At Home in Brittany: Another Fine Mess in Brittany

Catching sight of a new, shiny, spotlessly clean septic tank (fosse-septic) being installed at a neighbour’s house recently, brought back vivid memories of what happened when the time came for us to empty ours.

It was only a year after we had settled into our country life when we were reliably informed by an expert (a farmer who had lived since time began in a nearby farm) that it was overdue for la vidange (emptying). As it transpired he was right.

The following morning in the bathroom the toilet refused to flush away its contents.

“It must be blocked,” my husband said throwing me an accusing look.

Later that day gloved and goggled he and our son approached the “very green area” at the rear of the house where the inspection lid was located. It was a very inopportune time to have a sanitary problem as my parent had chosen this particular moment to have a little holiday with us; preferably in contemplative tranquillity.

The lid was raised and the eyebrows too, “There isn’t any smell!” they said astonished but my husband noticed a white crusting lying on top of presumably the waste beneath.

“This crust must be the blockage,” stated my well informed son who until this moment had never come into contact with a septic tank in his life!

“Well if we remove it,” said my husband confidently, “it should work fine after that,” and handed the spade to our son.

Gingerly our son prodded the thick crust surface then prised off a portion and laid it on the ground beside him, then another, and another and then, “Aaarrgh!” and suddenly the overwhelming stench had been released.

We hurriedly retired indoors and reviewed the situation from the window of my parent’s bedroom. “Well it has to be done,” said my husband showing fighting spirit by tying a large woolly scarf around his face like a ninja turtle. Then in full battle dress father and son threw themselves into the fray.

My parents and I watched from behind the double glazing as shovel after shovel was loaded into a wheelbarrow and transported to a less offensive distance on the other side of the garden. We knew it was all over when our son suddenly collapsed on his knees to empty the remains of his dinner behind a convenient bush.

I would like to say things got better after that, but I can’t. The truth of the matter is our toilet still didn’t flush and the odour from the septic tank got worse. We began to suspect science was at the bottom of all this. (no pun intended)

We consulted a sage; a friend with a very big farm and more importantly a tractor. After counselling us on the doe’s and don’ts of a fosse septic we discovered one of the don’ts is don’t remove the crusting from the top of the tank. It is this ambiguous layer which restricts the escape of bad odours.

A week later (just before my parents were due to leave) we were once more stationed at their bedroom window. We watched as the tractor parked beside the tank and our wise neighbour expertly inserted a long pipe into the inspection hole; this was attached to a suction device which cleanly (and without any fuss or mess) removed any evidence of the offending material. *

That was the end of that we thought, as we flushed down the toilet; as we had been instructed to do, a catalyst to restart the biological action in the tank. Then loading my parent’s luggage into the back of the car we set off for the airport. On the way we caught sight of our helpful neighbour on his tractor with the waste container tank still attached, driving through the middle of one of his fields. He threw us a friendly wave flipped a switch and hey presto began fertilizing his field.

With hands over our mouths and noses we sped away without a backward glance at the mess we left behind.

*Please note: this incident occurred before the law in France came into force which now prohibits the local farmer from spreading human waste onto his land. It is also a requirement to have a septic tank emptied every four years by a licensed waste removal contractor.