The Sunday Night Dip & The Great Escape

My Mum grew up in a classic end-of-terrace house (see photo from Google Streetview, her parent's house was the one on the right) back in the days before indoor plumbing, when "showering daily" wasn't even a concept. You got one bath a week, whether you needed it or not.

Every Sunday night, out came the tin bath, placed right in front of the open fire. But here’s the kicker: everyone shared the same water. Naturally, a strict family hierarchy governed who got the fresh suds. My Grandfather, as head of the house, took first dip. Next in line was my Mum as the eldest daughter, followed by her sister. Bringing up the rear was my Nan, who got what can only be described as a lukewarm, murky stew of everyone else’s leftover dirt.

Anyway, I’m not entirely sure how I got derailed talking about my family's historic bathwater habits, but let’s move on.

My Mum’s room was right at the back, overlooking the narrow alleyway along the side of the terrace. Whenever she was grounded, she didn't just sit there feeling sorry for herself. Instead, she’d climb out her bedroom window, wedge her back against her house wall, plant her feet against the wall opposite, and shin her way down to freedom like a teenage ninja. When her night out was over, she’d shimmy right back up the brickwork and back into bed, completely undetected.

Looking at the place on Google StreetView today, the alley looks so tight it's hard to believe anyone could pull off a vertical chimney climb like that, let alone my Mum. But if her stories have taught me anything, it’s that sheer stubbornness and a desperate need to escape third-hand bathwater can make you surprisingly agile.