When Plum bing Freezes

Press, Volume CII, Issue 30043, 30 January 1963, Page 2

When Plum bing Freezes

WINDSOR, Berks,

Our great - grandparents must be having the laugh over us this winter. For they knew how to live in a house without running water. For the many thousands of British housewives who are frozen up in this bitter weather, it is a new, and not altogether enjoyable, experience.

It is not until the pipes are burst or frozen and the tap* are dry, that one realises how many gallons of water are pouted drily down the sinks and lavatories of an average home.

Our troubles started early on a Saturday morning. We had had the bath outlet freeze several times before that, but it was a minor crisis compared with the raging floods that greeted us when we stumbled downstairs to see what all the noise was about. The kitchen of the downstairs flat was an icy pond, growing steadily deeper as water poured from the ceiling. The occupant of the flat above was already at work. Nobody knew where the mains valve was situated.

Fortunately the plumber, who arrived a short time Later, had a fair idea, and after hacking away the several inches of ice outside the front gate, uncovered the iron lid. It was frozen very firmly into place with many more inches of ice between it and the precious valve. Eventually it was uncovered, the water ceased to flow, and the plumber departed. When the young man in whose flat the trouble had started arrived home about midday, we had cleared up most of the water below and sent in all the beaters we could find to dry it out Upstairs only a suspicious dampness about the bath, which was filled with solid chunks of ice. gave a clue to the source of the water. Down on our knees we went and up came the floorboards. Under the floor right under

the bath, the broken pipe was found.

The next problem was to find a plumber to mend it. “Oh, no, love,” they said, “we couldn’t possibly let you have one before Monday. They are up to their eyes already.” And on Monday the story was, “Oh, no, they are all round at the schools, trying to get them ready for the children to go back.” All over the country plumbers have been working 18 hours a day and sometimes even longer, trying to keep pace with the pressing demands. In the meantime we borrowed buckets of water from a neighbour and began teaching ourselves the oldfashioned methods of domestic hygiene. But the days ot the night-cart and the lavatory outside are gone here, and a bucket of water has not the same effect as the swish of the cistern. The old hip-bath and the open fire have been superseded,

and a small plastic washingup bowl and a heater are a messy substitute. The dishes piled up in the sink, and the fewer the utensils used the more popular was the cook. When the dishes and saucepans at last ran out, kettles would be boiled, and a fresh start was made.

Ait last the plumber arrived, the break was mended, and the water restored. The lavatory, when the iced-up cistern had been thawed, was triumphantly flushed. But we still have no bath, and the one remaining outlet, from the kitchen sink, spurts out from the side of the house and falls in a frozen river all over the path. Its drainpipe is a solid mas* of ice.

Heaters, kept on all night, are still fighting’ a losing battle with the lavatory and the cold water tank, both of which are gradually freezing up. The ice on the windows and even on some of the inside walls - gets thicker every day.

Perhaps one day the spring will come. But in the meantime I am planning my dream house of the future. It will have central heating, double glazed windows—and unfreezeable plumbing.

(By MAUREEN EPPSTEIN, a New Zealand journalist formerly on the staff of "The Press," who left last year with her husband to visit Britain and Europe.]