Quote:
Originally Posted by kindlekitten
gah! my parents lived by; "if it's yellow let it mellow, if it's brown, flush it down" because my mother was intimidated by her septic system and refused to try to understand any and all explanations
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Ahhghhh. That gives me excruciating flashbacks to my poverty stricken childhood in 1950's New Zealand. Back then, only rich folk had septic tanks. We made do with an outhouse and the "Night Soil Man".
The outhouse was a wooden shack a little away from the house. Inside was a hinged wooden throne with a bum sized hole. Under the hole was a big tub. There was no running water, nothing to flush. The Night Soil Man would come at night. Under the cover of darkness he would take the tub to his truck, empty it, and bring it back. The Night Soil Man would sometimes stumble on the rough and unlit path. In the morning my parents would mutter angrily about his drunkenness as they went out to clean the spillage.
Those days, to get hot water: the boiler had to be fired up with precious wood. Once a week, the bath would be filled with hot water. My father, my mother, then my sister, would each have a turn in the bath - using the same water. I was the youngest, therefore number four in turn for the bath. By the time I got to it, the water would be grey and cold. Sometimes I would close the bathroom door and just pretend to get in.
Those days, we really conserved water!