Hawkhurst-Kent: Elizabethan Shower - Sept 2012
We have stayed at various hotels of all shapes and sizes over the years. One that stays in mind was a hotel in Kent on one of our rare holidays in the UK.
The M25 was hardly moving as we approached from the west on our way back from my cousin K , and as we had time we left the M4
somewhere after Reading, headed for Aldershot and then east, grazing Dorking, East Grinstead, Royal Tunbridge Wells (RTW), where I hadn’t been for years, decades even, just can’t remember when.
Anyway after RTW I started to listen to the navi again. I had ignored her up to then, she always wanted to use the M25, the navi took us down the A21 direction to Hurst Green and then up to Hawkhurst. The trip was a little tiring as driver, but H got to see lots of scenery especially in RTW as I was following signs and not the navi (she was in shut up mode - the navi not H) we therefore ended up seeing some roads from both directions before being allowed to leave town.
In E. Grinstead I think we added a 3rd. dimension to all the crisscrossing, using old stone bridges.
We found the hotel ok. We picked it as it was not far from our selected “field locations” for the next day. I won’t say what it was called; only that the hotel is of Elizabethan 'descent' with the typical 'crazy house' interior design, giving you the feeling of being tipsy even before finding the house bar and ordering your first drink of the day.
The people were pleasant, the evening meal ok.
The room, well ...
I had mentioned on the phone, when confirming the booking, that we both had back problems and needed good mattresses (you can only try).
No problem, they said, they had just the right room for us.
Well ... I’m not sure if they understood me correctly but it turned out to be the so called 'honeymoon suite'!
[Ed: here the ‘bed’]
The mattress was ok, for the rest of the room I refuse to give a comment.
Not so for the bathroom, we were informed that the rooms were all newly renovated. Yes, we could confirm that with the smell of paint everywhere. Nobody seems to bother to remove the old paint beforehand anymore, although when I think about it, it’s probably the paint that’s holding it all together. The bathroom was no exception; the small window would only open with brute force and would not close completely again. This was due to not only the fresh paint but the countless other coats the window frame had to endure over the last century.
The next morning H wanted a shower, which meant I was to go on ahead and go through the motions and report back on the traps, temperature settings and timings ...
Sorry, but I must backtrack here a moment.
[Ed: here he goes again! I'm off for a cuppa.]
Do that...
Showering in hotels and B&B in England has always been adventurous. I can still hear, from way back, the curses (in German) issuing from the B&B bathroom when H was confronted for the first time with separate hot and cold taps.
I dared not go in and ask what was wrong until she had calmed down somewhat. She was totally dumbfounded at what she called the ‘primitive’ British plumbing system. She remarked that this can only be a one-off experience and that the next B&B (we were doing a tour of Devon at the time) could only be better. I didn’t have the heart to disillusion her at the time, it would come quick enough without me getting in the crossfire.
Well it did not get better and after two further days of scolding, freezing and swearing (at this point in a German even I didn't understand), I was given an ultimatum. Either come up with a solution or we would start for home immediately. I was getting that ‘look’ which meant she was deadly serious.
I must say that up to that point I had no problem with constantly twiddling taps while washing. I think it comes with the British passport or it’s in my Anglo-Saxon-Celtic genes. H being of Germanic decent was having none of it.
As we were walking around the local town window shopping H came to a sudden halt, almost pulling me of balance. We were in front of a hardware store.
She pointed though the window and said “What is that!?”.
In the window was something I had never seen before. After a while it clicked and I explained.
She looked at me and I nodded.
Without another word we went in and bought it.
That evening I knew our holiday was saved. She was more than just happy, she realised she could also wash her long hair over the bath with this ‘portable’ hand shower.
Over the next couple of decades this was one of the first things to be packed before heading for the UK.
[Ed: are we now back to the main reason for this post?]
Yep!
[Ed: then off to the ye olde shower and a good wish upon you!]
Taking a shower is somewhat like cracking a safe.
One expert look at the object taking in model, age, condition etc. gives you the modus operandi in how you will go about opening the safe or in the case of a shower, operate it successfully without having to seek out the local hospital for burn treatment.
With a safe, it’s slowly to the left while listening, then to the right etc.
For a shower it’s turn on the hot,
wait 5 seconds,
quickly grab the cold,
give it a half a turn,
observe while waiting for up to 15 seconds,
if still scolding then
add a bit of swearing and a
further quarter clockwise turn on the cold,
20 seconds of tolerable temperature ...
... followed by 15 seconds of rumbling,
splattering, coughing from the pipes due to air pockets,
then a sudden drop to sub-zero conditions for any further combinations of hot and cold tap settings.
At this point you press the reset button.
In other words turn everything off and start again.
Eventually you have the knack and can start to shower.
