AuzeeSheila
New member
Hi all, it's me again!
Growing up in Brisbane in the fifties we only had outhouses, which were commonly known then, by all and sundry, as 'dunnies.' I haven't got a clue how that name evolved but it was probably something uniquely Australian. Even though most of Australia (cities and larger towns) has been sewered since the 60's, they are still known as, 'the dunny.' Aussie dunnies consisted of the usual wooden box seat with a hole in the top and a lid to keep the flies out. Inside the box was a 'can' which was removed once a week by men who worked on the 'dunny cart.' As children, we were often warned that, if we didn't study hard, we would grow up to be DUNNY MEN.
Now, in Melbourne, where we lived until '56, the door under the seat, that the dunny men changed the 'can' through, was inside the outhouse in front of the seat. Between the legs, so to speak. It was not unusual for someone 'caught short' to be sitting on the 'throne,' when the out-house door would be shoved open and a tussle would develop between the sittee and the dunny-man. There was also nothing more off-putting to getting the 'job' done, than knowing some strange man was outside waiting for one to finish, very aware that he would see ones face and know who was responsible for the last 'job'.
The dunny men always started their day, particularly in summer, before dawn, in hopes of tricking the flies which followed them all day long. So it became quite tricky trying to make natures call when one could hear the dunny cart stopping and starting in the next street. To keep the malodorous smell at bay, the council supplied a bottle of Phenyl to pour into the can, as and when needed.
When we came to Queensland, it was a nice surprise to find that the can door was in the back wall of the outhouse. One could sit in peace and even have the can changed under you, 'while you waited.' The dunny man would also leave a measure of sawdust, kept in a box beside the seat, to be sprinkled over jobs by scoop or whatever method the householder devised.
There were also the dreaded 'Redbacks' to be feared. Although I never saw one, my family lived in fear of finding a Redback spider (aka Black Widow) in, on, or under the seat of the dunny, or in the sawdust box. "One bite from this spider and you're dead," we were warned by our neighbours. This syndrome was made more fearsome when a favourite country singer had a hit song about, 'The Redback On The Toilet Seat.' Most kids I knew, after checking the seat was clear, would climb up onto the seat and squat over the hole, not game to hang any parts into the hole.
It was no wonder that most of the kids we knew would not go out to the dunny after dark. No-one had torches back then and a candle just didn't quite scare the dark away. It wasn't unusual to look out the window when all the lights were out to see the kid next door 'hanging out' around the bushes, before racing back inside.
I have since figured that, taking into consideration there were 4-8 children on average per household, once the flushing toilets were installed inside each house, the nightmare factor of each household would have been reduced by about 90%
Sheila.
Growing up in Brisbane in the fifties we only had outhouses, which were commonly known then, by all and sundry, as 'dunnies.' I haven't got a clue how that name evolved but it was probably something uniquely Australian. Even though most of Australia (cities and larger towns) has been sewered since the 60's, they are still known as, 'the dunny.' Aussie dunnies consisted of the usual wooden box seat with a hole in the top and a lid to keep the flies out. Inside the box was a 'can' which was removed once a week by men who worked on the 'dunny cart.' As children, we were often warned that, if we didn't study hard, we would grow up to be DUNNY MEN.
Now, in Melbourne, where we lived until '56, the door under the seat, that the dunny men changed the 'can' through, was inside the outhouse in front of the seat. Between the legs, so to speak. It was not unusual for someone 'caught short' to be sitting on the 'throne,' when the out-house door would be shoved open and a tussle would develop between the sittee and the dunny-man. There was also nothing more off-putting to getting the 'job' done, than knowing some strange man was outside waiting for one to finish, very aware that he would see ones face and know who was responsible for the last 'job'.
The dunny men always started their day, particularly in summer, before dawn, in hopes of tricking the flies which followed them all day long. So it became quite tricky trying to make natures call when one could hear the dunny cart stopping and starting in the next street. To keep the malodorous smell at bay, the council supplied a bottle of Phenyl to pour into the can, as and when needed.
When we came to Queensland, it was a nice surprise to find that the can door was in the back wall of the outhouse. One could sit in peace and even have the can changed under you, 'while you waited.' The dunny man would also leave a measure of sawdust, kept in a box beside the seat, to be sprinkled over jobs by scoop or whatever method the householder devised.
There were also the dreaded 'Redbacks' to be feared. Although I never saw one, my family lived in fear of finding a Redback spider (aka Black Widow) in, on, or under the seat of the dunny, or in the sawdust box. "One bite from this spider and you're dead," we were warned by our neighbours. This syndrome was made more fearsome when a favourite country singer had a hit song about, 'The Redback On The Toilet Seat.' Most kids I knew, after checking the seat was clear, would climb up onto the seat and squat over the hole, not game to hang any parts into the hole.
It was no wonder that most of the kids we knew would not go out to the dunny after dark. No-one had torches back then and a candle just didn't quite scare the dark away. It wasn't unusual to look out the window when all the lights were out to see the kid next door 'hanging out' around the bushes, before racing back inside.
I have since figured that, taking into consideration there were 4-8 children on average per household, once the flushing toilets were installed inside each house, the nightmare factor of each household would have been reduced by about 90%
Sheila.
Love your stories !........so glad you've joined us. 
They sure learned a lesson that night. That is some nasty stuff! They went in waste deep
