the bath

As I said earlier, the bath in our house was in the living room! I don’t think there had ever been a bathroom. People living in those small working class houses would originally have used tin baths that they placed in front of the fire and filled with hot water from pans. So I suppose it was a luxury to have a real bath that was plumbed in, even though it was in your main living area.

Dad, who was a very practical type, had disguised it by “boxing it in” with plywood painted to look like real wood and fitting a hinged top which covered it completely and doubled up as a work surface and dining table. There was a sort of shelf we called the “leaf” which slotted into the side so that you could sit up to it to eat your meals, a 50’s style breakfast bar. It served as a dirty linen container too. When someone wanted a bath, the lid was lifted and clipped securely to the wall. The dirty washing was removed and piled to one side and once filled with nice hot water, you could enjoy the luxury of a bath whilst listening to the wireless or later, when we got one, watching tv. Afterwards we would get out and stand in front of the open fire whilst getting dried. I never saw my parents having a public bath in front of the rest of the family like that though. They either didn't have baths or waited until we were tucked up and fast asleep.

To an outside observer the bath was just a rectangular box with a red linoleum lid, no-one would have suspected what was inside, which you’ll see was to my advantage on one occasion. Every week or two we would get a visit from a bus driver called Billy Monarch. He was a rather outgoing, blunt and loud character who came to collect the football pools money. A sort of lottery thing based on the football results of the week. Well as a child I was very shy and found Billy’s presence somewhat overpowering. He would always overstay his welcome as far as I was concerned, telling his funny tales of life as a bus driver and taking whatever opportunity he could to get a laugh out of my parents, sometimes at my expense, or so it seemed to me. One night I was in the bath when there came his tell-tale knock on the door, a loud rat-a-tat-tat. I knew instantly it was Billy and flew into a panic. He knew nothing of the bath and would have made a big deal seeing me sat there in the buff, causing untold embarrassment and probably using the experience as new material for his comedy act with the others on his round.

“Don’t let him in, don’t let him in” I pleaded.
“Don’t be silly.” said mum trying to pacify me. “He’s seen naked boys before.”
“I don’t want him to see this one.” I thought. “Put the lid down quick” I implored.
After much huffing and puffing about it she agreed and then let Billy in. I laid flat out there in the hot and steamy dark bath, trying my very best not to move and slosh the water about, or sneeze, cough, belch or make any other noise. Not an easy thing for a young lad! Boy would he have got a surprise if I had and thinking about it now, would love to see his reaction had I let out a loud bubbly fart. Eventually he left after what seemed a lifetime and the lid was lifted to reveal a wilting, semi cooked but relieved me.