That is until someone upstairs has the same idea and you’re off once again twiddling taps and swearing at the top of your voice in any language you are comfortable with.
You get my gist?
I entered the bathroom.
It had a bath, as the name on the door suggested and as a second thought as with most British hotels of let’s say “the older generation”, a half-hearted attempt at a shower.
The Heath Robinson contraption before me was no exception, and by the look of it I would be adding a new combination sequence to my UK Shower Knowledgebase.
Protruding from behind the two taps was a vertical chrome pipe that supported a so-called shower head, which looked like it was a modified long street light casing (minus illumination). I cautiously climbed into the bath (no rubber foot mat or hand rail in sight) and could just about stretch up and get hold of the shower head.
I thought it would be adjustable as the angle was all wrong, but no such luck. I was now committed. Getting in and out of a bath is a problem with my legs and back the way they are.
There was a mini shower curtain that just about covered the first quarter length of the bath. My strategy for the day was to slowly try the hot and if needed bring up the cold. I hoped the cold would respond quickly and have enough pressure to hold out against, at this point in time, an unknown factor of hot.
So I turned on the hot, as usual cold at first, then a steep heat gradient with scolding imminent, I grabbed the cold and turned it for what it was worth. The shower head was as mentioned, a modified something, the angle was way too far from the horizontal (30 degrees plus) so that the spray was heading towards the other end of the bath making the shower curtain totally useless.
Not only that, but the spray was being evenly distributed into the room. About a third landed in the bath, a third directly onto the floor, the rest against the wall then running down between wall and bath onto the floor joining the rest.
Unfortunately the third that landed in the bath went quite literary 'over my head'. Mind you I was still getting wet; the shower head was directly over me and had another feature in that it was dripping profusely. I had to decide either to move in the direction of the water spray (at the other end of the bath) and away from the controls (not a good idea), or try and wash in a dribble that was slowly burning my head (again not a good idea).
I took another option; I turned off the water, stepped out of the bath making sure not to slip on the river now flowing under the door into the bedroom.
I dried myself off, making sure not to slip on the river flowing …
Opened the bathroom door, making sure not to slip on the river …
I glanced over at H sitting on the bed.
She was staring wide eyed at the river moving in her direction and asked “und?”
To which I replied, somewhat dryly now that I was finally dried off “don’t bother!”
I didn’t mention the river to the proprietor at breakfast. The maid would probably do that later or,
if mopping up every morning was part of her routine, probably not.
[Ed: here endeth the lesson in attempting to use ye olde Elizabethan shower.]
The M25 was hardly moving as we approached from the west on our way back from my cousin K , and as we had time we left the M4
somewhere after Reading, headed for Aldershot and then east, grazing Dorking, East Grinstead, Royal Tunbridge Wells (RTW), where I hadn’t been for years, decades even, just can’t remember when. Anyway after RTW I started to listen to the navi again. I had ignored her up to then, she always wanted to use the M25, the navi took us down the A21 direction to Hurst Green and then up to Hawkhurst. The trip was a little tiring as driver, but H got to see lots of scenery especially in RTW as I was following signs and not the navi (she was in shut up mode - the navi not H) we therefore ended up seeing some roads from both directions before being allowed to leave town.
In E. Grinstead I think we added a 3rd. dimension to all the crisscrossing, using old stone bridges.
We found the hotel ok. We picked it as it was not far from our selected “field locations” for the next day. I won’t say what it was called; only that the hotel is of Elizabethan 'descent' with the typical 'crazy house' interior design, giving you the feeling of being tipsy even before finding the house bar and ordering your first drink of the day.
The people were pleasant, the evening meal ok.
The room, well ...I had mentioned on the phone, when confirming the booking, that we both had back problems and needed good mattresses (you can only try).
No problem, they said, they had just the right room for us.
Well ... I’m not sure if they understood me correctly but it turned out to be the so called 'honeymoon suite'!
[Ed: here the ‘bed’]
The mattress was ok, for the rest of the room I refuse to give a comment.
Not so for the bathroom, we were informed that the rooms were all newly renovated. Yes, we could confirm that with the smell of paint everywhere. Nobody seems to bother to remove the old paint beforehand anymore, although when I think about it, it’s probably the paint that’s holding it all together. The bathroom was no exception; the small window would only open with brute force and would not close completely again. This was due to not only the fresh paint but the countless other coats the window frame had to endure over the last century.
The next morning H wanted a shower, which meant I was to go on ahead and go through the motions and report back on the traps, temperature settings and timings ...
Sorry, but I must backtrack here a moment.
[Ed: here he goes again! I'm off for a cuppa.]
Do that...
Showering in hotels and B&B in England has always been adventurous. I can still hear, from way back, the curses (in German) issuing from the B&B bathroom when H was confronted for the first time with separate hot and cold taps.
