Leaks and pees How women allotment gardeners manage bodily mess and the remains of early loss

Suzie has had an allotment for a couple of years now. Her current plot is on a large allotment site in the north of England, and it’s here that she grows an array of plants, flowers, vegetables and fruits. A key component missing from her allotment site is an easily accessible toilet – the one here is only open a few hours a week, alongside the allotment shop.

Because of this, and because she doesn’t live near her plot, Suzie has had to develop her own ways to manage her bladder and period at her allotment. Today, with British society built upon the modern sewerage system, the reality for Suzie lies in an everyday medium-sized grey bucket, a pack of wipes, and a bottle of water.

We know that bodies are messy. Many bodies experience the mess of society: of sexism, of prejudice, of exclusion, of invisibility, of power, of risk. All of us live, too, with the physical mess of the body: blood, sweat, discharge, semen, tears. Some of this is welcomed. But some of it, such as menstrual blood, is seen as dirty and abject: what feminist philosopher Julia Kristeva describes as “ejected beyond the scope of the possible, the tolerable, the thinkable”.

For those who menstruate and give birth, existing with their bleeding, leaking bodies in our patriarchal society can be messy. Tensions here can develop between society and these bodies, leaving people to pick up the dirty pieces and find their own solutions to problems they encounter simply because they are human.

In my work exploring how allotments are gendered spaces, the participants – cis and trans women – discussed at length the reality of their experiences and how toilets are missing from many of their allotments. Most do not live locally to their plots, and the dearth of toilet facilities can quickly become a very real and impractical inconvenience.

In lieu of a loo

Our conversations highlighted that the paucity of toilets at allotments forces women to develop their own ways to tend to themselves, in a manner that is private and appropriate, but is often messy. Some have become creative in their methods: Annie, ironically, buys a coffee and uses a local cafe’s toilet, while Lizzie has built her own (very impressive!) composting cubicle.

For others, it’s much more rudimentary. Mary and Oakley have no choice but to use hidden spots on their open plots, concealed by hedges or fences, whereas Suzie, Wanna and Fauna all use dedicated trugs and buckets, either in their tiny sheds or behind greenery on their open allotments.

This isn’t for everyone, though. Perhaps most obviously, there’s the risk of interruption and vulnerable exposure. Toilets are more than places to relieve oneself – they are private spaces imbued with meaning. They allow for rituals, intimate hygiene, privacy and relief; they are important places both for the body’s everyday maintenance as well as spaces for cloistered and, sometimes, secretive behaviour.

Privy counsel

They are private spaces, too, where people might enact their gender, and which, as sociologist Phillippa Wiseman (2019) says, help many “to belong, to feel included, valued, and of worth”. Look to the late-night women’s toilet, where fleeting yet important bonds emerge through giving a compliment, advice – or simply a tampon.

Then there’s the reality of not having a physical toilet itself. While many urinate directly on the floor or empty their trugs on the compost, being faced so closely with their bodily excretion can make some feel uncomfortable and dirty. Then there’s the subsequent missing elements we take for granted. Toilet paper likely isn’t available, and a quick rinse in the cold rainwater butt is the only real handwashing option – especially if they don’t have any hand sanitiser.

Although weeing in a bucket or bush or using a cafe's toilet may not be ideal for everyone, for many it’s the best substitute. The alternative, as Annie highlighted, is “to piss myself, which is a cheap option…but…less than ideal!”

A matter of menses

Menstruating bodies need bathrooms. The process of menstruation entails specific needs and requirements, including sanitary bins for soiled products; toilet paper for blood, clots and body tissue; and warm water and soap for often messy, bloodied hands.

Sometimes, when menstruating bodies cannot access toilet facilities, the individual is left with the challenging task of managing their own menses and mess. This is particularly important when we consider menstrual etiquette, whereby hegemony teaches us that periods are to be managed discreetly and silently. As an allotment gardener, Suzie must equip herself to manage her period at her plot. A heavy bleeder, she’s found a reusable menstrual cup the most effective – but sometimes she just really needs a toilet.

In lieu of one, she uses a bucket. She also makes sure she has hand sanitiser, wipes and a bottle of water to wash her menstrual cup and hands. For her, it is deeply inconvenient that there is no toilet, and while she doesn’t enjoy dealing with her period surrounded by privet on the earthy, open allotment, she accepts that she must – otherwise she is excluded from her plot every month. Simply put: what choice does she have?

Pregnancy loss

Ettie also has no toilet at her allotment. As it is also situated in the north of England and has a profoundly older male population of users, toilets aren’t something that have been given much thought. As a woman who menstruates, Ettie expressed how this was problematic. Unsurprisingly, this was exacerbated during her time of early miscarriage, with associated extensive heavy bleeding.

Again, not living close to her plot means that when Ettie needs the toilet, she uses a concealed corner that stores garden detritus.

As for many people, the allotment is an important space for Ettie, providing solace and tranquillity. During her third miscarriage, she deeply wanted to visit her site – to find some comfort among her flowers and plants – but the lack of toilets posed a problem. Not wanting to be denied access, Ettie persevered. She described what she was faced with: “…you know…there was parts of tissue coming away and I’d have to put it on the floor…”.

Here, our conversation around the paucity of toilets at the allotments goes beyond the more everyday uses of toilets and menstruation. Miscarriage is an experience that is silenced more than periods, yet the physical experience of this loss can be psychologically detrimental, physically messy, and altogether deeply distressing.

Indisputably, toilets are integral to this time. As Ettie described, toilet spaces during early miscarriage are places where “you’re sanitary, you don’t feel dirty, you don’t feel guilty, it’s part of a normal process”. More than this, toilets can work to provide a level of literal and psychological distance from bodily eliminations, including the experience and the bloody mess of miscarriage.

When met with this experience without a toilet, women are faced much more literally with the physical parts of early miscarriage – the blood, the tissue, the clots – than if they had a readily available lavatory. Moreover, they must then make a very conscious, deliberate choice of what to do with these physical elements – tissues? cells? embryo? baby? – of the loss.

Should they dispose of the miscarriage, or do they need to do something else? This bodily loss and handling of matter can then become as complex as the flush of the toilet whose bowl holds the blood and tissue of miscarriage. In this way, women can feel much more than the corporeal blood of their loss on their hands.

Shock to the cistern

We can think of toilet spaces as banal: ordinary and ubiquitous in our everyday lives. Yet some public spaces – including allotments – lack these vital amenities. Disability studies, such as those by sociologists Lauren White and Phillippa Wiseman, highlight that missing toilet facilities in urban spaces is a long-standing issue: one that, despite its importance, is often ignored and instead marred with shame and unease, rather than being talked about openly and honestly.

We need to discuss what it means when society reproduces patriarchal norms and the archaic gender binary by actively ignoring bleeding, excreting bodies. Moreover, we need to talk about the burden placed on these leaking, bursting bodies.

Non-patriarchal bodies that can experience menstruation, pregnancy and miscarriage are often forgotten and invisibilised by our wider societal hierarchy. We must, therefore, find a way to speak about the difficulties that come with developing the personal ways and means required by some people to exist in toiletlessplaces such as allotments. Ultimately, all bodies should be afforded a place to pee (or menstruate, or miscarry…) in peace, and in private. Now is the time to start talking about it.