The Antique Washboard: From Laundry Time to Jam Sessions
A simple household tool uncovered the legacy of Sara Martin
As I studied my antique washboard, a National Washboard Company "Brass King" No. 801, I was looking for signs of something more than just its face value. My specific washboard was manufactured in either Memphis or Chicago during the late 1920s or early 1930s (so technically it’s not quite an antique yet…but it’s close).
To me, its unvarnished wood frame and faded black and red stamp hinted at a story deeper than scrubbing clothes. I just had to find it.
And as I dug in, I uncovered an unexpected (at least to me) connection to music, a connection which ultimately led me to the vibrant world of jug bands and the story of a pretty bad-ass woman of history named Sara Martin (1884-1955).
A Practical Tool; A Musical Legacy
The "Front Brown" stamp on my washboard reflects a practical, no-frills design. Built for heavy daily use, my washboard is stamped with straightforward marketing phrases like "Top-Notch and Sanitary.” I imagine this was appealing to the women of the time who were managing laundry the hard way, long before washing machines were common.
But as practices evolved, so too did the washboard's purpose. By the early 20th century, it found an imaginative second life as a musical instrument. The washboard’s ridged metal surface, originally designed for scouring clothes, also made it a rhythm machine for jug bands, a musical genre born out of ingenuity and improvisation in southern Black communities of the time.
Sara Martin and the Roots of Jug Band Music
Image source: https://beforethebigbang.com/tracklist/track-85/
As I started to learn about jug band music, I stumbled into the story of Sara Martin, one of the most prominent female blues singers of the 1920s and a pioneer of the genre. She was also one of the most prolific, with over 100 recordings to her name. Called the "Famous Moanin’ Mama," Sara Martin was a trailblazer in both blues and jug band music.
Sara was born in Louisville, Kentucky, in the late 1800s, meaning she grew up as a Black woman living in the Jim Crow south. Later, she left the south to tour and travel the country, including Puerto Rico, as well as Cuba and Jamaica. She was a well-known Vaudeville performer, a talented singer/songwriter and she even recorded under the names Margaret Johnson and Sally Robers.
Sara was the vocalist for her own band, the Sara Martin Jug Band, along with Clifford Hayes on violin, Curtis Hayes on banjo and Earl McDonald playing the jug. (Sadly, they didn’t have a washboard player.)
Together, this group blended blues with the improvisational and unique sounds of the jug, creating a style that would influence early jazz. Sara’s recordings remain some of the earliest commercial examples of jug band music, a genre rooted in resourcefulness and creativity – two themes I’m finding in women again and again as I write this blog.
Sara ultimately passed away from a stroke in 1955, just before turning 71. You can check out a photo of her gravestone, which is actually unique and pretty cool, just as she would deserve.
A Personal Reflection on My Washboard
As I look at my own antique washboard, gifted to me by a former writing professor turned friend, I’m struck by how this simple tool opened the door to a surprising and fascinating lesson in musical history.
Was my washboard ever used to play an improvisational rhythm? While it probably wasn’t part of a jug band (although, who knows?), perhaps the woman using it to keep her family clothed also had a musical bent and entertained herself and her social circle as she worked. I hope she did.
While I will probably never know its full story, I do know this: the more I look, the more I realize that every vintage and antique item I own represents something far bigger than its practical origins, if you only take the time to dig.
On its faded surface, my washboard reminds us of the history of women’s work. But it also symbolizes the creativity of people who turned everyday objects into fabulous instruments. And it introduced me to the legacy of Sara Martin, a name I may otherwise have never come to learn or share.
