It’s difficult to find any history about women in Abruzzo. Most history was written for men by men. All that is left behind are memories, relics and imagination.

I came across one such relic walking around my ancestral home, Bolognano (a small village in the Majella mountains in Abruzzo). In the corner of the historic centre lies an old fountain in ruins. This was the old laundry area (il lavatoio). Today it is abandoned and ghost like – troughs of stone left to decay amongst overgrown grass.

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The women of the village, including my mother, would line up here to wash clothes. The small box shaped grooves within the stone walls were where the women would place their soap. On their hands and knees they would batter the clothes against the stone. The best position was to be first in the row as the last person would get the dirty water that would run off. The lavatoi were erected to harness the water coming from natural springs.

It was here that the women of the village would relay news of what was happening in their lives and the comings and goings of the community. Away from the prying eyes and demands of men, they could freely talk to each other.  My mother’s own recollections of the lavatoio are happy ones.

(Mi mamma) mi mandava spesso con pochi panni diceva che dovevo imparare. Era sempre pieno di donne. Tutte si volevano mettere davanti dove usciva l’acqua pulita. Delle volte mi mamma si alzava presto e portava anche me. Mi piaceva tanto pero quando faceva freddo non mi piaceva per niente le donne coi bambini piccoli mi facevano compassione.

(My mother) often sent me with a few clothes (to the lavatoio) and said that I had to learn. It was always full of women. They all wanted to be at the front where the clean water came out. Sometimes my mother got up early and took me too. I liked it so much but not when it was cold  because I felt compassion for  the women with small children.

My mother

As I surveyed the area in silence and heard the sound of my feet treading on the overgrown grass, I imagined my ancestors here, working hard, on grubby knees, pushing the sweat off their brows, handkerchiefs on their heads, stooped over in harsh climates in the cold or relentless heat. I stopped for a moment and reflected on how tough life was for women.

I have travelled around Italy extensively and there are so many historical sites cared for and revered. There is a strong tradition of the historical heritage in Italy although it seems that most historical sites are venerated towards men and their achievements. It is not a coincidence that any historical evidence of women in Italy is either in religious motifs or lying in ruins.  

Hopefully relics like il lavatoio can be cared for once again, to bring back the echoes of women’s memories to their rightful place in history.