Holiday Plumbing

Surrounded by tall straight eucalypts, native shrubs and grasses stood the two sets of ablution blocks. They overlooked a small tea tree stained rocky creek which emptied, at times, into the Tasman Sea with its white foamed waves breaking on to the fine yellow sand of the beach. What a setting! They were the proverbial ‘dunnies’ with a view. Intertwined with the ‘dunny with a view’ is the story of two little girls during the late 1940’s and early 1950’s and the adventures they had with toileting while travelling to and holidaying at Kioloa.

Every Christmas, and sometimes through the year, dad and his brother Jack would pack the cars and trailers with tents and accessories, and the two families would head off to Kioloa, about one hundred miles south of Wollongong. It was a long and arduous journey in our little Ford Prefect and boredom for the two little girls in the back seat. They devised strategies for frequent stops along the way. In those days the first fifty miles to Nowra followed a twisted bitumen road. “Are we there yet Dad?” was an oft asked question which was often ignored or answered with a grunt. The next fifty miles were travelled on a dirt road with so much dust and so many potholes that the trip for the backseat passengers was miserable. “I feel sick, Dad”. “I need to go to the toilet, Dad” Begrudgingly, he would stop the car and say “Anyone else? Go now as I won’t stop the car again”. Needless to say, no one else ‘needed to go’ but after a half hour or so, the ‘need to go’ was voiced evoking much grumbling from father. But, the car was duly parked by the side of the road and the comfort stop proceeded.

Between Bateman’s Bay and Ulladulla, Kioloa was accessed by a track winding itself around trees and lagoons for about ten miles, and even on that track, dad’s wrath could be stirred up by our ‘need to go’. An enraged dad would yell “Stone the crows! Can’t you wait till we get there? You kids would try the patience of a saint. We have only ten miles to go” and again, the car was stopped for a roadside toilet. Once we arrived at our usual camping spot, mum would make her bee line dash to the toilets.

Mum hated the toilets. Firstly, she hated even the thought of pit toilets but secondly, she hated snakes even more. She was paranoid about snakes. She imagined every snake to be in hiding, just waiting for her, and only her, as she walked to the toilets. Once inside, she was no happier as she always envisioned a red bellied black snake attacking her once she was enthroned. She never shut the door as she was always prepared for the quick getaway. “Shut the door, Mum” we would yell. “It’s OK kids, only women use this toilet. They are no different from you or me and what’s more, they have seen it all before.” she would reply matter of factly.

A concrete base enclosed the pit. The walls and roof were made of corrugated iron. Each block contained three cubicles with a half wooden door for privacy. There was ventilation space between the concrete block and the walls as well as a space between the walls and roof. They were freezing cold in winter, allowing the westerly winds to blow onto little exposed bottoms, or they were hot and smelly in summer. Both seasons did not allow for much lingering.

The children also had worries about the toilet. The walls and ceiling were festooned with spider webs and there were myriads of creepy crawly creatures such as threatening bull ants making their home in this unsavoury environment. The girls would gingerly lift the toilet seat to inspect for spiders, and not like what they viewed. They never found anything sinister except for the blowflies and insects that frequented the place. The girls were also scared that the toilet would collapse under their weight and that they would be engulfed, buried or entombed in such a place and no one would know of their plight.

Night visits also posed many a problem. Mum didn’t really want to accompany a small child’s call to nature. Snakes were always lying in wait for her, even at night. The girls always had to accompany each other to the toilet. So, armed with a torch, the girls would nervously venture towards the toilet. Not only night noises of animals and birds would scare and alarm them, but their naughty cousins, boys of course, would follow them at a distance to throw sticks onto the roof or to make ghost sounds once the girls were ensconced inside so that they would scream and cry. This delighted the boys. Of course, the parents were disturbed from their game of cards and dad would have to escort the girls back to the safety of the tent, grumbling as he did so. The boys, suppressing their mirth and giggles, would make a quick dash back to the tent knowing that there would be trouble for them on their return. They felt that the pleasure of frightening the girls far out weighed the fear of punishment.

The children spent most days playing or fishing in the creek under the watchful supervision of two mothers from chairs outside the tents. Children, being children, would always leave the call of nature until the last moment and then there would be a mad dash, grabbing toilet paper on the way. “Watch out for snakes” the mothers would call. Somehow or other the children always made it in time despite having to run through our mother’s imagined seething mass of snakes. Uncle Jack was somewhat tarred with the same brush as the children and he would leave his run too late. Much to the disgust of dad, uncle would drive his car to the toilet a distance of only several hundred yards. “Lazy so and so” dad would say under his breath.

The toilets were a place well frequented by the two families. However, the setting was never fully appreciated and the view unnoticed as most people had other thoughts on their minds. Sixty years on, the toilet blocks no longer dwell on that site. The toilet block and the camping area are now part of the Murramarang National Park preserved for the protection of native fauna and flora and for people to enjoy. Modern toilet blocks are tucked away from the coastal fringe of Kioloa in a caravan park. Tiles have replaced the corrugated iron, sewerage has replaced the pits and now showers and baths with hot and cold running water are the norm for mainstream holiday living. They may be more aesthetically pleasing, but are not half the fun of my childhood memories.