Bootham Bar, Toilets
History: During the Victorian and Edwardian eras, public toilets (often referred to as "cottages") became discreet locations for men to meet other men for sexual encounters, as homosexuality was illegal and heavily persecuted in the UK. The toilets in each of the bar walls were known for being popular haunts for clandestine meetings, a practice that persisted well into the 21st century. These spaces often became crucial sites for those living under the threat of societal rejection and legal persecution. Despite the secrecy, they provided opportunities for men to explore their sexuality and form connections with others in similar circumstances. Though now a coffee shop, we can still see the entrance to the former Bootham Bar Toilets.
Ways Who Snickle Against Lost Time
Ghosts who haunt public toilets that aren’t on the high street anymore, for back alleys with warm palms exchanging a pound or two, knock-holes long since bricked up, unmarked graves each tethered shut for fear the demons shall escape & walk, a meagre tuppence for the company of a young lad to walk you home down by the riverfront there, only a moth-beaten overcoat between them and the stench off a passing tugboat, the early morning dew fresh on the grass, sodden into tweed and replaced by faerie dust generously sown between blades of grass & bluebells, the centuries for stalking the fog-laden streets and coughing suggestions under a breath that leaves no stain, a roman soldier only visible from the knees, the perfect height to tread on his skirt and gaze upon his six-inch sword, a gilded crack that runs the gamut of a china set, the tophats askew, a sullied memory that no-one attends, a semi-electric judas pushing a handcart of wares & lost souls, against the night, our prayers are answered with a prod, the writers & the poets come here to escape their monotony for a dirty weekender, a euphemistic drinking horn, drunk on each other’s tales of bloodshed, disease that runs amok in the footnotes of us, one archangel with a thousand yard-stare & claws that carry the unwilling to repent, here they all come to die again, for the right reasons this time, we must not walk no more, for the nights they will not have us, we are never safe here, the skeleton keys rattle in their doors, the antique bookstores keep our ancient thumbprints & pressed flowers through an age, bookended by terror, crushed by monosyllabic clauses in our constitution, we mourn ourselves, that chaste & rattle you hear in between the still, we’re still here.
Prompt
Stand near the site of the former public toilets, a place once hidden in the shadows but alive with secret encounters and unspoken desires. Close your eyes and imagine the sensation of waiting: the tension in your body, the awareness of being watched and of watching others. You meet the gaze of a stranger, did you meet their gaze or did they meet yours? Who broke the exchange first? Your body shivers with antici………………pation. Feel the sensation pulse your abdomen, the subtle flirtations exchanged through glances, gestures, or the brush of a hand. Allow yourself to inhabit this space of intimacy in public, yet cloaked in secrecy. Consider how your body feels—alert, alive, vulnerable. Stand as though you’re waiting for someone or something, but let your body respond naturally to the unspoken invitation.
In your writing, capture the thrill of an encounter not yet realised—the almost touch, the glance that lingers too long, the breath held in suspense. That interminable moment of waiting and hoping. How do you feel in this moment of longing? Who are you when you finally lock eyes with a stranger? What does it mean to seek connection in a place where you can be both visible and invisible? Conclude with a moment of encounter, whether imagined or real, and reflect on the risk and reward of revealing a part of yourself in such a place. Your last line is the first word spoken or sound made.