Stripling Welham
When Stripling Welham left England to attend the convention of European lavatory men in Combourg, France, he did not know what to expect. Most of his days, he had been in charge of all the men and women who toted night soil for disposal from the Stynke Tanks of the endemic terraced twouptwodowns of rural England; now, with the coming of water closets, he wanted to be the pioneer in such esoteric toilet lore and bring new sanitary hope to the working class; where better than go toVictorian France for the convention … or so he thought.
The ferry docked at St Malo. Stripling Welham was intrigued to see the convoy of pump-out lorries that turned up at the dockside to empty the lower decks of the passengers’ discarded slurry; he had heard they were rollonrolloff ferries, so this was particularly intriguing (and instructive), not all what he had been led to expect.
He was met by the Lavatory Men Convention Luxury Coach which would take the English contingent to Combourg. On board, he teamed up with one by the name of Padgett Weggs, who was actually masquerading as a lavatory man so as to smuggle himself into France where, he had been told, he could obtain a pretty good living as a professional dosser.
They had seen each other on the ferry, but it was only now they could have a chinwag. At first, Stripiing was phased by the hygiene arrangements on the coach, which depended on a rather complicated system that led to its being churned up by the wheels upon the road surface ... leaving a series of quite pretty tyre-patterned pancake-pats along the road behind it.
PW: Hiya, Stripling, I don’ know why yerve come over ‘ere. Us Englanders ‘ave forgot more about shit clearance in the good ol’ green and pleasan’ land back home than these ‘ere froggywoggies will ever know in the first place.
SW: [Waking fitfully from his bemusement] I don’t know why you say that. They wouldn’t be holding the convention in this country, if that were so.
PW: Well, public jacksies over ‘ere, I been told by the King of Dossers hisself in Picallili Circus, are offen tin huts, where men ‘ave to stand holding out their willies in full view as they piss in the rusty, sludgy troffs .... and women passin’ by to their own part of the contraption. What’s more, an’ I don’ rightly know how ol’ King Doss knew this, but in the women’s cubbyhoies, they do have to stand leanin’ agin the walls as if they’re in the act of natr’al childbirth. Gor blimey, Strip, in Combourg itself, they’re sizzlin’ hot dogs just outside... hopin’ the smoke will either ease out the consummation inside the lav or the ripe ol’ stench itself commin from the troffs will help steep and marrynate the sossages in more than jus’ lard.
SW: Come off it, this is nothing but hearsay.
PW: Well, yerve ‘eard it said, so it must be true.
When the coach arrived at Combourg, Stripling quickly found that its only public convenience bore out Padgett’s theories. Also, another delegate to the convention had warned him that he would have to be wary of the flushing systems which could easily explode over friend and foe alike.
SW: What’s a flushing system, Meinheer?
Other DeZegate (German): Veil, ve’ve had flushings in Bonn since pre-Wictorian times, vhere vater cascades like niagra and zooms the how’s yer father, as you zay in Engerland, down the pipes clean avay.
SW: Is this the W.C. system we’ve come to hear about?
OD: V.C., Mister Vilham? Waste Cruncher, you mean - we got rid of all such inhuman processes in the dark ages...
SW: No, no, Meinheer, water closets born under a different star sign than the common or garden earth closets, I’m told. I think what you describe as flushings must be something to do with Cancer, Scorpion or Pisses...
[At this moment, Padgett Weggs the dosser sat down next to them in the convention hall, having decided to stick around a bit to see what he could pick up and maybe recruit an apprentice dosser or two.]
PW: [Noting that SW and OD were deep in technical interchange, decided to lighten their load.] Hey! Fellers, I’ve ‘eard tell that they goin’ to give a demo on the platform ‘safternoon ... with audience partici-pation. [He laughed like a drain as he motioned vigorously.]
OD: [Ignoring PWs interpolation] Excusez-moi, I’m just off to have, vhat you call in Engerland, a vee vee.
SW: And I’m going to the convention souvenir shop before the first lecture to see if I can purchase some duty-free incontinent underwear.
Stripling Welham of course could not buy any such thing, being where he was. And when he later found that all the lectures and demonstrations were in French, he returned to good old England the next day on board the packet ship. Which cut short a pretty tall story.
(published ‘Odyssey’ 1990)
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