A week or so ago a lady called Eva, the author of one of the blogs I follow, wrote a wonderfully evocative post about a time gone by, when her mother had talked her father into buying a Mangle. Eva wrote her memories so beautifully that it caused followers to recall our own memories of days gone by. My own memory was so vivid that I wrote about it in a comment on Eva’s blog, – just to make Eva laugh really, – but it also caused a laugh with a couple of folks who said I should share the memories on my blog too.
Now although I’m not entirely certain that anyone will be really interested, in the spirit of sharing the smiles – and perhaps bringing back memories from your own childhood … I share my woeful tale of my encounter with …. The Mangle Monster!
Author: The Art of Cobwebs - aka:- thecobweboriumemporium
I live in a wee little cottage in the South of England, aptly called Cobweb Cottage. This little dwelling really is a cobweb factory. Not inside (well, occasionally) - but outside - flipping heck!
This information should give you a clue as to why my blog is called The Art of Cobwebs aka: The Cobweborium Emporium.
I've been arty and crafty from a very young age, and although my crafts have sometimes turned a corner and taken me in another direction, I've always crafted in some way, shape or form.
One day, in the blink of an eye, life changed somewhat for me and the consequences were many. I had to find a new way of being 'artistic'.
Card making; scrap-booking; producing ATC's and ACEO's; needle felting; Polymer clay; painting- but in a more relaxed style than I had before, and sewing, - are all things which I visit, as and when life allows.
I've fairy recently become a Textile Artist and am enjoying this new creative outlet very much as it offers me so much scope for letting my imagination run through a grassy field and feel the wind in my hair - (mentally, of course).
I love to create. To make things. I truthfully believe that the best gifts in the world are those in which you've given your time, rather than your cash.
Thank you so much for visiting. Please visit my blog (link below) and have a look around. I'm sure you'll find something to enjoy, even if it's only a handful of jokes! (yes, seriously - there really are jokes!)
Wishing you a truly blessed rest of your day! ~ Cobs. <3
View all posts by The Art of Cobwebs - aka:- thecobweboriumemporium
Oh. MY. WORD!!! Do I remember mangles!!!
My Grandma had one. The metal parts were painted bright pillarbox red, and it had long grey/white rubber rollers. I loved it when Grandma allowed me to turn the mangle handle.
She would stand on one side of the thing, with her sheets, which she had washed in her really old-fashioned top load washing machine, removed, and then folded whilst wet, and then feed them into the ‘jaws’ of the mangle
I had to turn the mangle at just the right speed – because if I went too fast and she hadn’t had the chance to make sure the folds were in the right place, then I’d get a telling off!
Ohhh, I loved the mangle!
My mother too, had a mangle – but this was an electric one which was attached to the top of her electric, top loading, washing machine. I’d been warned and warned (accompanied by a stern wagging finger) to “keep away from the mangle!” – but, it was no good. I was bewitched by it.
One day, the phone rang while Mom was about to feed washing through her mangle. Everything was set and ready for her to wring the water out of the freshly washed washing, using the electric mangle, but just at that precise moment the phone rang, so she raced off to the hallway to answer it. I was left in the kitchen, all alone, with the mangle rollers turning round and round. I moved closer to the washing machine so that I could see better. Yes, they were going round. Just turning. Not too fast, not too slow. I could see the shiny red rubber rollers moving. My fingers began to walk the walk over the metal of the washing machine. I so wanted to touch the rollers. The rubber looked as if it would be soft, and I wondered if it really was soft. Surely it wouldn’t hurt just to touch it to see? It wasn’t as if I was going to do anything to it. I only wanted to just touch the roller to see how soft it felt.
I reached up and put my fingers on the roller. All I wanted to do was just feel the smoothness of the roller.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the day that I was acquainted with a very important lesson in life: When your mother says not to do something – then you’d better not do it, otherwise an unpleasant and disastrous destiny will descend upon your head!
Or upon . . . no, – let me continue:
I felt my fingers touch the rollers. Just ever so lightly – but not enough for me to get an actual feeling about how soft or hard the rollers were, so I touched them again, this time knowing that I had to touch a little harder and leave my fingers there just a teeny bit longer.
