The washhouse, the “doué”, a place for work but also for socialising, chatting and socialising.
Washing clothes was a task reserved for women. Early in the morning, the washerwomen would collect the washing from their customers, hotels or private homes, and would arrive at the washhouse heavily laden with their wheelbarrows, or “bérouettes”, which had a slatted floor to allow the water to run off when the washing was wrung out but still damp. The creaking of the iron wheels and the clacking of the “choucanes” (clogs with wooden soles and leather straps) woke the inhabitants up early. Later in the morning, it was the turn of those who did their own washing.
At the washhouse, they would set up their “boite”, a sort of wooden box lined with rags or straw to protect their knees, take out their beater and brush and soap, brush and scrub while chatting and laughing at each other’s stories.
The work was hard, outside in the cold and damp, on your knees, with your back bent and your hands frozen in winter. But while it was hard work, the washhouse was also a source of pleasure and freedom, bringing together a good number of women. All the news was told there, secrets and confidences were exchanged, it was the “local newspaper”, and later “radio lavoir”. It was also a place where songs were created.
Every year, the volunteers of the Amicale des Moulin, Fontaine, Lavoirs organise a major clean-up of the lavoirs and a festival to celebrate the customs and songs of yesteryear.
The washhouse, a children’s playground
Every child in the neighbourhood had fallen into the wash at least once! The draining stone in the rinçoir was used for snail races: the children would find the snails in the damp walls of the washhouse and then line them up at the end of the stone. It was up to the child who saw his snail arrive first, attracted by the salad leaves. The gentle current in the wash, which set off the soapy water, made boat races easy: a cuttlebone picked up on the foreshore and fitted with a piece of wood as a mast did the trick and the regattas were on. When the washerwomen arrived, the children were asked to leave because, presumably, they were no longer allowed to hear what was being said there… (according to the accounts of former washerwomen from Portrieux)
Testimonials
“My village and the sea” Ange Malenfant. 1979 P 71
Listen to the podcast reading “au doué” after the testimonial
“At the doué, [my mother] was asked about her family, what she did before she married, where she met her man. It was at this sacred doué that reputations were made and broken. All the women in the village go there to wash their clothes, kneeling in their wooden hut, padded with a bit of straw to protect their knees, and every day the beaters are in full swing, as are the tongues. Some of the women are washerwomen and are on the doué practically every day, whatever the weather. They know everything that’s going on and observe how each person washes. One woman uses too much bleach and not enough elbow grease. Another uses too much oakum brush and wears out the clothes, another doesn’t rinse enough, and so on. Every now and then a woman arrives with her buckets to fetch her day’s supply of water from the fountain, and it’s all gossip. “And your man, where is he? Is he going to get leave soon? Have you had any good news? Mine’s gone to Chile, so he’ll be here for more than a year on his own”. That’s life, yes, that’s life, but you have to be born into it to be able to say: “Bah! that’s life…”.
Testimony of a washerwoman’s daughter
My mother used to put the washing and sheets in the laundry tub with soap, and boil it on the stove in the kitchen. You had to take the laundry tub down and put it in the wheelbarrow, then go back down the hill to the washhouse and go down the steps to the washhouse with the laundry tub. We liked to arrive early to be near the rince basin. When she fell ill in 1963, I was already working in Saint-Quay, but I had to go and wash the clothes….
