Hello to all following this topic:
Couldn't resist adding a trans-Atlantic perspective to the discussion. Here in the U.S. the occupation goes by the somewhat more poetic name of "honey dipper."
My father grew up in the 1930s in a small coal mining village in Pennsylvania with all the comforts of home except an indoor toilet. The privy was politely--and impolitely--called an outhouse (and though many might disagree it bears no relation to our White House). It stood at the back of the yard, as far from the residence as possible.
Back then, the miners' homes were owned by the coal company. The honey dipper, I believe, was a company employee. Having the weight of the company behind him allowed him to ply his trade openly, without fear of embarrassment or mockery, by the light of day, rather than under cover of darkness.
Every month or so he and his large horse-drawn cart could be heard clopping through the village alleyways. This gentleman in charge of discharge, as it were, would halt his cart next to a loo and employ a large scooping device, also called a honey dipper, to "carry out" his responsibilities. The wagon was outfitted with a large tank, and what he did with its contents at the end of the day, I cannot even begin to imagine.
Those backyard loos eventually fell into disuse--not from disaffection but because they were outlawed for health reasons. My dad's father was an Italian immigrant who was not one to squander a resource. To his mind the outhouse still had a usefulness that perhaps only he and the honey dipper could see. He planted a black walnut tree next to it, and that walnut tree, growing where it did and having such rich fertilizer so ready to hand, is now a towering behemoth. And fecund. Sixty years on the tree produces masses of wonderful walnuts. I'd love to say that I eat them, and that they have made me what I am. But I don't! And they haven't!
Cheers,
John