Mistake. BIG mistake.
Those rollers grabbed hold of my fingers and sucked on them really hard. They stuck my finger tips to the rollers and then proceeded to pull them into the mouth of the mangle monster! The rollers continued to roll steadily, . . . dragging all my fingers into the rollers . . . I screamed!!
“MOM! MO-O-OM!” I yelled from where I stood, slowly being eaten by this vile dragon in the middle of our kitchen. I could feel my eyes growing to the size of saucers. “MOMM!!” Panic was setting in.
I looked back at where my hand should have been on the end of my arm, and it had been swallowed! It was NOW STARTING TO EAT MY WRIST!!!
“MOM. MOO-OM. I’M STUCK. MO-O-O-O-O-O-M!” by now I was screeching.
I could vaguely hear her voice in the distance. I knew she was still on the phone because I could hear her posh ‘telephone voice’.
I looked at where my wrist had once been, and could see that my whole arm was now about to be taken forcibly and violently into the point of no return. I was going to be eaten by this machine. I knew I was going to be squished flat and very probably dead.
The machine began to make a very bad noise. It was growling, moaning and groaning.
This was it . . . this was where my short life was going to end.
I was just about to scream the living daylights . . . when suddenly, like an Angel which had been sent from God, there was my mom coming through the door to the kitchen . . . My Mom, – My Hero! She was going to save me!
Thank you God for inventing Moms!
“HELP . . . ” I cried. “IT’S GOT ME! IT WON’T STOP!!!” … by now I was feeling the pain of me pulling against the pull of the mangle rollers. This machine was way stronger than I was.
My mother stood for a second, took in the scene like only Moms can, and instantly knew what to do. She sprang into action. Turning the machine off at the electric socket, she pulled out the plug, and instantly the growling, groaning noise stopped and the mangle became still. She lifted something on the top of each side of the rollers – sort of like a little metal cap – and then lifted the top roller out. I was free, – and . . . I was alive! ALIVE!
Not only that but . . . There was my arm! It was still there. I was incredulous! I stood gazing, open mouthed, marvelling like an idiot at the wonderment of my arm still being intact – and not at all grizzled or eaten. There wasn’t even any blood or anything!
I was feeling so much gratitude and thankfulness towards my mom for saving me from the gates of purgatory that I flung myself at her. I was going to give her the love of her life, and squish her in a big hug like she’d never had ever before in her life.
She caught me with her hands on my shoulders. One hand on each shoulder, and just for a second I thought she was going to ask me if I was ok, and then probably kiss me and hug me and love me as one would love a favourite child.
But I couldn’t have been more further from reality if I’d have suddenly found myself on Mars.
There she stood, one hand on each of my little shoulders (one of which by the way, was attached to the very arm which had just been eaten by the Mangle Monster, and so needed to be treated carefully so that it didn’t fall off!) – she bent over just slightly and . . . . shook the living daylights out of me, – and gave me the biggest telling off I’d had in my life, at the same time.
I heard exactly how much pocket-money I was going to be paying for the rest of my life if that dream machine was broken.
I heard that I should: “wait till your father hears about this, young lady!”.
And I also was told that my mom was “going to tell Grandma that you mustn’t be trusted with a mangle ever again!”
I was bewildered. Did this woman not realise the danger I’d just been in? Did she not understand that the very machine she was concerned about had just nearly eaten me alive? Surely she had to see that this very machine was evil?!
Strangely enough – it was that last threat, regarding her telling my Grandma that I shouldn’t be trusted with a mangle – which was the one that made me howl. I was sent to my room to wait there until I was told to come out again. (But quite frankly, I was in so much misery at that point that I didn’t care if I wasn’t allowed out of my room ever again! What was the point if I couldn’t roll the handles of my Grandma’s Mangle, – and even worse – I had been shown that my mother loved the Mangle Monster more than she loved me! Surely it was the Mangle which should have been thrown out. Not me!!)
Oh yes … I have fond memories of Mangles. 😀
… and yes, – it really is a true story. ~ Cobs. x