I dared not go in and ask what was wrong until she had calmed down somewhat. She was totally dumbfounded at what she called the ‘primitive’ British plumbing system. She remarked that this can only be a one-off experience and that the next B&B (we were doing a tour of Devon at the time) could only be better. I didn’t have the heart to disillusion her at the time, it would come quick enough without me getting in the crossfire.
Well it did not get better and after two further days of scolding, freezing and swearing (at this point in a German even I didn't understand), I was given an ultimatum. Either come up with a solution or we would start for home immediately. I was getting that ‘look’ which meant she was deadly serious.
I must say that up to that point I had no problem with constantly twiddling taps while washing. I think it comes with the British passport or it’s in my Anglo-Saxon-Celtic genes. H being of Germanic decent was having none of it.
As we were walking around the local town window shopping H came to a sudden halt, almost pulling me of balance. We were in front of a hardware store.
She pointed though the window and said “What is that!?”.
In the window was something I had never seen before. After a while it clicked and I explained.
She looked at me and I nodded.
Without another word we went in and bought it.
That evening I knew our holiday was saved. She was more than just happy, she realised she could also wash her long hair over the bath with this ‘portable’ hand shower.
Over the next couple of decades this was one of the first things to be packed before heading for the UK.
[Ed: are we now back to the main reason for this post?]
Yep!
[Ed: then off to the ye olde shower and a good wish upon you!]
Taking a shower is somewhat like cracking a safe.
One expert look at the object taking in model, age, condition etc. gives you the modus operandi in how you will go about opening the safe or in the case of a shower, operate it successfully without having to seek out the local hospital for burn treatment.
With a safe, it’s slowly to the left while listening, then to the right etc.
For a shower it’s turn on the hot,
wait 5 seconds,
quickly grab the cold,
give it a half a turn,
observe while waiting for up to 15 seconds,
if still scolding then
add a bit of swearing and a
further quarter clockwise turn on the cold,
20 seconds of tolerable temperature ...
... followed by 15 seconds of rumbling,
splattering, coughing from the pipes due to air pockets,
then a sudden drop to sub-zero conditions for any further combinations of hot and cold tap settings.
At this point you press the reset button.
In other words turn everything off and start again.
Eventually you have the knack and can start to shower.
That is until someone upstairs has the same idea and you’re off once again twiddling taps and swearing at the top of your voice in any language you are comfortable with.
You get my gist?
I entered the bathroom.
It had a bath, as the name on the door suggested and as a second thought as with most British hotels of let’s say “the older generation”, a half-hearted attempt at a shower.
The Heath Robinson contraption before me was no exception, and by the look of it I would be adding a new combination sequence to my UK Shower Knowledgebase.
Protruding from behind the two taps was a vertical chrome pipe that supported a so-called shower head, which looked like it was a modified long street light casing (minus illumination). I cautiously climbed into the bath (no rubber foot mat or hand rail in sight) and could just about stretch up and get hold of the shower head. I thought it would be adjustable as the angle was all wrong, but no such luck. I was now committed. Getting in and out of a bath is a problem with my legs and back the way they are.
There was a mini shower curtain that just about covered the first quarter length of the bath. My strategy for the day was to slowly try the hot and if needed bring up the cold. I hoped the cold would respond quickly and have enough pressure to hold out against, at this point in time, an unknown factor of hot.
So I turned on the hot, as usual cold at first, then a steep heat gradient with scolding imminent, I grabbed the cold and turned it for what it was worth. The shower head was as mentioned, a modified something, the angle was way too far from the horizontal (30 degrees plus) so that the spray was heading towards the other end of the bath making the shower curtain totally useless.
Not only that, but the spray was being evenly distributed into the room. About a third landed in the bath, a third directly onto the floor, the rest against the wall then running down between wall and bath onto the floor joining the rest.
Unfortunately the third that landed in the bath went quite literary 'over my head'. Mind you I was still getting wet; the shower head was directly over me and had another feature in that it was dripping profusely. I had to decide either to move in the direction of the water spray (at the other end of the bath) and away from the controls (not a good idea), or try and wash in a dribble that was slowly burning my head (again not a good idea).
I took another option; I turned off the water, stepped out of the bath making sure not to slip on the river now flowing under the door into the bedroom.
I dried myself off, making sure not to slip on the river flowing …
Opened the bathroom door, making sure not to slip on the river …
I glanced over at H sitting on the bed.
She was staring wide eyed at the river moving in her direction and asked “und?”
To which I replied, somewhat dryly now that I was finally dried off “don’t bother!”
I didn’t mention the river to the proprietor at breakfast. The maid would probably do that later or,
if mopping up every morning was part of her routine, probably not. [Ed: here endeth the lesson in attempting to use ye olde Elizabethan shower.]
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