ALAN WHALLEY'S WORLD

KATHY Hughes still chuckles about the crowded 'penny dip' sessions once held at Boundary Road Baths. And, in particular, about the comically ill-fitting bathing costumes that the young lasses were provided with.

Picking up on 86-year-old Gus Atkins' recollections of his frantic 'ha'penny duck' escapades at that St Helens plunge during his childhood, Kathy says: "Eeh, bah gum, Alan, your page made me feel very ancient."

But she presses on brightly: "No, I'm not a grizzled greybeard. I'm one of the females of around the era Gus remembers."

In her case, however, inflation had taken a grip - and the admission price had doubled from a halfpenny to a penny a visit!

"There was no mixed bathing in those days," says Kathy who lives in Campbell Street - just a splash away from the famous old baths building. "We girls used the ladies plunge which was much smaller than the men's.

"If Gus and his pals could have seen us girls, he would have had a good laugh for his money, as well as a swim. When we paid our penny, we were handed a towel and a random costume," explains Kathy. "It didn't matter what size or shape you were - long, short, fat or thin.

"You daren't complain, so you can imagine what a sight some of us looked in our borrowed costumes. I was only about 4ft 6ins tall and often my costume would reach down to my ankles. Others, perhaps twice my size, could be struggling into tiny costumes which threatened to cut them in two."

But there was no prospect of swopping cossies, says Kathy. Discipline was strictly enforced by the baths staff. And to complain was to risk being swept out through the door and onto the unwelcoming cold pavements outside. Sticking to that splish-splash subject, I wonder how many can recall when Boundary Road had a couple of rows of ordinary cast-iron baths, of the type later to be found in every home in town.

I was reminded of that scrub-clean feature by an old chum, now in his fifties, who regularly enjoyed a week-end soak there.

Pal John recalls: "Me and my chums lived in the old terraces, where most folk only had a tin bath, usually hung up by a nail on the backyard wall when not in use."

The bath-night ritual was usually carried out on the old peg rug in front of a roaring fire. Privacy, especially among big families, was hard to come by. That's why John and his gang revelled in a good soak at the Boundary Road building - right up to the 1950s.

"It cost about sixpence for that treat, including use of soap and towel," he recalls, "and there were two rows of cubicled baths, about a dozen on each side."

That particular facility was so popular that customers had to queue up. But the wait was well worth it. When they stepped out of that piping hot soapy water, a week of grime melted away, John and the rest of the young buckaroos were ready to hit the town for the evening.

"And I'll tell you," says John, "we felt like Hollywood idols and God's gift to women - especially with the finishing touch of a dab of margarine to smooth down our hair."

John's other vivid recollection of Boundary Road Baths has nowt to do with water. He recollects: "It once had the finest of maple 'sprung' dance floors which was placed across the main plunge for Saturday night dances during the winter."

I SOMEHOW remember someone telling me that this classy floor was sold off cheap when the appeal of strict tempo dancing faded away - and was used to make a shed. A sad ending to that floor of a million romantic memories.

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