The Pool
The pool was an undeniable central meeting point of the White Horses Holiday Apartments. Smack bang in the middle of the block, it was a source of conversation, consternation, laughs, parties and plenty of emails from the real estate. The pool was so milky when the building was filled in October/November 2020 that no one really knew how deep it was. Eventually the water cleared but that didn’t mean the pool was any cleaner. It was host to kids, inflatable toys, hazard bunting, apparent mermaids and many, many dogs.
Siberian Huskies, Hungarian Vislas, French Bulldogs…aquatic canines from around the world.
The Phantom Shitter
A warning - there’s a disgusting image in this post…
There are many stories from the past that became known throughout the final months of the White Horses but none more intriguing - and disgusting - than ‘the phantom shitter’.
The White Horses ‘oracle’ also known as Ken popped past one night to regale us with one of his classic stories about the the building. Ken tells us he’s been ‘living in the building since 1965’ as his parents owned ‘16 apartments’ at one point and at another ‘his mother was the manager’. Now I can’t confirm how true any of this is as Ken won’t go on the record but he does LOVE a pop past chat. And these chats never failed to entertain.
The highlight for me, of all of the chats, was the night we learned about the phantom shitter.
Apparently, every Easter - either late Good Friday or Early Easter Saturday - someone would terrorise the White Horses Holiday Apartments. They would shit in the walkway between A1 and A2 and into the deep end of the pool.
The deep. end. of. the. pool.
And this went on for a roughly a 10 year period from the mid eighties to mid nineties…allegedly.
Now, leaving aside the fact there’s plenty that’s impressive about this; but shitting not once, but twice in public without being caught for about a decade is top of the list.
And then Ken revealed another amazing piece of trivia. He assured us this story was 100% true because he was living at the White Horses at the time…because his mother was the manager then.
Cleaning human poop from pool - the deep end no less - on the holiest of holy days, usually when everyone, even holiday apartment managers, gets to have a rest, feels especially vindictive…
The story caused a stir and many giggles among the team. “Who on earth would shit in the pool?” “why would someone do that” and “do you think it’s even true?”
And then the poops started to appear. Early one Sunday morning, going for coffees before an interviews with the party boys in B12, I almost stepped in shit in the northern alleyway. My first thought was “man these dog owners are REALLY getting on my grill” and thought nothing of it.
A week later, in the southern alleyway, near the infamous bin bay, I came across another poop during an early morning dash to the beach.
This one did NOT look like a dog did it and its shitty owner left it behind. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Could the it be true? Could the phantom shitter be terrorising the White Horses again?
After two more alleyway poops; yes, yes they could be. And I’ve never been happier to report that no poops were discovered in the deep end of the pool.
But the mystery was never solved. Who is the phantom shitter?
The Poem
White Horses by Rudyard Kipling
While there’s no official record of where the name of the building comes from with only a small amount of research it became apparent to lead artist Claire that Rudyard Kipling’s White Horses must have something to do with it.
The beauty. The ferocity. The Lament.
Where run your colts at pasture?
Where hide your mares to breed?
'Mid bergs about the Ice-cap
Or wove Sargasso weed;
By chartless reef and channel,
Or crafty coastwise bars,
But most the ocean-meadows
All purple to the stars!
Who holds the rein upon you?
The latest gale let free.
What meat is in your mangers?
The glut of all the sea.
'Twixt tide and tide's returning
Great store of newly dead, --
The bones of those that faced us,
And the hearts of those that fled.
Afar, off-shore and single,
Some stallion, rearing swift,
Neighs hungry for new fodder,
And calls us to the drift:
Then down the cloven ridges --
A million hooves unshod --
Break forth the mad White Horses
To seek their meat from God!
Girth-deep in hissing water
Our furious vanguard strains --
Through mist of mighty tramplings
Roll up the fore-blown manes --
A hundred leagues to leeward,
Ere yet the deep is stirred,
The groaning rollers carry
The coming of the herd!
Whose hand may grip your nostrils --
Your forelock who may hold?
E'en they that use the broads with us --
The riders bred and bold,
That spy upon our matings,
That rope us where we run --
They know the strong White Horses
From father unto son.
We breathe about their cradles,
We race their babes ashore,
We snuff against their thresholds,
We nuzzle at their door;
By day with stamping squadrons,
By night in whinnying droves,
Creep up the wise White Horses,
To call them from their loves.
And come they for your calling?
No wit of man may save.
They hear the loosed White Horses
Above their fathers' grave;
And, kin of those we crippled,
And, sons of those we slew,
Spur down the wild white riders
To school the herds anew.
What service have ye paid them,
Oh jealous steeds and strong?
Save we that throw their weaklings,
Is none dare work them wrong;
While thick around the homestead
Our snow-backed leaders graze --
A guard behind their plunder,
And a veil before their ways.
With march and counter marchings --
With weight of wheeling hosts --
Stray mob or bands embattled --
We ring the chosen coasts:
And, careless of our clamour
That bids the stranger fly,
At peace with our pickets
The wild white riders lie.
Trust ye that curdled hollows --
Trust ye the neighing wind --
Trust ye the moaning groundswell --
Our herds are close behind!
To bray your foeman's armies --
To chill and snap his sword --
Trust ye the wild White Horses,
The Horses of the Lord!