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Rich aussie culture and the dunny man

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

One of Queensland’s last night soil heroes, Blondie Barnham, pictured, in a professional pose at Mt Morgan, Central Queensland.

The humble dunny cart driver may be a casualty of the 20th century however this resilient cove gave us culture by the cartful.

Dunny men had, for their daily fare, what could only be described as a plumber’s worst nightmare. Their job involved clamping a lid on each toilet tin to avoid spillage. But if it was too full, stuff would spill on our hero’s shoulder, whereupon the toilet can rested. Rusted and leaky tins added to the problem.

Most had the sense to wear an old sack bag or leather apron over their shoulders for protection.

Some upper crust Aussies called it the “night soil service.” The collector usually called nocturnally.

In the old days many school students grew up with this dire warning ringing in their ears: “study hard lest you grow up to drive the local dunny cart.” Today the anti-discrimination board would take a dim view because we have laws to protect reputations. Job security was a strong point. These men were usually well paid but nobody ever wanted to take a dunny man’s job.

Dread at Xmas time

Dunny men were good natured but this was sometimes stretched to the limit around Christmas time.

Around this time they humped their loads to the sound of parties and merriment. A simple donation of Christmas cheer however was sure to remove this feeling of missing out but it didn’t always happen.

Queenslander, Rosemary Connelly, remembers growing up in the Newcastle suburb of Tingara Heights where the dunny cart driver was both feared and revered.

Just three years after the Americans put an astronaut on the moon, residents warned their new neighbours that there were consequences for not leaving Christmas beer for Dan the “sano” man. One year the Connolly family foolishly forgot the beer and for the following six months, Dan found enough leaky cans to remind the Connolly family that they should be generous to the dunny man at Xmas time.

Can’t visit Rosemary cause her dunny stinks

Imagine your playmates saying, “we can’t visit Rosemary cause her dunny stinks.”

No child could bear the shame two years in a row.

Some old timers can relate their fear of dingoes, snakes, red back spiders and the unknown to nightmarish treks out to a darkened backyard outhouse. City kids were sometimes traumatised when nature called them to the thunderbox, in the dead of night. I must confess I helped traumatise my more snooty visitors. One night when one snobby visitor settled on the thunderbox my brother and I decamped, blew out the lantern and hurled rocks at the dunny. It was in wintertime and the dingos momentarily stopped howling in the back paddock while we carried out this solemn ritual.

Revenge in Croydon

Len West from Mossman tells about his Granduncle named Tas who lived, before WW2, along with the rest of the family, in Croydon on the goldfields in the Gulf.

Down the road a bit lived a cranky chap who used to give this lad and his friends a shotgun blast of rock salt when he caught them stealing his fruit.

So one day the boys got together and decided it was time for payback.
The old bloke used to wander out to the “longdrop” in the backyard whilst reading his morning paper.
The longdrop was a hole about four metres deep, with the thunderbox and outhouse parked on top.

Budding engineers, the boys put poles under the outhouse and moved it backwards by a metre, not unlike an ancient pharoah being carried on the throne.

As usual, old cranky came out in the early morning to ease nature, reading his paper as he walked, while birds whistled in yonder trees.

Yep you guessed it. He fell into a hole about four metres deep.

A true thunderbox

The same uncle Tas, with his young mates, tried their hands at the American practice of trick or treat.
One old gold miner named Jones was so nasty when called on that they decided on the trick of placing a small piece of their dad’s gelignite with detonator and fuse, under the back of the dunny. Cranky Jones wandered out to the toilet, sat down to relieve himself and on cue, lit up his pipe.

The boys lit the fuse and ran back to their homes.

Australians have always affectionately named the toilet box the thunderbox.

That day it became a true thunderbox as the gelignite went WHOOOMPF!!!!
Pieces of toilet went in all directions and the eruption spread “lava” around liberally.

A bloke called Dave was first on the scene and found Jonesy was lying stark naked, with his clothes blown completely off, covered in brown stuff and with 1st & 2nd degree burns.

“Strewth Dave, I was sure that match was out when I threw it down the hole,” said cranky Jones.

For years Tas kept quiet about that incident.

more applause than for a royal visit

Over the years many travellers have experienced stress when they waited in vain for an outhouse to appear on the horizon. This happened to my mate Bill when he drove to the big smoke, Brisbane, some years ago.

Unfamiliar with city life, he parked his car and family beside a steep railway cutting on the city’s outskirts and slid down the slope to placate a cranky bowel.

Bill was just starting to feel relief when a suburban train loaded with passengers rounded the bend. Its driver saw his plight and generously tooted the whistle. The Queen would not have drawn more applause, had she visited Rockhampton.
Instinct turned Bill into a geologist, prompting a close study of ballast rock, until the coast was clear.

Turkey of an idea

CQ real estate salesman, John McKenzie, recalled that one year his Uncle, a police sergeant locked a live turkey in the outside toilet so that early the next morning he could dispatch it for Christmas dinner.

A delighted dunny man came very early, serviced the thunder box and went off to prepare the bird for his family.

Not even the burly policeman had the courage to ask for the turkey to be returned.

You never upset the dunny man.

When I was young, you sensed that the dunny man was a folk hero, taking away all of life’s wastes. Lets not waste the opportunity to remember this cultured cove.

(Sanderson Media's breezy writing style and great images can get your message out to the world) contact john@sanderson-media.com

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