I keep happening upon other people’s memories of outdoor toilets. Well, anything to spark a post, I suppose. I have lived in only one house that had an outdoor dunny, although it really was a ‘dunny-lite’ experience, as it was hooked up to plumbing.
This ‘convenience’ had a wooden door, and was riddled with ivy that broke in under the roof, and gave the small space a greenish light. In summer, huntsman spiders skittered along the warm, brick walls and caused no end of anxiety. They liked to sit on the back of the door. When the door was closed, you were left face to face, and wondering how you’d find the courage to reach past them to open the latch. Happy days.
To visit this toilet meant a sprint across a concrete yard, and under the hills hoist (metal, creaking, spinning washing-line). Late at night was the worst.
I remember one particular evening, it must have been about 2.00am, and we had come back from somewhere or other and were too wide awake to sleep. I was living in a shared household. There were four of us sharing, but on this night, only two of us were present. We were all young, not long out of home, and we loved to stay up late into the hot nights, talking, backdoor often wide open. The house was an unrenovated, double-fronted Victorian in an old inner-city suburb. A long house, a creaky, somewhat uncomfortable house.
On this night, I was facing the backdoor, reclining on a couch. I was talking but looking out through the backdoor and into the yard. I could see the angular shape and shadow of the hills hoist. I could see the dark edges of garden beds. I remember good visibility but high contrast in the light. The shadows were very dark.
As I was talking, laughing, I noticed a shadow moving along the edge of my vision. To me, this movement equalled a cat prowling, and many cats did visit our yard. The shadow looked small, stopped and started, and was gradually moving forward into the rectangle of light made by the open back door.
I remember becoming hooked onto that shadow, expecting a cat to appear at any moment. Not worried, just watching attentively. Quite suddenly, the shadow moved more decisively and grew large. Not a cat. A man had appeared at the back door.
He was wearing only a pair of footy shorts and probably runners. I say runners because we found tracks in the garden beds. He had dark hair and olive skin. Memory is funny though. Am I right? Did he look like that? He was illuminated by the electric light in the doorway. He stood at the single back step. I don’t think he lifted a foot to enter the house.
I had that moment where the eyes widen, that pause where you process, the gasp, the about to yell, the terrible moment.
He obviously wasn’t expecting me to be watching the door. Bad luck buster. He had been seen straight away. When he saw me, thankfully he bolted. We heard the heavy side gate slam, he was gone, and he was fast . He was gone before we had even sorted out a reaction.
I wanted to call the police, but strangely my friend felt differently. She thought perhaps he was, and I remember this, “passing through” the yard. I didn’t buy that, but we locked up the house, had a sleepless night, and thought in the light of day that it was in the past.
A week later, I wandered out for breakfast to find my friend distressed that the man had been back, and had looked through her window in the early hours of the morning. She had been awake, light on, and had heard the window vibrating, without any apparent cause. Walking up to the window, she had come face to face with him peering where her old blind was stuck in a bulge.
I was amazed she hadn’t woken any of us up. It seemed that this wasn’t going to go away. We went to the police station, and she told her story. I remember that the police officer taking the report was more interested in why she was awake in the early hours of the morning. That annoyed me. The only thing they could do was send a car the next night to drive down our street. It wasn’t terribly comforting.
After this we had to accompany each other on any late night trip to the outdoor dunny. I seem to remember saucepans being involved, bravado, holding my breath, sprinting. We recruited a male housemate to move in, and the situation seemed to improve.
I don’t know how long this man was visiting our yard, and that was always the worrying thing. You worry, that before he was detected, he was there at other times, hiding in the shadows, and considering his options. You think you would have known, sensed it, surely. You fear you didn’t.
I do know that going to the outdoor toilet late at night became a fraught experience. Never again! The next house, which wasn’t long after, had an indoor toilet. Oh, the serenity that provided.
