Maggots & Poo

[MauriceMynah]

Hmmm I think I prefer the flies more than looking for them, but thanks, You're probably right.

[ExSurveyor]

Far too much detail 

[Vaughan]

I knew Labrador wouldn't be able to resist a pumpout story. Funny we haven't heard from Wussername yet. . . .  

As there seems to be some doubt, here is the S.O.P. on how to do a pumpout properly :

On the command "one" -

Ensure there is no fat lady sitting on the toilet. This has happened and it didn't help that she only spoke German, since she ended up stuck to the bowl!

On the command "two" - 

Lock all children and dogs in the front cabin out of the way. (Dad, why does that pipe keep twitching? Dad, look, he's spilled some on the deck!)

On the command "three" - (with a sharp downward movement)

Put big pipe in big hole and turn on suction until all material is pasteurised. (It goes straight past yer eyes).

Four.

Squirt about a gallon of water down the rinse pipe (if fitted) and pump out again.

Five.

Repeat (four) until you get clean water coming out.

Six.

Put appropriate dose of blue down big pipe followed by about a half gallon of water, so you have a level of clean blue water in the bottom of the tank.

Seven.

It was once suggested to me (by a director) that as I was doing pumpouts on the Thames towpath at Staines on Sunday mornings, I ought to have a hand barrow ready on the quay beside me. Then I could wipe my hands down the side of my overalls and say "Right - Now would anyone like an ice cream?"

[Labrador]

When I worked at FB Wilds in the late 60's, they were trialling the holding type toilet we all know today. However it really was in its infancy, to the extent that the toilet was pumped out using a large electric pump straight into the yard mooring basin. One Saturday the old boy concerned was pumping out a Caribbean as the cleaning women went on board, "Christ Peter what the hell you doinn, there's a tidal wave of s++t in here!"

He had somehow mixed up the pump connections and instead of pumping out, it was sucking water from the basin into the toilet. Shouldn't cause a problem you think apart from the fact there was not a vent on the toilet, so they held the flap open with a wedge.

Okay, so they cleaned it all up, no problem. Ah, but the Webasto was fed through a glassed in ducting at floor level. Every time the heating was switched on it was horrendous, enough to make your eyes smart.

 

[grendel]

4 hours ago, Vaughan said:

Then I could wipe my hands down the side of my overalls and say "Right - Now would anyone like an ice cream?"

chocolate sundae?

[SEAMASTER]

Don't mention flies to scrumpy. 

[Wussername]

On 17/01/2017 at 3:02 PM, Vaughan said:

I knew Labrador wouldn't be able to resist a pumpout story. Funny we haven't heard from Wussername yet. . . .  

Wussername kept a distance from the whole operation thank you very much.

 I found it a somewhat unsavoury experience which affected all my sensory faculties to the limit. For the uninitiated the nerve centre of of the whole procedure centred around a very small shed inside which was a very large green cylinder with a large dial on the top. At the bottom was a pump. A vacuum pump. Closely situated too the pump, and connected to the pump in some way was a valve which seemed to rely on a jam jar which was attached to it.

When and if the green tank became full and the contents had not been emptied in time the jam jar became full and the whole kit and caboodle would fall apart creating a large smelly puddle.

I had little faith in this contraption as I feared that it would either implode or explode, the latter resulting in a great column of the content of the green tank towering into the sky accumulating in a great cloud of viscous matter, which, inevitably and rapidly return to earth with dire consequences for all the boat yards in the near vicinity and in particular Stalham

Bert was the Master of the House, known affectionately as the Turd Officer. Responsible to the Chief Engineer. The First Officer being the boat yard manager who seemed to be oblivious of the peril associated with the thing.

Bert was a man of few words. In fact two words. One beginning with fer fer and the other word was "it" which seemed to embrace all his needs when used to express his feelings towards the limitations of the facilities which were available to him. The words, his entire repertoire, were used at every opportunity, and frequently.

The job itself was simple enough. There were two apertures on the deck, one for receiving the rinsing water, the other which was connected when required to a bright yellow ribbed pipe, which in turn was attached to the green tank. When the vacuumed pressure had been reached a leaver on the pipe was placed in the open position whereupon the yellow pipe like some writhing monster thrashed about on the quayside as the contents from the boat entered into the green tank…………….. in theory.

In practice the inlet for the rinse water had no use whatsoever. The rinsing water pipe had to be taken inside the boat and used inside the toilet bowl. To knock down the pyramid, or cone, inside the holding tank. Suffice to say I am sure that “O” level physics would assist those ignorant of such matters as to the origin of the pyramid.

