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        GOING TO THE OUTHOUSE
When I was small, and used to visit old gran,
She had an outhouse, for no water from taps ran,
The pump in the kitchen, outhouse up the yard,
Going there in the winter was always very hard.

She kept an oil lamp to take the chill off the air,
You wore your scarf and mitts to walk up there.
Sitting on the seat always took your breath away
It’s the only time I wanted to be a boy I may say!

Now in England winters were never every cold,
Not compared to Canada where winter’s very bold,
Now to go off to the outhouse at minus forty three,
Can you possibly imagine how draughty it would be.

Would you be able to close the door to keep the wind out?
The thought of sitting on the seat would make me shout,
I think I would keep a potty in a secluded, hidden place
And once a day a trip to the outhouse grudgingly face.

I shall always be grateful for indoor plumbing so grand,
But I do think of those who have to endure to sit or stand
In a cold outhouse especially when it’s minus forty three,
Why not come and visit and stay a little while with me.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson 27 January 2004