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Cisterns and Septics
By Noel Downs (Gungal NSW)

“NO”, I said firmly! “It will not be happening”!
“But they are very clean and safe and efficient, and they are really enviro-friendly”.
“NO”! I said again a little more forcefully.
“But”, Christine continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “You wouldn’t even notice the difference, and there isn’t any smell”, extolling the virtues of a no flush eco toilet, “And the compost it creates could be used on the garden”!
Compost! Now there’s a name for turds, paper, sawdust and maggots! That really makes it so much nicer!
“NO”! I said, blood pressure rising, “My toilet will flush”! She looked at me exasperated.

I like my peaceful little flush toilet, my “writers” room, the place where one can sit and quietly contemplate or write and no one comes knocking to ask what you are doing, the “Push button” convenience of it all.

For a suburban girl, Christine, my wife, is extremely resourceful and accepting of the harshness of country life and country ways, the permanent water restrictions, ten miles to the nearest shop, going without to feed the horses, no air conditioner. I on the other hand, spent a lot of my childhood in, how shall we say, “rustic” settings. I’m happy to recycle and any old junk laying around I’ll collect and store because it may be useful. When the creek dried up at the beginning of the current part of the drought and we had to dig a well by hand, it wasn’t a hardship, I’ve had plenty of practice digging holes. It’s amazing how much more water efficient you become when you have so little, but I’ll admit I’m not the most water efficient guy when it comes to toilets.

There was a time that cisterns and septics were unknown to country folk. It may well be all very “rustic” but there was a dark side to it. We were not on a night cart route, and from the time I was big enough to handle the 15 to 20 kilogram pan and a shovel, until we moved when I was about fifteen, it was my job to empty it. Mine and my older brother’s really but I wasn’t as bright as he was. When it was his turn, he’d have hurt himself or wasn’t around so mum would call me. Sometimes the ground was easy but mostly it was like concrete to the gangly, skinny boy I was at the time.

“You’d get used to it”, she said, breaking my reverie.
“I’m sure I could”, I said tartly, “but, I, don’t, want, to”! Punctuating every word, “Why”? I continued, “Because I’m the one who will have to empty it”! She looked at me dumbfound. “It’s ok for you”, I said, my tone softening at her surprised look, “You’ll bat those pretty eyes at me and smile sweetly saying, Noel the “Compost” needs emptying”!

That was pretty much the end of it, she will poke fun at me occasionally, but when she starts to get serious I remain uncompromising. I’ve dug enough holes and shovelled enough “compost” to see me through several lifetimes. The memory has not yet faded and until it has I am never going to voluntarily put myself in a position where I have to shovel “compost” again! Sometimes a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do! And thankfully god gave us cisterns and septics for those times!