The ladies of the Sunshine Laundry...

photo copyright; BNPS.co.uk


When she was growing up she would stop by the laundry and visit her grandmother on her way home from school.

She would open the doors and immediately be hit by the heat and humidity of the steam irons and giant white and grey mangles.

The smell of bleach, starch and sweat.

This was hard work and her grandmother would come home tired and withered.

But there was also something elegant about it.

Through the thick rising steam,
you could just make out the shapes of women floating across the floor
as they folded huge sheets and table cloths used in some of the most expensive
and exclusive hotels in the city.

It took several of them to fold one enormous fabric sheath.

Watching them was like watching a ballet.

Their movements were precise and coordinated, learned over years of practice.

They swooped and swirled.

In and out, back and forth in a dance too light and delicate for such
harsh and exhausting work.

Every afternoon, she'd be engulfed in hugs.

Folded into the arms of women who had known her ever since she could remember.

They always had candy in their pockets,
and lavished big sweaty kisses on her cheeks.

They were the poor.

They were the immigrants

They were the working class.