Yes, I know, I missed last week - Charlie was kind enough to give us a three-day weekend and I used it wisely but too well.
Second, a quick heads-up: I've been working on some Ravenloft stuff that will go up on DTRPG (DMG) fairly soon. Brief one-shot horror adventures with one simple rule: no more than four pages.
Now, on with the show.
Whittington's Longhouse and Almshouse was built in Cheapside, London, in 1421 and lasted, in one form or another, till at least the 19th Century and possibly the 20th. That may or may not make it the longest-lived public toilet in human history; nobody keeps records of that kind of thing.
Sir Richard Whittington, to give him his proper title, was thrice Mayor of London and a very rich man, but died childless and spent his fortune on charitable works, the Longhouse among them. It could seat 64 women and 64 men and was distinct for having a division between the sexes. One long house, with a dividing privacy wall between the 64 men and 64 women.
The Almshouse was directly above. If you were desperate and had nowhere else to go, you could go there. Records are a little spotty on this one, and it may well be that the almshouse was used for storage at some point in the Longhouse’s career.
The 128-hole original burnt in the Great Fire but was replaced soon thereafter by a much smaller public toilet that lasted till at least 1851, and probably longer than that.
‘In 1660,’ says Liza Picard, ‘The usual practice was to nip into an inn, or a friend’s house. But there was always a convenient corner or accepted ‘pissing place.’’
Whittington was famous in his day for his charitable works. He must have been a clever gent to think outside the usual church-and-benevolent-fund malarkey and build something that everyone would have found useful regardless of status. Of course, in his day while there would have been division between the sexes there was no division between neighbors; your hole was next to the other’s, which was next to the other’s after that. Given that there were 64 holes per, that suggests a remarkable coming and going in the busy periods.
Whittington is probably better known for his famous, fictitious cat which earned him his fortune – at least so goes the story. There’s nothing to suggest the real-life Whittington had a cat, but stories seldom match. The cat as helper has a very long folkloric tradition, though Whittington’s version has very little in common with its more famous adaptation, as Puss In Boots.
But! Baghdad-By-The-Thames has a long memory, and if Whittington’s Longhouse survived in one form or other until at least the 20th century – which seems possible – then it would be of interest to Bookhounds and Megapolisomancers alike.
Incidentally there’s all kinds of stories about death on the toilet, from peculiar spiders crawling up the dunny to the legendary (and all too hideous) Erfurt Latrine Disaster. Birth on the toilet too; as Liza Picard notes, there are several instances of babies being found abandoned in toilets and brought up by the Church.
All of which leads to:
The House That Is (And Isn’t) There
Freddy ‘Inkwell’ Rummage, a notoriously sticky-fingered book scout, has lost a commission. Or at least that’s his story and he’s sticking to it.
According to Inkwell he picked up a rather choice copy of [insert interesting text] and was on his way to the Hounds’ shop to negotiate a price when he was accosted by some Rough Lads who wanted a word with him about unpaid gambling debts.
Inkwell was about to give himself up for lost when he saw a public convenience. Thinking to outwit, or at least outlast, the Rough Lads, Inkwell nipped in and found himself in a very peculiar hiding place.
It was, says Inkwell, a very long and remarkably smelly convenience, with holes rather than the more comfortable compartments he’s used to. He had the feeling there was someone else in there with him but saw no one.
After waiting what seemed like a short enough time Inkwell risked an escape, only to discover that it was midmorning of the next day! Moreover he no longer had the valuable package; Inkwell thinks he must have put it down for a moment and never picked it up again.
Preliminary investigation suggests that wherever this place is it’s somewhere in Cheapside, but exactly where is anyone’s guess.
Options:
- The grimoire is protected by [something] and it was that [something] that opened a temporary hole in space & time. However, the grimoire is now stuck in that alternate dimension until someone comes to collect it. A Hound roaming Cheapside at the same hour of night that Inkwell got himself into trouble might find their way into the Longhouse.
- Inkwell stumbled onto a long-forgotten secret Fane, protected by Isis and her servants, the cats of London. The real prize is upstairs, in the Almshouse, where Isis keeps a kind of temple – or at least her cats do. Some megapolisomancers know about this secret haven.
- Inkwell stumbled into a Haunting and while he was able to get away with his life others might not be so lucky. By leaving that book behind Inkwell inadvertently created a kind of link that allows the Haunting greater power/longevity than usual. So long as that book is there, the link to the Longhouse is open …
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