Until he died, my dad would fish or rake for cockles in Poole Harbour, selling his catch to the local pubs. The cockles needed to be fresh, so our tin bath was their haven until sold. However, Friday nights were bath nights so our small kitchen became the bathroom. The salt water was rinsed from the bath (very important as a bather could end up with barnacles on their bum!) and any unsold marine life was demoted to galvanised buckets. 
Our heater was the coal-fed oven grate, although we felt more warmth from the gas light (providing the mantle was in good condition.) There was no hot running water. Ours was heated by the copper in the scullery which also provided hot water for mum to wash the clothes on a Monday. It was built into a corner, consisting of a large cast iron cauldron-like bowl with a fire grate built into the brick casement. Mum’s gas stove was also in this small area, plus a ‘butler’ type porcelain sink with cold water tap and wooden draining board – a far cry from the present day ‘fitted kitchen’ (except the sink, which appears to be quite the thing these days!)
In winter time the cold water system would freeze, due to the main feed into the house being fitted to an exposed outside wall in the small courtyard. To thaw the frozen pipe, dad would light a brazier which he nicknamed “The Devil”. Not only would it do the job, it gave we kids a nice warm glow.
At the end of the yard stood our outside – and only – loo. A comfortable retreat where we could go for quietness and to flush away any cares or woes. That was unless our neighbours decided to use theirs at the same time, because the toilets were back to back in our terraced cottages and only separated by a thin partition wall. As a matter of fact we would often hold conversations with our neighbour whilst we both sat on the ‘throne’. The interior contained a lavatory with a wooden seat manufactured by a ‘Mr Crapper’, plus a cast iron cistern with a pull chain fitted on the wall well above head height. It had an old wooden door; a hurricane lamp hung on a pipe for ‘night duties’; concrete flooring with a slope towards the door for drainage and a top of the range toilet mat called a ‘wooden duck board’.
During the Second World War, toilet rolls were unobtainable so we resorted to the next best thing – newspaper, neatly cut into squares and tied with string to a nail on the wall. The upside of such paper was that, if bored, we could read a bit of news (even if a little out of date) while in the closet. The downside was flushing it away, as newspaper is not too absorbent. Hence frequently blocked drains. Most families in such times, like us, had no bathroom or running hot water, but we did have the luxuries of the tin bath, the copper and the water closet, plus gas lights, candles and oil lamps…..I could go on and on.
But we survived! What more could I ask for?!
