Skip to the Loo

                    by R. T. Mason

     Some historical treasures are just too important to lose.  Bill ions of dollars are spent each year on the preservation of old homes, personal items, battlefields, natural wonders, and documents, but there is one important item of history which nobody seems to be interested in preserving for “posterity.”  I refer, of course, to that structure in which many older folks have spent a considerable amount of time – the outhouse, or “loo.”

     Yes, my friends, that song that your parents sang to you, when you were knee high to a short grasshopper, was about a trip to the outhouse; “ Skip to my loo, my darling.” 

     Since it is quite possible that some readers might be unfamiliar with the outhouse concept, perhaps I should describe a typical outhouse and explain its use.  Back in the days of yesteryear, most people didn’t have indoor plumbing in their homes.  Most homes had a hand-pump outside, and they would carry water inside in buckets, where it might be heated, used for cooking, or bathing.  Often, especially in the summer, family baths were taken outside in a number-2, or number-3 washtub and, also typically, this was weekly affair.  Since most homes had no indoor plumbing, these homes had no flushing toilets inside them.  This made it necessary that some sort of structure be prepared where folks might go to relieve themselves.  So, they dug a hole in the ground, usually a round hole about 6 feet deep, they built a small building around it  and then they built a box over the hole, with a round-ish opening in the top of the box.  Then, they had themselves an outhouse, or a “privy” as these structures were often called.  Sometimes, folks installed a small door, which was hinged, that could be closed to cover the hole. 

     As far as I know, toilet paper hadn’t been invented in those days.  Instead, most people used pages torn from old catalogs.  I always looked forward to those Sears Roebuck sale catalogs because the paper upon which they were printed, was much thinner, and therefore, much softer than the regular catalogs.  While I’ve never personally experienced such, I’ve been told that before Sears Roebuck and other businesses started mailing out their catalogs, many people used corncobs in their outhouses, and corn pulled to make roasting ears was a special outhouse treat because they were much softer than corncobs that had been pulled for the making of grain.  (I report; you decide.)

     Back then, when everybody had an outhouse, talking about such was, indeed, a social faux pas, but times have changed.  Back then, folks were concerned about social correctness, but now we have evolved to the point where we are in an anything-goes society, but political correctness is in vogue.  So, now that such topics can be discussed (even in mixed company) and since few of these structures have been preserved, it is important that stories of their use be preserved for their historical value, and for the education of our offspring.

     While most outhouses only offered a seating capacity of one, some were called two-seaters, three-seaters, or even four-seaters.  I’ve, personally, never seen anything larger than a two-seater, but such were known to exist in heavily populated areas.  Actually, the only two-seater that I ever saw was the one at church, and, as I recall, visiting a two-seater alone was a frightening experience for children.  That particular 2-seater had an outside door latch on it – just a short strip of wood with a single nail in it that one could turn to a horizontal position to keep the door shut.  My friend, Jerry, liked to sneak over and latch that door when he saw one of the girls enter the outhouse.  He had a lot of fun from that prank until he performed his trick when his cousin entered the privy.  She was a rather large girl.  She simply hit that door hard enough to pull the nail out of the latch.  Shortly thereafter she proceeded to teach Cousin Jerry some manners. Jerry decided that he had outgrown childish pranks. 

     Jerry had previously perfected another outhouse prank – one that required some careful engineering.  The church outhouse, like most outhouses, had a vent that ran from inside the “box” out the back of the building.  Jerry went inside the outhouse, and very carefully measured the distance from the top of the “box” to the middle of the vent hole.  He then made a small bend to one end of a coat hanger, measured off that distance, and put another bend in the coat hanger at that point.  In the summer, wasps were always readily available, so he would catch a wasp, cut off its stinger, tie the live wasp to the bend in the end of his coat hanger and wait for an unsuspecting soul to enter the outhouse and sit down.  Then  he would quietly slide that bent coat hanger through the vent hole, turn the coat hanger in such a way that the wasp could lightly brush the behind of the unsuspecting outhouse user with its legs and wings.  Although, as pranks go, this one was well-engineered, and certainly one that would get a rise of its victim, Jerry was quickly caught, and his mother strongly advised him concerning the drawbacks of the plan’s continued usage.  The fact is that you could say  she showed him the error of his ways most convincingly.  Well, it was most convincingly for most of us, but Jerry was always a slow learner. 

     Visiting the outhouse was a rewarding, yet sometimes, disconcerting experience.  Here, I must digress, and state that I’ve never really known anyone who skipped to a loo.  Ran, perhaps, but never skipped.  After all, how many folks skip to the bathroom in our modern age of indoor plumbing? 

     Obviously, an outhouse visit could be rewarding due to the relief it offered, but these structures were not usually the best-kept part of the household.  Consequently, one might find him, or her self, sitting there admiring the wasp nests and how much each one had grown since his/her, last visit.  Indeed, outhouses were usually somewhat cooler than the outside temperature, and this made them a good place for snakes to find a respite from the sun.  Imagine how put off you might be if you had to make a mad dash for the outhouse only to get there to find a snake stretched out across the very place where you were anxious to sit.  Now, imagine your feelings if the snake was stretched out across the back of the seat, and you were in such a rush that you didn’t see the snake until after you sat down and had your pants around your ankles.  As I said, using an outhouse could be a disconcerting experience. 

     Of course, the outhouse could be a place of relaxation and contemplation, just as the bathroom is today, especially for men.  One could sit there, smoke a cigarette, and consider the details of some particular project, but even that could prove to be hazardous.  Such was the case of a friend of my father, who made such a visit to his own privy.  He was comfortably sitting there, quietly enjoying a relaxing smoke, until he dropped the butt of his finished cigarette between his legs and into the hole.  Then, he suddenly found himself flying through the air into the briar-patch, along with the splintered remains of his outhouse! He was summarily reminded that, just the day before, he had poured some gasoline into the hole to kill the wasps, which were nesting inside the box.  Oops!  Luckily, the man didn’t sustain any major injuries, but it was quite a while before he could sit down again. 

     As important as the outhouse was, folks rarely used them at night, mostly because of the inconvenience, but also because there was no light in most of them.  Instead, most folks maintained a device commonly called a slop-jar in their bedroom for night use.  This was the basis for the joking question, “What’s the difference between a rich girl and a poor girl?”  The answer was, “The rich girl has a canopy over her bed, and the poor girl has a can-o-pee under her bed.”