Scrabbling For Vanity

Most had outside toilets, located in narrow backyards just far enough away from kitchen doors for odours to dissipate.

Granddad’s was a stark brick shell with a plank-door, cord for inner handle, neatly torn newspaper for wiping, and Adamant throne a chasm to toddlers.

The landlord was actually well-to-do and had provided an Edwardian commode, but this was purely for night-time excursions by the ladies of the house.

The home of the paternal grandmother faced the cathedral; the toilet inside. She boasted poshness.

The facility was internal only because her house had no yard. She forever nagged about flushing properly.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid