As to those Saturday baths,since Dad had come home we were treated to a new tin bath.Our living room,such as it was,was situated on the first floor,the nearest tap was in the bathroom on the half landing,one flight above.for some reason or other,we couldn't use the bath in there.So prior to the arrival of the small tin bath ,all our washing was done in the small handbasin in the bathroom.
I still wonder just how Dad managed to fill that little bath with hot water.There was no boiler for hot water on tap,he had to heat the water in a pan on the fire in our room.How many journeys to the bathroom it took to fill that I do not know,but he did it.The bath was placed in front of the fire and we kids took it in turns to have our scrub.Being a boy,I had to go last,Bette, being the baby,went first ,then our Jess and then yours truly. I had to sit on the stairs until the girls had finshed;by the time it was my turnthe water was grey and there were grey bubbles on the surface.After getting dried we were covered from head to foot with DDT powder.The house was plagued with fleas and our parents took every measure to ensure that we were kept free of them.Our bed sheets, pillows and mattresses,were dusted regularly.
Worst of all was the nit comb,we had our heads washed in Derbac,which smarted like hell,and then that steel weapon was dragged through scalp to gather every one of the little blighters that hid amongst our follicles.
I can still hear the cracking sound they made when Mum crushed them with her thumbnail.
So,scrubbed and deloused,we made our way to DDT powdered beds and awaited the morning.
You know,I never did find out how Dad emptied that bath.
div>
Since Dads arrival home Sunday mornings changed.He loved salt fish and we would awake to the smell of it boiling on the fire.He used to put a bit of smoked bacon in with it to give it flavour.We were called down to breakfast when the fish had been cooked to such a turn that the meat practically melted in your mouth.I have sailed the world over and have never had salt fish the way Dad cooked it ,boiled in milk,a touch of smokey bacon ,it was fit for a king.
After breakfast,we had a quick swill and then it was on with the Sunday best,retrieved on Saturday,and then off to Walton.
Dad would put Jess and Bette on the bus to go to Nins,and then he would walk me through the town,a different route each Sunday,and he would relate the history of the places we passed on our way to Walton.I still treasure those golden Sunday mornings.Dad was erudite,he should have gone to college,but ,as the eldest boy in a poor working class family,he was needed as a wage earner.So he was destined never to fulfil his potential.
He never spoke to me of this,he told my daughter many years later.
But there ,on those Sunday morning walks,I learned of the building of Liverpool as a great commercial city,of the railway and canal pioneers,how Crown street and Edge Hill were at the forefront of the railway revolution.
The walks through the cathedral cemetery,where he would point out the good and the great,the stroll past the Goree Plaza where he told me of our shame.History used to live on his lips,his words made things come alive.
I never felt bored as he illustrated things.He deepened my love for the city.
I remember, clearly,when he showed me the Oriel Chambers in Water street,explaining how the design of that building enabled architects to build the skyscrapers in America.
I don't know how long it took to get to Nins,but we always arrived at the same time as his brothers and sisters ,who had brought their children as well.
Now that we were family again we were discovering our catholic cousins.
And there were many of them.My favourite uncle on Dads side was his younger brother Gerry.He was now a docker and he used to get Yankee comics!!!!They opened up a whole new world to me.That was where I first met Superman, Captain Marvel,Tarzan,Casey Ruggles,(surely the finest scripted and drawn comic ever).He also got the funnies from the American newspapers,Li'l Abner,The Katzenjammer Kids,Terry and the Pirates and a host of other favourites used to spill out from their pages.
The Liverpool Echo had a two frame strip of Curley Wee and Gussie Goose plus Dick Tracey,which I loved.It wasn't until the appearance of The Back Entry Diddlers that I really got interested in English newspaper comic strips.
Another uncle,Harold, was a prankster.One of the first Sundays we were back at Nins,and the first time I had seen Uncle Harold ,he saw me standing by Nins chair and called out"Look what he's done" pointing to the floor behind me,where there lay a huge turd.It certainly hadn't been there when I walked in for I would have seen it.I was mortified,I must have looked a picture,guilt written all over my face ,and yet I was innocent."it wasn't me" I stammered.Everyone burst out laughing for Harold had just pulled off another of his pranks.I didn't know it was a joke turd,and when he stooped to pick it up I was horrified..........I had a lot to learn.
When all of Nins sons were congregated,we kids would have a short play on the bomb site opposite her house,with strict instructions not to get dirty.As soon as the pubs were open ,Dad would walk us along Walton Road ,across Spellow Lane and to the bottom of Eton Street ,where he would watch us make our way to Grandmas.They never became reconciled ,Dad and and our Hengler grandparents.
At number 69,Grandma and aunty Betty would be busy polishing and cleaning as well as preparing the Dinner,Granddad would be up at the pub ,so Jess,Bette and me would sit and read the latest editions of the Beano,Dandy,Radio Fun and Film Fun while listening to the radio.It was blissful.When we got there,it would be Time for 2 Way family favourites withJean Metcalfe and Cliff Michelmore,this would be followed by the Billy Cotton Bandshow,with Alan Breeze and Kathy Kay,around this time we would have fetched Granddad from the pub,with his big bottle of shandy,and then it was down at the table while Grandma served dinner to the sound of Ray's A Laugh ,Up the PoleTake It From Here,or one of the many other shows from those golden days of radio.
Pudding was always eaten to the sound of Jack Payne.
After making our rounds of the various aunt and uncles who lived at the top end of Walton,it was Jess's job to get the three of us home.We used to ike sitting on the long seat at the back of the tram so we could kneel and look out of the window.
hen we got home now Mum would have prepared a Sunday tea with a trifle and biscuits too!! Life was getting a little bit brighter.
Bookmarks