Ita McClelland

With no bathroom in the house the only way of having a bath was to use a tin one which I remember being sat in front of the old Doric range on a Saturday night to get us bathed for Mass the next morning. The said bath is at this moment in time adorning a pile of rubble on the site where our house used to be. The house was demolished a few months ago after my brother built a new bungalow to replace it.  For a house with no foundations it served the family well for nearly one hundred years.

Seeing the bath sitting there reminded me of one particular summer evening when my sister and I were about six and seven years old.  My father was going somewhere in the car and took my brothers with him but my sister and I threw a joint tantrum because he did not take us as well.  We stood on a rickety fence and cried and squelled and rocked the fence until it broke and we landed in what I can only describe as a glar hole. I was next to the ‘wee house’ and that was where the contents of the dry toilet were deposited when it was full. To crown matters we were both wearing brand new white gutties (sneakers) which we had got earlier that day.  Well, the gutties were no longer white and we certainly didn’t come out of the hole smelling of roses. I don’t think I had ever seen my mother so angry before in my life (she was a very placid, kindly lady). She placed the tin bath at the back door of the house (outside) and made us wash thoroughly before we were marched upstairs to bed. I don’t think the white gutties survived the experience.