I`ll do my best to pass on this story to you and make apology now for the ghosts that it may awaken in the troubled minds and sometimes stomachs, of some of the veterans who had to visit these wretched places on a daily basis.
Let us start with the construction of these engineering marvels. They were constructed by the Royal Australian Corps of Engineers, a truly dedicated team of professionals, following and strictly adhering to a stringent set of guidelines, as laid down in the Australian Army's, Field Hygiene Manual. Now, as we are all aware, even the best laid plan can sometimes go astray.
The toilet blocks started life as a flat section of ground in a disused rubber plantation, basking in the sometimes shaded tropical sun, or being cooled by the gentle rainfall that was not infrequent in this region. Someone, probably an officer, decided that this would be the ideal place to construct a "shit pit" and work began. A trench, roughly four feet wide, twenty feet long and twenty feet deep was dug with the aid of a back hoe. A concrete slab with up to eight, two feet diameter holes were left in this slab at strategic points. I can only assume that the holes were placed to best capture the scenery, or perhaps the morning sun. Toilet seats or "canopies", were placed over the holes and a structure of wood and a roof of corrugated iron protected the user from rain and falling branches. Walls were erected, but I can only assume that the "wharfies" had refused to load our supplies again and there was a shortage of raw materials, because the walls only reached a height of some four feet. Fly screen filled the rest of the gap up to the roof line, but not so with the doorway. The officers section was at one end and consisted of two canopies, with a partition between them and the enlisted men. Sergeants and Other Ranks could sit on the seat of their choice and either, have a friendly chat, swap war stories or magazines if they were available, all the time attending to that "call of mother nature".
Now it wouldn`t take a rocket scientist to figure out the inherent problem with these fine structures, nor did it take long for the big, bottle green blowflies to find this treasure trove of culinary delights. They were there in abundance and seemed to resist every method to move them to "greener pastures".
The army employed a team of highly trained soldiers called the Hygiene Squad, invaluable to the operation and healthy well being of the Australian base. Soldiers, having a penchant for nick names quickly seized the moment and these hard working troops will, forever, be known as "The Blowflies". Now, I must mention here, that I, having frequented many an RSL and hotel over the years, have heard countless ex servicemen extol the virtues of their service to our fine country. But, I have never heard any man speak with pride, of being a member of "the Blowfly Squad". These guys would have seen the horror of these dunnies on a daily basis and it is beyond me how they survived such hazardous duty.
The earliest method of ridding the structures of flies was to simply spread hydrated lime over the seething mass, that thankfully, was hidden from the view of all but the fool hardy. A quick failure was followed by yet another method. Some one came up with the brilliant idea, that if diesel and petrol were mixed at just the right ratio, poured into the holes and ignited, the resultant explosion would not only singe the wings off the live "blowies" but would also cremate the layer of maggots that swam blissfully in the mire. Not all soldiers are on an equal footing when it comes to brains. I suggest that some were actually on holidays when God handed them out, so there, I suggest, is the reason that some soldiers became members of this illustrious squad.
Imagine, if you will, the lowly private, who listens to the instruction of the hygiene corporal, as he explains that the mixture should be exactly three parts diesel to one part of petrol. Should be well mixed, poured into the holes in equal quantities and ignited, with minimal delay, using a lighted taper, carefully constructed from toilet paper or any other available material. A practical demonstration was probably given on the first day, but on the second, the "digger" was "on his own". Now, the next morning, with a brain even more damaged from consuming too much American beer at the boozer the night before, the lowly digger tries to remember the instruction given to him yesterday. Three parts petrol and one part diesel, tip it in the hole and chuck in a match. Yeh, she'll be right. Imagine how distressed he would have been to discover, after pouring this volatile concoction into the hole, that he had no matches and would have to walk back to his tent to get some and return to complete the gruesome task. A trek made even longer by the near forty degree temperature of the mid morning sun. Standing over the open hole and ensuring that the other canopies were not occupied, the digger lit a book match and dropped it in. The resultant explosion saw a great plume of flame and deceased flies, fly upward and strike the roof of that fine structure with sufficient force to dislodge the entire roof from it`s supporting posts. The digger did not have to worry about trimming his moustache for some time and his eyebrows did eventually grow back.
Another failure called for another method. Smoke grenades, simple, safe and effective, for all but the unwary. It was not uncommon for the hygiene diggers, to not bother checking the officer's end of these latrines. That meant a walk of some ten metres and that was just too hard. This particular digger simply pulled the pins from three red smoke grenades, threw them into the holes, shut the lid and walked away. The grenades landed and submerged quickly and gave no cause for concern to the young Lieutenant, sitting and reading, taking care of business on his way to the showers. He was blissfully unaware, as he strolled casually to the shower, naked except for his boots and the towel over his shoulder, that he had just acquired a red butt that would surely make the baboons of Taronga zoo stand up and take notice. Shortly after this incident, the order was given that lime was the answer and I wonder if the whole cycle started all over again.
I add here, that I was not a member of this squad, but am quite sure that life was made just a little bit easier by their dedication to duty. My hat is off to you all. I did a few dirty jobs over there, but none can compare to the dunnies of Nui Dat.
[
Sign my
Guestbook]
- [Read
my Guestbook
]
[Guestbook by TheGuestBook.com]