If it’s Friday Night

If it’s Friday Night

I recall when I was little,
Not much more than three or four,
We used to have an old tin bath
Which hung on our shed door,

And every Friday evening,
Whether I was mucky or not,
That old tin bath was brought inside
And put down on the spot

Against a blazing coal fire
On a colourful old pegged rug,
Then mum or dad would fill up the bath
From a chipped enamel jug.

After quite a lot of coaxing,
I’d sit down in the tub,
And squirm and squeal ‘Not so hard!!’
As mum began to scrub.

After a good going-over with carbolic soap,
And with skin all tingly and red,
I’d quickly get dried in front of the fire,
Have my cocoa, and go straight to bed.

I never went straight to sleep though;
I used to listen to mum and dad laugh.
They seemed to have more fun than I did
By the fireside in the old tin bath.

Delia Bennett