Netties in the New House

I can distinctly remember the potty I used as a child. It is perhaps an indication of my fond attachment to that essential utensil. It was a small, yellow tin pot with a handle on the side. While most folks moved on from a potty to a regular toilet by the time they were three years old, I kept my potty privileges, at least at night time, until I was about four or five. This may surprise many people until I explain that I grew up in an upstairs flat, or in American parlance an apartment, with an outside toilet.

The toilet itself was in a small, purpose-built brick building that sat across a concrete backyard. On the other side, directly opposite the stone steps that led up to the door at the the bottom of the back stairs, was the coal house. The toilet, or netty as it is affectionately called in northeast England, was only ten feet or so from the door at the bottom of our back stairs, but on a bitterly cold night that was an endless distance. Of course we had no central heating, the only form of warmth came from a coal fire in our living room that also served as our dining room as well as the bath room on Friday nights when the old zinc tub was hauled up those back stairs and filled with buckets of piping hot water from a boiler that stood in our kitchen.


My boys Andrew and Thomas standing outside my old front door (somewhat modernized since my days!)

So lying in a cosy warm bed on a winter morning, groggy with sleep and with a film of ice formed on the inside of the window, that first-thing-in-the-morning call of nature was not a welcome feeling. Trying to put off the inevitable I would wait and wait until the last moment when, desperate, I would finally leap out of bed and hare down the short hallway, across the living room - startling whoever happened to be in there - down the back stairs to the bottom door, that was usually locked with a big iron key, and out across the backyard to the netty. This routine was timed to perfection and to the best of my recollection was executed without - ahem - any mishaps. In the winter when we were besieged by cold winds and rain or when snow and ice covered the backyard, it was a test of endurance. This was man against the elements, especially as my routine did not allow me the luxury of donning a dressing gown or a pair of slippers before I took flight. Bare feet and pyjamas were no protection from the cold or wet. I don't know how many times my Mam would tell me to "wrap up warm", but I never did catch the forewarned "death of cold" that echoed in my ears as I took the back stairs two at a time. I was sixteen when we finally moved to a house with an indoor toilet, running hot water and -- joy of joys -- central heating. Heaven could not be any better than this.

Our new house has three toilets (needless to say that these are of the indoor variety) and two bathrooms/showers. Another two toilet/bathrooms are located in the barn. All are centrally-heated of course offering easy access and comfort even in the coldest of weathers. I cannot imagine what my mother would have thought of it all. I can still hear her words ringing in my ears, "Eee our Andy, I wish you'd stuck in at school and made somethin' of yourself!" If only she was here, if only...........

Back on Sandy Hill things are progressing, albeit a little slower due to the extremely cold weather that brought snow and ice to the Brenham area. The barn exterior is now painted, white with green trim and is looking just as we imagined it would. The workshop floor has been painted and last week we bought some ready-made cabinets that I'll be installing in my woodshop. We're hoping that the barn will be pretty much complete by the end of March so I'm starting to pack up my woodshop to get ready to move the ton of equipment and stuff that currently finds a home in our garage. Purchasing a pick-up truck was a brilliant decision and although I occasionally pine for that 3.4 liter Audi Quattro on these winding two-lane highways, the truck has been indispensible. We added a small trailer a couple of weeks ago and that too has been a superb investment. We'll no doubt save money on moving the woodshop ourselves provided I can figure out how to back the trailer into out narrow driveway! 

The foundations for the house have been poured. Instead of a concrete slab, we have chosen a pier and beam system that will minimize damage to any live oak tree roots. This also follows the traditional house construction although instead of laying the beams across pieces of field stone that were just placed on the ground, the new beams will be laid across concrete pillars, 12" in diameter and buried 8 to 9 feet deep into the ground.  We had our arborist use an air spade to check each pier location for tree roots and were really pleased to find that none of the 70-odd piers affected any of the primary root systems.

This week we have to decide on our final window sizes so that the framer can start work. And so it begins again, although this time we'll know what to expect having been through the process with the barn. It was good practice.