A Real Aust Poem

[Dot]

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

[Swisslulu]

Classic, Dot! I remember it well.


Cheers
Lesley

[T1 Terry]

Very good Dottie, is that one of your poems? I remember the outhouse at my grandparents house in Heathecote, Sydney, if you didn't leave him a gift at Christmas or over filled the can, he'd spill a bit right beside the back door
The last place we rented in Hoxton Park, another outer Sydney suburb, had a bury your own type can some where on the 10 acre block, it's a market garden now

[Macca]

No night cart where we were, either growing up or after married until I insisted that a septic be installed in 1971. Dad then BB used to dig the holes in the block of cane!
Remember the Lysol smell-yuk!
I can remember so many shotgun holes in the roof when I was growing up. One particular afternoon when I got home from school here is Mum in the toot yelling out to go back down the hill to get Noel (neighbours son) to come with gun. He shot snake while Mum still sitting