evening and Henry leaves the retirement home, turning to wave at the few residents who have gathered at the window to see him off.

    Arriving home Henry puts the kettle on, settles down to a cup of tea as he prepares to budget his wages for the following week. He opens the brown envelope, tips out the money, a folded piece of paper falling out with the notes and coins. He unfolds it, reads the message scrawled in spidery handwriting.

Dear Henry

You will notice a considerable increase in your pay, the increase you will recall I had promised you one year ago today, the first day you arrived at Forest Springs. You will also recall the specific demands I made of you, demands which, once achieved, would have secured you permanent employment at Forest Springs in return for your efforts. It pleases me to say that you have more than met these demands, Henry, and your attitude and commitment to your job has been most enlightening. Somehow you have managed to turn what some would see as a menial unskilled job into a vocation, a profession in fact, your knowledge of all things laundry knowing no bounds and I truly believe it’s the little touches, your attention to detail that puts a smile on my residents’ faces. You listen to them, heed their requests without any argument which in turn makes them feel cared for and valued, something elderly people often lose the sense of. For that I thank you personally and on behalf of my residents. We are exceptionally proud to have you as a permanent member of the team here at Forest Springs.

Kind Regards

Mr B Sheridan

    Henry stared at the note, in awe of its thoughtful gesture, its tone a million miles away from the ultimatum Mr Sheridan had delivered to a nervous Henry on his first day at Forest Springs.

I’ll be honest with you Henry, I don’t much care for you being here in my retirement home. No convict, ex or otherwise, has ever set foot in Forest Springs and if you manage to screw up your placement you will certainly be the last. I am personally acquainted with the Governor and I can easily have you returned to the very cell you came from should you act irresponsibly. Having said that, you come here on good recommendation for the probation program, your hard work and enthusiasm for managing the prison laundry being well documented so I am willing to give you this opportunity. But know this. I will watch you like a hawk and I will know your every move because my residents are my priority. I sincerely hope you make them yours, too. Respect them and their belongings, and take pride in what you do for them. Earn my trust and that of my residents, and work hard to prove your worth. Once I believe you have achieved all of this, I will seriously consider you for permanent employment at Forest Springs and compensate you well in return. 

    Henry swallowed hard as he re-read the note, humbled in realizing how right Mr Sheridan was. He had turned a lowly task into a profession, not in the academic sense but by learning the basics and building upon them, by changing his thieving hands into constructive ones. He had discovered his own worth, had fostered other people’s trust in him and as he sat there, Mr Sheridan’s letter of commendation in his trembling hand, he sensed a small miracle had occurred, a miracle which had seen his life transformed so drastically by doing something as simple as laundry.