Other factors to be taken into consideration included the blockage which was invariably followed by Bert heralding its consequences with “fer fer” this and “fer fer” that.

In order to grasp the overall picture one has to take into account several factors, the first being the designer, and tradesman who built the combined toilet, shower, and washbasin. This person was in fact Roger, the tallest man in Norfolk. He has been mentioned before due to the height of his creations and that fact that many holiday makers found themselves perched, seated over the bowl with no visible signs of support. A small footstool was required for those who required a more secure footing when in the brace position. This became a feature of his work, similar to Robert (Mouseman) Thompson, the famous cabinet makers little wooden mouse.

The other distinguishing feature which defined Rogers work was the lack of shelf space. As an individual with a full beard it never crossed his mind that holiday makers required a shelf to hold for example shaving tackle – razors, foam and other ancillary objects. A token gesture was a narrow shelf close to the toilet bowl. It was inevitable that items fell off into the bowl and subsequently finished up in the holding tank.

To overcome this problem Bert had at his disposal the Black Glove. This was in fact an enormous black rubber glove which covered the forearm, over the elbow and finished at the top of the arm. This glove was used to retrieve items which had fallen into the toilet, would block the pump out equipment and could only be retrieved by gaining access through the actual toilet flap.

The glove, at least Bert’s glove, did have issues and one in particular being related to what is commonly called the Rubber Boot syndrome. All owners of the common rubber boot will be aware of that which defies logic or reason. There is the knowing, the understanding, followed by the realisation that the rubber boot has its limitations, that being  of course, despite confidence to the contrary water will come over the top of the boot leading to a cold wet foot. This normally occurs during winter before the shoot, before you have cast the float, or commenced the marsh land walk.

The same applied to Bert’s glove, and, on more than one occasion due to over exuberance whilst attempting to retrieve items from the tank an overflow had occurred. It was said by those who were employed on the boat yard that Bert’s glove was more hygienic on the outside than on the inside.  In fact it was not Bert’s glove in the true sense of the word but a communal glove to be worn by the designated pump-out operator. There were few if any takers for this important position.

Bert’s courage and determination came to the fore on one Saturday morning few years ago now. The hirer, a Mr Pearson on Magic Moments, had decided to moor on the last day at the boat yard for a quick getaway on the Saturday …………………sadly not to be.

After several successful holidays he decided to invite his mother in law, known as Bismarck by members of the family. But not to her face. A formidable lady, with an enormous fore deck, if you understand my meaning.

In the course of her morning ablutions she had placed her dentures, an upper set on the shelf that Roger had built. Unfortunately the wash of a passing boat caused the said dentures to slide off the shelf, into the blue toilet bowl. This particular variant was similar to the Norfolk long drop. A bowl, a flap, a drop.

The false teeth revolved around the bowl, not dissimilar to that of a roulette wheel. Watched in fascination by the Bismarck. The teeth eventually came to rest on the flap, at the bottom of the bowl.

The Bismarck, mesmerised by the whole scenario, as if in slow motion, lent forward to retrieve her gnashes.  The flap on the bowl, inexplicitly, slowly tilted, and with a resounding plop deposited the denture into the mire below.

Distraught she summoned her son in law, who realising the gravity of the situation , (gravity being the operative word) summoned the Boat Yard Manager.

All was not lost. Bert would be tasked to resolve the situation.

Bert duly raised himself to the challenge, suitably equipped with a stick, and the all important Black Glove. He entered into the toilet/shower cubicle. Reciting lots of fer fer this and fer fer that. After much grunting, and thrashing about with his stick, and grouping around with his hand and arm encased in the Black Glove he was able to circumvent the pyramid and actually found not one upper sets but two!

He put one in his pocket and kept one in his hand.

Having been in the crouch, due to the confined area he found himself in, for a long period of time, he emerged from the toilet with an unsteady gait; he lurched from the back door like Quasimodo from the belfry, holding the dentures triumphantly in black clad hand and presented them proudly to the Bismarck.  

After copious quantities of vim and a vigorous brushing the dentures were finally fitted. The gummy smile, the hollow cheeks were gone, whilst not a perfect fit they were good enough, and considering the ordeal that they had been through it was considered a good result..

In conclusion I hope that the above gives one an insight as to why I did not pursue a position as Master of the The House. I did not consider it a career move.

