Bath Time Magpie Tales#28

Bath time when I was little was a zinc bath tub in front of the coal fire in our living room, on a Saturday night. My grandmother’s old house didn’t have central heating so the upstairs bathroom was ice cold. My cousin the same age as myself lived with us, till she and her parents could afford their own house. We were bathed together.

There was a strict order of events. First we had to use the outside lav. I always left the door open, there were too many spiders lurking in the corners to shut it. I sat there swinging my legs and looked out at the stars and backs of the houses across the back lane. I sang the whole time and called out to my grandmother at intervals in case there was a bogie man hiding in the yard.

Then we were undressed together, her mother and my grand mother  helped us into the water. You had to be careful, as the side of the bath nearest the fire got extremely hot to touch and we wriggled around each other not to be the one to be that side. First we had our hair washed and rinsed and then we were scrubbed from head to toe with quite a hard brush. We were lfted out into warm towels and left to sit on the settee together while my gran and aunty carried the bath outside to empty it. When they had gone out of the living room my cousin and I always jumped down and in our birthday suits played ‘Hands knees and bumps a daisy.’

Screaming in fun when we bumped our bums. Once our hair had been dried and plaited so that it would have a bit of a kink in it for Sunday chapel, we had a spoonful of Syrup of Figs, which I hated, before we were tucked up in a bed warmed by hot water bottles.

Yes, we were only bathed once a week! Unlike today, when we all shower every morning and on the hottest of days more than once a day to cool down. A different generation, although it seems to me not that many years ago.