A Heritage Minute about the tinkletorium
Some say that an outhouse is designed like a shed, but instead of holding tools; most of you know it holds a toilet. The toilet seat inside of an outhouse was once just a raised hole above the ground, but then it became more. Some were built to accommodate both adults and children, so the seats were built with varying hole sizes.
Then came the two-story outhouse. The bottom toilet was installed like any ordinary outhouse, but the upstairs one was pushed back so the waste would fall down behind the bottom toilet instead of landing above the lower room. In all my travels in the Eastern Townships and Lanark County I only saw one of those two-story items, and that was in a museum in Smiths Falls, ON.
Since outhouses had such a signature smell, many were built with lids to help moderate the aroma and to try to keep those pesky flies at bay. Unfortunately, not all outhouses had a lid and so many people would bring lime powder with them when they went to the washroom to sprinkle down the hole.
A few years ago I found out the truth about outhouses and lilac bushes and immediately added the information to my historic walking tours. When I smelled the seasonal lilacs I was instantly transported back in time to my grandparents’ house in Cowansville, Quebec. They had three large lilac bushes in their backyard. In the days before indoor plumbing, when the outhouse pit was full, the homeowner would finish filling the pit and plant a lilac bush. The bushes were also used as backdrops for school pictures, weddings and confirmation pictures. Cuttings were taken each spring for table centrepieces. The bushes were lush and green in summer, providing some peaceful shade. Lots of birds nested in them, adding another serene aspect. Eventually, on homesteads, you’d see a line of these lilac bushes, usually on the edge of the property. It has been often said that odours/aromas can be the strongest triggers of memories, and here is one of mine:
“One Christmas Eve, my mother thought it would be a good idea to visit a family that was going to move that summer. My father, being the smart one, refused to go, which I thought was a brilliant decision. My mother, on the other hand, convinced a neighbour to drive us up that slippery, steep mountain road; a drive I thought was going to be the death of us all.
Because the family was partially French Canadian, we were to participate in a traditional ‘Christmas Eve Reveillion’. French Canadians do most of their celebrating on Christmas Eve, and have a feast that boggles the mind.
There was the traditional tourtiere (meat pie), ham, baked beans and a Bouche de Noel (Christmas log cake). One of the younger girls pointed proudly to a black cast iron pot, simmering away on top of the wood stove. She told me she had helped her mother make the traditional ‘ragout de pate de cochon’, which in English means a stew made out of one of their recently deceased piggies. I really wanted to enjoy this meal but I just couldn’t. The vision of that horrible outhouse they used kept running through my mind.”
If it had been horrible in the summer- what was it going to be now, with four feet of fresh snow on the ground? Would my bottom become stuck to the rim like a fresh wet tongue on a steel post? Would the pages of the Simpsons Sears catalogue be cold? I made the decision that I was not going to eat or drink anything. There was no way my fanny was going into that place, even if they did put a small Christmas tree on top.
After dinner the kids decided to go outside and build a big fire and toast marshmallows on sticks. The boys were classic examples of every bad kid you have ever seen and they were not afraid of anything. The fire suddenly got out of control and it all went downhill from there. The oldest son had a stick engulfed in flames, and instead of throwing it back into the fire he tossed it into the air. Where did that flaming stick land? You guessed it!
It hit the Christmas tree that was perched on top of the outhouse and that was all she wrote. The tree immediately burst into flames and the boys cheered loudly and enthusiastically. No one ran into the house for help and not one of them seemed scared. We all just stood there and watched the tree and the outhouse burn under the twinkling stars, while the people inside the house sang ‘Silent Night’ in drunken unison.
As burning pieces of the Simpsons Sears catalogue rose up into the sky, I had a feeling that once their parents learned what happened, the rest of the night was not going to be silent at all.”
When I was mentioned at an event last week I was going to write about the outhouse I got lots of tips from elders (older than 73) at my table.
“Never put your new outdoor toilet beneath an apple, peach, plum or hickory nut tree.”
Why not?
“Have you ever heard the sound of a big red apple-hitting the tin-roof of an outdoor toilet? The sounds of apples can be very disconcerting for occupants of a good three-holer on wind-blown days.”
Do you know why outhouses are most generally built facing east?”
I had to plead ignorance one more time.
“So it will face the warmth of the morning sun!”
In ending I want to personally thank everyone who told me their tales last weekend, and as one gentleman said,
“You can tell your readers only they are “privy” to some of this information!”
I’ll see myself out… See you next week.