WORKING HOURS FOR WOMEN.

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXV, Issue 18620, 16 July 1930, Page 10

WORKING HOURS FOR WOMEN.

To the Editor of the " Tlmaru Herald.

Sir, —With all due respect to the weighty arguments you put up against the attitude of the Labour Department in preventing overtime being worked in a pastrycook’s kitchen. I would like to plead with the Factory Inspector and the Labour Department to carry on their good work. Take my case for example. It’s positively cruel, and I am sure, detrimental to my health, to have to rise these cold mornings at a quarter to seven. What would I give, at that hour, for a little of the warmth of the pastrycook’s kitchen turned into my room, as I perform the daily torture of jumping out of bed. I am sure I am undermining my health by having to go out gingerly and wipe the hoarfrost off the milk can, and then traverse the frosty lawn to secure the "Herald.” No one can tell me that some of the work I have to do is good for my health. I go to light the fire. Oh, my! Those rascals of boys have forgotten to bring in the kindling wood. Out I go into the frosty atmosphere to the wood store. How I shiver! A little bit of warmth from the pastrycook’s kitchen would not do any harm at that hour. Then the daily tasks begin. I’m sure the Labour Department ought to look into the health-destroying conditions under which some housewives work. Why, sir, I stand for hours on a concrete floor doing the washing! Unhealthy? I should say so. Then I have to keep my eye on the dinner that is being cooked. Then I meet the family as we assemble round the meal table. In the afternoon I tidy up, and then, Mr Factory Inspector and Labour Department, do you know that after washing, cooking and cleaning up all day, I actually tempt Providence by subjecting myself to the awful unhealthy conditions of our heated kitchen to spend the evening doing the family ironing—that is, after I have been on duty for twelve hours. Positive slavery say the big wigs of the Labour Department, but do you know, Mr Factory Inspector, that I sometimes sing as I iron. But, although it’s so “unhealthy,” there are thousands of mothers who are rearing and nurturing the future race of New Zealanders, who are working as hard, and sometimes harder than I am. I do hope the Labour authorities will not confine their attentions to pastrycooks’ kitchens,

which work forty-four hours a week, and which are really comfortable places this weather. They ought to encourage the housewives to form a union that will safeguard the health of the mothers of the race, who threaten their state of health by working longer hours than those provided in awards and Factory Acts. Until something is done, we shall witness the passing of tired women, upon whose tombstones will be inscribed the following epitaph:— “Here lies a poor woman who always

was tired, She lived in a house where help was

not hired. Her last words on earth were: ‘Dear

friends, I am going To where there’s no washing, nor cook

ing nor sewing. But everything there will be just to my

wishes, For where they don’t eat, there’s no

washing up dishes. I'll be where loud anthems will always

be ringing, But as I’ve no voice, I’ll get quit of the

singing. Don’t mourn for me now, don’t mourn

for me never, I'm going to do nothing for ever and ever.’ ”

If the Labour Department could bring just a little bit of this heaven down to earth, many a tired woman would gladly stretch a point to join in the loud anthems, if only there was no washing of dishes. Do, Mr Factory Inspector, and dear grandmotherly Labour Department ,help us to form a housewives’ union, and, in the interests of our health (ahem!) put a stop to all overtime in homes after eight hours’ work on five days of the week, and four hours on the sixth. Oh, wouldn’t it be really heaven to do nothing for a whole day, even once a week.—l am. etc., MOTHER OF THREE BOYS. Timaru, July 14.