Bath night.

Friday night was bath night.

The fire stoked high in the back of the grate

Black-leaded sentinels of cast iron supporting its glowing coals.

The tin bath from the shed gratefully warming itself at the hearth side.

Pots of water bubbling on the stove impatient to leave the cold kitchen.

Outside the wind howled and snow lay on the ground but this room was as warm as toast.

Three small children to share the bath tub.

Cheeks rosy pink and glowing with the heat of the fire.

Feather soft towels warm themselves over the coal-oven door

Waiting to envelop with their cosy fleeciness. 

My big sister, my little brother and me.

Anticipating bath time.

Lifted up one by one and gently lowered into the water.

Small bodies washed with Camay soap, mams favourite,

Then doused with jugs of water to rinse.

Three heads to shampoo, while stinging soap causes tears to flow.

“Use a flannel now and cover your eyes silly!”

A gentle reprimand from our mother.

“Make some ice-cream mam!”

A request from my two year old brother.

“I will, but don`t eat it! ”

Softly smiling she would fashion ice-cream scoops of shampoo bubbles and offer them for the tasting,

My brothers giggles affirming the fun of make-believe. 

Bath time over and squeaky clean we were lifted from the water,

Cwtched up in the warmth of the towel to sit on mams lap beside the fire.

Hair,  gently dried and combed.

The warm fluffy softness of `jamas and dressing gowns

And cups of Ovaltine to drink,

Still basking in the sleepy fireside warmth.

My mam would sit, cherishing the moment.

Her children cuddling into her like chicks to a mother hen.

She`d make “flowers” with the Ovaltine dregs

Twisting the cup this way and that so that petals appeared.

I thought it the most astounding feat in the world.

She would stroke our sleepy heads and sing us lullabies

And content, I would snuggle against her

Watching the fires flames dancing like devils on the ceiling.    

No fear of them.  My mam was here ! 

Then unaware I would drift into the land of Nod.  

Cocooned by the warmth of the fireside,

Cocooned in my mothers love.

Jan Wharton (April 2012)