The First Seventy Years: 9 - A Mustard Cure
Eric Biddulph recalls an unusual but highly effective "cure'' for nail biting.
To read earlier chapters of Eric's life story please click on The First Seventy Years in the menu on this page.
The cold domestic conditions we experienced for much of the year inevitably influenced the way we lived. Each night a hot water bottle was placed in the bed about half an hour before retiring. I would change into my pyjamas in front of the living room fire prior to galloping up the stairs and jumping into bed as quickly as possible.
This was preceded by a double quick visit to the outside toilet and an even faster brushing of my teeth in the scullery; there was no kitchen or bathroom as we know them today.
From time to time a bath was taken by each member of the family. A galvanised bath about a metre long would be brought into the scullery from the backyard, where it was permanently stored on a nail fixed on the side of the lavatory wall. Water would be boiled in the scullery, a permanent bricked-in structure designed to accommodate a wood or coal fire underneath a steel open-top tub, rather like a kettle drum minus its top.
The boiled water would be scooped out of the tub with a large cooking pot. As it was invariably of a scalding temperature, further scoops of cold water would be added, using the only tap in the house situated over the sink and next to the tub. Once the required temperature had been secured, I would climb into the bath and enjoy a bodily experience which had perhaps passed me by for several weeks.
Quite often during very cold spells I would be permitted to chicken out and make do with a good wash. If I was especially lucky I might be permitted to have a bath in the living room in front of a roaring fire.
Owing to the work patterns of my parents it was not unusual for my father to cook a meal. He liked rice pudding to be very milky and always slightly overcooked them until they developed a dark brown and sometimes a black skin on them. I always hated these skins and vigorously resisted eating them. Indeed, such was my distaste that I refused to eat any form of rice for many years afterwards. Getting me to eat one of my father's puddings was used as a form of punishment.
My parents were also very fond of mustard. I had a strong dislike of the taste. At some point during my early years I developed the habit of nail biting. Although I bit them quite low, causing me quite a bit of pain, it did nothing to curb my daily chewing activity. Exhortations on the part of my parents did nothing to discourage this self destruction.
Some smart thinking on their part soon had an impact on my behaviour. They realised that it was going to be necessary to resort to drastic measures to make me give up the habit. They smeared mustard on the ends of my fingers and threatened to force them into my mouth. I cannot recall suffering the indignity of swallowing an ample supply of mustard, but it did have the desired effect, my finger nails eventually being cut rather than bitten down to size.
