Colyne Stewart, April AS XXXVI (2003)
For the April Fool’s TankArd
The latrines of the northern reaches of our fair kingdom are not as primitive as many of us lowlanders believe. I have visited many of them, and have found them all to be of excellent quality, with the possible exception of one.
I know that many have complained of the facilities of Bonfield, that frozen bowl of the north, but I have found them to be every bit as modern as those that serve at Ealdormere War Practice here in my home canton of Ardchreag. Wooden walls that block most of the wind, a roof (!), and a wooden seat that leaves but few splinters. These are all good things.
However, I feel I must condemn the privies of the little known Shire of Scheißehaus, which is located north of the Barony of Skraeling Althing. I have been to one event in that snowy realm, which was called Wurstliebe. The latrines consisted of a row of holes in the bottom of a trench running along the back of the event site. There was no shade from the sun which reflected off the snow, blinding the eyes as people tried to aim directly for a hole so as not to soil their shoes. No shade also meant we were drenched by intermittent blasts of ice-cold rain. And, as the main focus of the event was spicy sausage and ale, well, the latrines were always busy, and the lines were long.
Still, I have encountered such primitive conditions here in the south where we deem ourselves more civilised than our northern cousins. I am, as are most, accustomed to the chamber pot, but when at a local Lord’s keep I was asked to
I think that’s enough of that. — The Editor