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We lived in a terraced back to back house in Temple Street. All the back to backs had outside toilets with wooden seats. During the winters the toilet pipes often froze so folk used to leave either a candle or small paraffin lamp burning underneath the seat. Strangely enough, the toilets were quite warm and cosy when the door was closed. As there was no toilet tissue in those days old copies of the Sentinel or Daily newspapers were torn into squares and hung on a nail on the wall. Dad was a local expert on Horse and Dog Racing and his vast knowledge stemmed from his carefully sequenced copies of the Handicap Books and Form Calendars going back for years. He was immensely proud of his collection which often solved many an argument or dispute in the Roebuck, Vine, Royal Oak, Shakespeare or Terrace in Fenton. Dad was on Nights at the Michelin when Mam ran out of toilet paper. As there were no newspapers handy to tear up she promptly grabbed some of Dad's Handicap Books. As I was getting ready for School next morning I heard my Father's voice from the toilet. He was almost beserk with rage when her discovered his beloved Handicap Books hanging on the nail. I beat a hasty retreat and I never knew how the argument ended.

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