Patrick Thompson

My dad was an old fashioned kind of man. He died in 1959, but I remember him so vividly. He was tall, around 6 feet (just under 2 metres!) and quite stocky. He was a coal miner until a coal related disease eventually killed him. He loved to bath in the old tin bath in front of the open coal fire in the kitchen. My sister & I were allowed to get a bath first, then my mother, then dad. We would all sit around getting dried on towels & from the heat of the fire. Dad was also a joker! As he stepped into the bath he would do a little dance, mainly to make his penis bounce around! as very young children we thought it was hilarious. No doubt social workers or 'do~gooders' today would have other opinions on that scene!
On one bathtime day, just as described above, we all sat around naked laughing at dad's jig & willy-dance, then without warning he stepped onto a submerged bar of soap! With a yell like Tarzan and arms flailing around like a malfunctioning windmill, he slipped and fell down onto his back! the impact of his bulk on the soapy contents of the tub sent a large eruption of water ceiling bound! In almost slow motion we watched the water cascade towards us & indeed all over the kitchen!!
We all got soaked! The water swamped us and we must surely have looked like drowned rats! My poor old dad! he lay yelling in pain flat on his back, he had hit his back just around his shoulder blades on the back of the tub. A large semi-circular red wield mark was already forming across his back.
We must have made some remedy to that hilarious yet painful event, though I don't recall now what it was? What I do recall is our widowed neighbour Mrs Noreen Gledhill, who's ambition it was to see my dad naked, was trying to see in through a heavily curtained window, she shouted "Are you all ok, is it safe for me to come in?" her hopes were in vain, just before his fall my dad made certain the door was locked by turning the big iron key twice.