I was born in 1944 and grew up in a non-posh part of Islington in North London.
My home, a ground floor flat, was similar to many of those described here. Outdoor loo, no electricity, hot water and a coal range to cook on. We had gas lighting until I was about eight. We thought electric light was wonderful.
No boiler; we used the Bag Wash. Our dirty laundry went into a clean hessian sack stamped with our number which was taken to the Bag Wash shop and collected, still slightly damp, a week later.
Milk and bread were delivered by horse and cart. The bread came from a firm called Prices which was in the street next to us.
The bread was made on the ground floor and the horses went up a ramp to their stables on the first floor.
I remember my older brother Peter being brought home by a very apologetic bread cart driver who had accidentally run over him. He was just bruised.
After the driver left Peter was given a hiding for, "Causing so much bother".
In Summer the streets smelt of a glorious mix of tar and hay.
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