JO JO
CAME TODAY
...
letters from France, written in 2011
We have
been promising ourselves that we should have Jo-Jo come round and
empty our old septic tank. It is rather a fosse and somewhat
different to the proper tank that many readers will have experience
of in their back garden.
This relic
was installed when our house was new and built for M. Fresneau ‘Pere’
in 1968, in those days in France, household plumbing was still a bit
primitive. Our toilet, not to be mistaken with a W.C. was a normal
type porcelain affair, sat over a brick shute that emptied into this
large concrete tank adjacent and under the house. Instead of the
more normal ‘U’ bend you get in a W.C., this one had a plastic
‘lid’ at the bottom with handle attached, handle on the outside I
might add.
One simply flipped the lid and everything shot down the
shute!
Without a
modern ‘U’ bend of course, there was always a bit of a pong in
the ‘little room’. In fact ‘going to the loo’ was sometimes
to be avoided until it was un- avoidable!
PLANS
Last
year we managed to afford a new ‘gleaming’ septic tank, which was
planted in the garden behind the house and connected to a long
arrangement of filter pipes elsewhere in the garden. This whole
arrangement does not happen overnight in France.
Unlike the UK where
until fairly recently one could borrow a JCB and suitably out of
sight, simply bury a septic tank wherever you wished; here in France
the procedure takes best part of a year. An inspector is booked to
come and survey your property to see if it will sustain a septic tank
and its filters.
Once this hurdle is passed and the actual site plans
have been received, you can look for your approved contractor to
provide an estimate of cost.
The whole
thing took us two years from start to finish. The new bathroom is
finished too complete with “proper” WC; and now we have approval
from the smart young lady who came to inspect the new drains and
filter beds. We asked her for her ideas about converting this old
‘fosse’ into a collection tank for rain water. Of course the
water will be used on the garden, “be sure to use plenty of
bleach,” were her last words. We did not think bleach mixed with
our rainwater, no matter how dilute, would help our garden plants to
grow; so we decided to just give it a good wash out.
This is
where Jo-Jo comes in, he is the farmer - father in law of our good
neighbours André and Roland and he owns a useful gadget called a
slurry spreader.
I was
dozing in a chair in the conservatory having enjoyed a good lunch of
crunchy cauliflower cheese and nice slice of fish. This was followed
by a cut price tiramisu found at Super ‘U’ in Bourgeois this
morning. ‘Use by today’ it said so we duly obliged and very nice
too.
JO JO
ARRIVES
The
tractor turning into the drive at three thirty, duly had me on my
feet post haste and we quickly had the machine in place and sucking
at the tank contents quite happily. Jo-Jo is a tall well built chap,
always very jovial and was stirring things up in the tank with his
huge oversized suction gadget and I went off to find the hose and
coupled it up to our well - water irrigation pump.
The ‘fosse’
was only about half full and after a few minutes we had worked out
that when full it would hold three thousand five hundred litres of
water. As the residue smelly liquid reached the bottom we
directed a good jet of clear water onto the walls and floor to dilute
what was left.
The tanker
was still sucking happily and we had our heads down into the ‘fosse’
cleaning this and that quite unaware of the mayhem taking place
behind us. If you can picture those comic strip characters with soap
suds in a fountain or too much soap in a washing machine, well this
was many many times worse!
This
slurry tanker holds about two thousand five hundred litres when full
and we had not bothered to watch it as the ‘fosse’ was only half
full; there would be plenty of room! But in fact it was overflowing,
all over the courtyard in front of the house.
As Jo-Jo
turned round, prompted by some sixth sense, he leapt up and used some
strong words finishing with a French version of ‘it’s never done
this before’! It was all the result of the pump sucking a mixture
of effluent and air with the ‘fosse’ being almost empty.
The result
was something like a giant grey sausage on wheels totally surrounded
by creamy grey/brown froth as it poured and cascaded out of the large
round inspection hatch similar to a submarine conning tower. It could
have been just like a huge whipped up blancmange or angel delight,
but this one was over eight feet high and about 20 feet long. ‘It’s
just the froth’ said Jo-Jo confidently!
WHAT A
PONG....
But that
froth had a pong too, not that we two noticed it much at that time as
we had had our heads down inside the ‘fosse’ for several minutes
and were ‘immune’!
“I’ll
move the tractor out into the roadway,” he said; “you find some
brushes to get rid of this stuff”. (All in “colloquial”
French.)
I
suggested that perhaps it would be best to rinse some of the
spectacular ’foam’ from the slurry tank before he ventured onto
the highway. That done he moved out of the way. It was a good job we
both had ‘wellies’ on, even though it was just ‘foam’ it was
not the kind of stuff one would like wrapped around ones ankles and
socks! It did in fact brush away quite easily, it will take a day or
two or even three for the smell to go though.
Jo-Jo was
back in a few minutes, I didn’t ask him where he had left the
slurry, one doesn’t ask these awkward type of questions in the
countryside; and we finished rinsing the inside of the ‘fosse’.
‘Impeccable’ was the result, which could not be said for the
courtyard.
Now, Ruth
appeared on the scene having slept through all the trauma! Just as
well she had not seen that ‘mountain’ of slurry foam spreading
across the courtyard a little earlier. The day finished with a “petit
coup” or to those not initiated a glass of wine all round.
ends
