There’s some of us calls em “privies”
Though in Potts Point or Vaucluse
They refer to them genteelly
In hushed accents just as “loos”
They are made of tin and canvas
Wheat bags tacked on to logs
And there’s one at Coober Pedy
That’s quite the prince of bogs
It is made of bark and saplings
With a polished mulga seat
It’s perched right on a mine shaft
Going down 300 feet
But foundations are essential
To ensure your peace of mind
And it ain’t inconsequential
Logs just can’t be any kind
Don’t just use soft wood bearers
But red gum or mountain ash
And calculate the long drop
To compensate for splash
Mick Roberts used pine bearers
Then came that fateful day
They busted in the middle
Mick slid in all the way
And site them facing eastward
To catch the morning breeze
Ah to sit there in the morning
While the sun slips up the trees
Of course there’s flies and redbacks
With brown snakes large and small
With a sense of rare adventure
When you answer nature’s call
It’s a shame their days are numbered
Since the septic and the sewer
And fair dinkum Aussie dunnies
Sad to say are getting fewer
Cause I can’t get used to toilets
Porcelain and chrome and glass
With sheets of shiny plastic
Far too chilly on the arse
And you can’t read rolls of paper
Like the catalogues of yore
I change mine every Christmas
On the string behind the door
In moods of rare reflection
In the cool out here with “Blue”
I remember with affection
All the dunnies I once knew
For the sight that moves me deeply
Just beside my back veranda
Is my dunny nestling sweetly
Underneath the Jacaranda.
Joan Bray of Kangaroo Valley Historical Society
Photo courtesy of The Shoalhaven and Nowra News
