Toi-luts, lavs and chambers
I have described our home, in a five house terrace at 47 Devon Rd, Bristol as a “three up, three down” house. Well, that’s not entirely true.
The front door led into a small area which we called the “Porch”. It was maybe 8’ long, and contained the electricity and gas meters high on the wall.
Then there was another door, which we called the “glass door”. Indeed it had some rather nice stained or painted windows dating from the early 20th Century when the terrace was built.
Passing through this door led us into a long hallway. Immediately on the right was the “front room” with its bay windows.
To the left was the staircase which led up to the three bedrooms. And on the right of that was the “middle room” (where our lodgers, the Whitfields had lived, and which much later became my bedroom)
Continuing down the narrow passage way we would encounter the “cupboard under the stairs” where Dad kept his tools. Then we would pass through yet another door into what we called the kitchen. This was the room where we ate. There was no cooker, it was mostly a “dining room”.
On a shelf on the wall was a “wireless” from which Dad listened to classical music late into the evening.
When I was a little boy I would stand on the table playing “Mr. Cox” (our Peeb Sunday School Superintendent) preaching my sermons and turning the wireless on for the hymns. “But why?”, I wondered “is it called a ‘wireless’ when it is plugged into the electricity?”
And where there had been a fireplace Dad installed a self contained coal burning stove. Hanging from the ceiling was a clothes rack, operated by pulleys, where laundry would be placed to dry in winter months.
Beyond the kitchen was a single story roofed “lean to” building which we called the “Scullery”. (Hence we were not truly “three-up, three-down”). In this room was the sink (no hot running water for many years), and the gas stove (cooker).
(Much later Dad installed a water heater, and divided part of the scullery to create a bathroom. At first this bathroom had no hot running water, so would heat the water in a gas fired “copper boiler, and transfer it to the bathtub with saucepans. Later Dad “plumbed in” hot running water from the water heater)
Off the scullery was a door to the back garden, and then another door into the “toilet”, a part of the “lean to” but separated by internal walls and an the outside door.
This was the “lav” or toilet,
Oh, oh, oh that toilet (or toi-lut in a Bristol accent). No heating, no lighting and colder than a witch's t-t in winter.
The commode had a wooden seat, and the water tank was overhead, operated by a flush on a chain.
No “bathroom tissue” of course, but torn up newspapers, or if we were lucky, a donated telephone book with its softer pages.
It was a scary place after dark. I would “do my thing” (number one), hitch up my trousers, open the door, and then, leaning back as far as I could, I would pull the chain and rush back into the house. I believed that if I got into the house before the tank emptied “it” (ghoulies, ghosties and things that go bump in the night) would not “get me”.
It was not a place to visit during the night, so we had chamber pots under our beds for “number one”.
These had various names. “Chamber ” was the most obvious. “Piss-pots” the more crude. “Jeremiahs” for the posh - perhaps derived from “Jereboam” a wine bottle which contains three litres. And in common parlance “Jerrys”, hence the old joke:
Q. Why does Winston Churchill take a pistol to bed?
A. Because there is a jerry (a German) under his bed.
In the morning at home there might be a “solemn procession of the chamber pots”. Brothers and sisters, bleary eye’d and half asleep, would pass through the kitchen on the way to empty a “jerry” into the outside “toi-lut”.
The front door led into a small area which we called the “Porch”. It was maybe 8’ long, and contained the electricity and gas meters high on the wall.
Then there was another door, which we called the “glass door”. Indeed it had some rather nice stained or painted windows dating from the early 20th Century when the terrace was built.
Passing through this door led us into a long hallway. Immediately on the right was the “front room” with its bay windows.
To the left was the staircase which led up to the three bedrooms. And on the right of that was the “middle room” (where our lodgers, the Whitfields had lived, and which much later became my bedroom)
Continuing down the narrow passage way we would encounter the “cupboard under the stairs” where Dad kept his tools. Then we would pass through yet another door into what we called the kitchen. This was the room where we ate. There was no cooker, it was mostly a “dining room”.
On a shelf on the wall was a “wireless” from which Dad listened to classical music late into the evening.
When I was a little boy I would stand on the table playing “Mr. Cox” (our Peeb Sunday School Superintendent) preaching my sermons and turning the wireless on for the hymns. “But why?”, I wondered “is it called a ‘wireless’ when it is plugged into the electricity?”
And where there had been a fireplace Dad installed a self contained coal burning stove. Hanging from the ceiling was a clothes rack, operated by pulleys, where laundry would be placed to dry in winter months.
Beyond the kitchen was a single story roofed “lean to” building which we called the “Scullery”. (Hence we were not truly “three-up, three-down”). In this room was the sink (no hot running water for many years), and the gas stove (cooker).
(Much later Dad installed a water heater, and divided part of the scullery to create a bathroom. At first this bathroom had no hot running water, so would heat the water in a gas fired “copper boiler, and transfer it to the bathtub with saucepans. Later Dad “plumbed in” hot running water from the water heater)
Off the scullery was a door to the back garden, and then another door into the “toilet”, a part of the “lean to” but separated by internal walls and an the outside door.
This was the “lav” or toilet,
Oh, oh, oh that toilet (or toi-lut in a Bristol accent). No heating, no lighting and colder than a witch's t-t in winter.
The commode had a wooden seat, and the water tank was overhead, operated by a flush on a chain.
No “bathroom tissue” of course, but torn up newspapers, or if we were lucky, a donated telephone book with its softer pages.
It was a scary place after dark. I would “do my thing” (number one), hitch up my trousers, open the door, and then, leaning back as far as I could, I would pull the chain and rush back into the house. I believed that if I got into the house before the tank emptied “it” (ghoulies, ghosties and things that go bump in the night) would not “get me”.
It was not a place to visit during the night, so we had chamber pots under our beds for “number one”.
These had various names. “Chamber ” was the most obvious. “Piss-pots” the more crude. “Jeremiahs” for the posh - perhaps derived from “Jereboam” a wine bottle which contains three litres. And in common parlance “Jerrys”, hence the old joke:
Q. Why does Winston Churchill take a pistol to bed?
A. Because there is a jerry (a German) under his bed.
In the morning at home there might be a “solemn procession of the chamber pots”. Brothers and sisters, bleary eye’d and half asleep, would pass through the kitchen on the way to empty a “jerry” into the outside “toi-lut”.
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