However, I know a man who did .  In fact he became a boat yard manager. Not in Norfolk but nevertheless well respected to this present day. His name was not Bert.

 

Old Wussername  

[grendel]

I think every business has a Bert, we certainly did at one office I worked at, I cant remember his name, so we will call him Bert.

Bert was the handyman, anything that occurred and Bert was called, a light bulb was out, and Bert appeared, sensibly wearing his rubber gloves to avoid electric shock, up the ladder he would go, and in a trice the bulb was changed.  

Bert also had his daily rounds, cleaning here, cleaning there, signs would go up outside the ladies as he cleaned them, wearing of course his trusty rubber gloves to protect his hands, then the gents, where he would diligently scrub the urinals until they gleamed, still wearing his trusty rubber gloves.

Now these rubber gloves as far as we can tell were a heavy duty pair, maybe even jointers gloves for live working, safe to grasp a live cable and not feel a thing, they were probably as old as Bert, maybe even issued when he joined, the natural rubber colour had gone a mottled shade of yellowy browny sort of colour, and Bert used them for every messy job.

He even used them when he cleaned out the coffee machine, polishing up the spigots, and cleaning out the drip trays, emptying the bucket of overspills down his special sink in the toilets, carefully washing all the washable parts, yes still wearing his rubber gloves (after I noticed I didnt have coffee from the machine again).

His sink was the same one he took other moveable tings to be scrubbed clean- toilet parts when they had jammed

I never did see toilet parts and coffee machine parts in the sink at the same time though as that would have  been unhygienic.

[Vaughan]

10 hours ago, Wussername said:

However, I know a man who did .  In fact he became a boat yard manager. Not in Norfolk but nevertheless well respected to this present day. His name was not Bert.

I felt I ought to become the manager, to get out of doing pumpouts! It didn't work though - I ended up doing more of them. On Sunday mornings.

One Saturday morning I was pumping out one of our boats, which had a large holding tank under the bed in the midships cabin. I got about half way through pumping and it suddenly blocked up solid. Completely sealed. Just like army rifles, there is a set procedure for clearing blockages. First move : put pump on blow instead of suck. All of a sudden, it cleared! Put pump back on suck, and the rest of the tank pumped out OK. It was a busy morning, so I left it at that and hoped for the best.

When the boat came back next week, the same thing happened again. It cleared again by blowing but this week I had more time so I took off the inspection hatch under the bed (yes folks, you don't know what goes on under beds in hire boats), and after a bit of poking about with a stick and a torch, as amply described by Wussername above, I came up with a solid red ball, like a small billiard ball. On closer examination it turned out to be the knob off the Morse control lever!

How it got there I don't know but I had a look in the stores and we didn't have any spares, so I gave it a bit of a rinse and screwed it back on the Morse control.

So the moral of the story, like Grendel's above, is be careful with what you handle on a hire boat. You never know where it has been!

[TheQ]

A friend in Saudi was in charge of the Kings bus (more like a motor home with gold plated everything). anyway it's in the MT yard having a bit of a service by the lone Brit my friend. The king didn't trust the locals. So it's sat there with all the side panels up local Saudi comes along and starts playing with the various levers and controls. My friend asks him to stop , Saudi says, I'm Saudi you can't tell me what to do, and promptly pulls a lever, and dumps the entire blue and brown contents all over himself. Friend has to walk away as he could not be seen laughing at a Saudi, didn't stop all the Saudis in there laughing though.

Another friend in Saudi reported to the doctor about various spots he had coming up, Doc says Iv'e only seen this with Toilet cleaning labourers. Jingly(far eastern labourer paid in small change)  loses job making tea for everyone.... he also cleaned the loos....

 

[riyadhcrew]

After 13 years in Saudi - I could take days to tell you stories that you would find unbelievable.

2 young Saudis get a Cadilac and go out on the highway. They put it in cruise control and climbed in the back seat - intensive care was next on the list.

[TheQ]

Like the one where they shown how to use the indicators, drove out of the showroom straight into the wall opposite, used the indicators but not the steering wheel.....

[Vaughan]

All the old hire boats (like mine) had their toilets retro-fitted, by taking out the old Baby Blake and plonking in the Safari Toplet thunder box. In Autumn it was often a simple matter to take them out again and put them on the quay, where you could take the top off and have a good old go at them with a nozzle on a hose-pipe.

One day I had a couple of these out and was doing the necessary to them when my mother, who had been helping to clear out the shop for the winter, came out onto the quay and said "Ah - the benefits of a Pangbourne education!"