You OLD people would know all about these

They were funny looking buildings, that were once a way of life,
If you couldn't sprint the distance, then you really were in strife.

They were nailed, they were wired, but were mostly falling down,
There was one in every yard, in every house, in every town.

They were given many names, some were even funny,

But to most of us, we knew them as the outhouse or the dunny.

I've seen some of them all gussied up, with painted doors and all,

But it really made no difference, they were just a port of call.

Now my old man would take a bet, he'd lay an even pound,

That you wouldn't make the dunny with them turkeys hangin' round.

They had so many uses, these buildings out the back,"

You could even hide from mother, so you wouldn't get the strap.

That's why we had good cricketers, never mind the bumps,

We used the pathway for the wicket and the dunny door for stumps.

Now my old man would sit for hours, the smell would rot your socks,

He read the daily back to front in that good old thunderbox.

And if by chance that nature called sometime through the night,

You always sent the dog in first, for there was no flamin' light.

And the dunny seemed to be the place where crawlies liked to hide,

But never ever showed themselves until you sat inside.

There was no such thing as Sorbent, no tissues there at all,

Just squares of well read newspaper, a hangin' on the wall.

If you had some friendly neighbours, as neighbours sometimes are,

You could sit and chat to them, if you left the door ajar.

When suddenly you got the urge, and down the track you fled,

Then of course the magpies were there to peck you on your head.
Then the time there was a wet, the rain it never stopped,
If you had an urgent call, you ran between the drops.

The dunny man came once a week, to these buildings out the back,

And he would leave an extra can, if you left for him a zac.
For those of you who've no idea what I mean by a zac,
Then you're too young to have ever had, a dunny out the back.

Note: A Zac is sixpence...now 5 cents in Australia

very good. Ive been in plenty of long drops but are to young for the night cart memories.

Memories, like the stink that lingers on , multi coloured mem..........

My grand parents had the dunny man coming around until 1975, the room then became a "tool" shed of sorts.

I remember well the visit from the "night cart"...and the swearing and cursing of the guy who tripped with a full pan on his shoulder.

All that disappeared when the sewerage line came through...end of an era. It just wasn't the same when my brother, who wouldn't sit on the seat but always squatted, would slip and end up with one foot in about 6 inches of water rather than up over his knees when slipping into a near full pan. How can you get a good laugh out of someone with just a wet foot.`

I remember one of the jokes that circulated in those days..."What was the fastest vehicle on the road...the sh1t cart...it has 40 pisstins and flies".

Cheers, Vince

No fond memories of fighting yellow jackets and wasp, red and white corn cobs ,Spanish moss or sears roebuck catalogs.
every year we always dug a new pit (didn't do the can thing) always kept a bag of lime to sprinkle down the hole.

We still have them in some of the back wood hunting camps. At old camps they are an acquired right and can be kept, but all new camps sites must use a drainage field and flush toilets.

Was a time when a fellow lost 3 25cent pieces down the hole. He took out his wallet and tossed a couple of $20 bills after them. When asked by his buddy what he was doing he replied, " You don't think I am going down there for 75 cents?"