KINETIC ENERGY UNLEASHED
Grandpa and Grandma lived on a five acre property on the edge of town. It was too far out of
town to be connected to the town sewerage service. This wasn't really a problem. Well, it was to
Grandma. She wanted one of those septic tanks installed if she couldn't have town sewerage.
Grandpa wouldn't hear of it. “My father and his father before him never had sewerage or septic
systems. A hole in the ground, a long drop, was good enough for them and it's good enough for us.
And it costs nothin'”. Grandma was resigned to the situation. Besides it kept the silly old bugger
busy digging holes all over the property like a wombat.
Part of the reason for Grandpa's obstinance was the existing dunny. He had built it from scratch
and regarded it as a work of art, right up there with the Sydney Harbour Bridge. He had carved an
intricate design in the top of the door to facilitate air flow. Grandma thought it looked like the
Turkish flag. He had cut the roof from corrugated iron, put a peak on it and painted it high gloss
Brunswick Green. The paint was the same colour that the state government used on all their
infrastructures. Grandpa thought he better tint it with a bit of white paint to avoid confusion. But it
was still classy! The piece de resistance was the seat. The seat was truly a work of art. It was
precisely fitted, wall to wall. The hole wasn't just round. It was elliptical with the edge chamfered
for comfort. Now that was elegant! It was stained Rosewood and finished with three coats of marine
varnish. It practically glowed when touched by the moonlight. This radiance was emphasised by the
whitewashed walls. It was beautiful. Even the town council chamber's WCs paled into insignificance when compared with this dunny. Some of Grandma's lady friends dropped in for a cuppa and used the facility just so they could boast to their friends of their good fortune.
And that was the problem. Grandpa was worried that if a septic system was installed, he would
have to have a whole new-fangled dunny and seat. Grandpa told Grandma that the status was
quo-ed.
Another problem with a long-drop dunny was a new hole had to be dug and the super-structure part of the dunny had to be moved over the new hole. This has not been a problem to date. Grandpa, a practical man, had built the dunny on two skids. He'd even shaped the ends of the skids to look like skis, thus facilitating the sliding of the dunny over the terrain. Grandpa would hitch it to his old Ford ute and tow it to the new site. Piece of cake! Till his poor old Ford failed all forward motion.
Grandpa told Grandma to hold everything, he would be back shortly. He strode to Danny's
Workshop slightly further out of town. Danny had been retired for a few years, he had been an agricultural irrigation engineer and now, only did the odd job for a bit of cash in hand.
Grandpa accused him of fixing his own built-in foul-ups and getting paid twice for the job.
“Yer a nasty minded old bastard, Grandpa,” Danny told him.
“Don't call me Grandpa. I'm not yer grandpa. If I was, I'd a drowned you at birth.”
“Well, yer old enough to be me grandfather.
“Yer lyin' bastard. I'm only a couple of years older'n you.”
While this was going on they were pushing an old sofa out of the workshop into the sun. Danny's
dog was sitting on the sofa appreciating the ride. It liked the sun but was too lazy to walk outside.
They sat on the sofa, flanking the dog and absorbing the winter sunshine. Danny had made a small
trolley that his esky sat on so he could pull it around his workshop as required. Or in this case out to
the front of the workshop. He explained that this was an efficient time-saving device that permitted
him to spend more time on the job.
“Bloody rubbish! Yer an old toss-pot and you spend most of your time sleeping amongst this
accumulation of crap. It's a wonder the council haven't closed you down for running a festering,
health hazard.” Grandpa explained to him. “Gimme a stubby.
“Talking about an accumulation of crap, have you accumulated four sturdy little wheels of no
value that you can kindly give me? Me dunny's too heavy to move easily. It's buggered the clutch in me old Ford ute.”
“Well," Danny considered, "I've got a couple of welding barrows with lovely sturdy wheels that I
couldn't possibly bear to part with. Old family heirlooms!”
“You probably stole them from me in the first place,” Grandpa claimed.
“Nah. Grandma gave 'em to me.”
“What! Bloody what? I thought the poor old thing was getting potty. There's the proof. In spades.
Givin' away me really good stuff. She's gotta go!”
They reached an agreement half-way through their second beer. Danny said he'd come and watch
and make sure Grandpa did the job properly. They loaded the wheels and tools into Danny's truck
and headed off to save Grandma any further discomfort.
Danny suggested a steering axle like a billy cart.
“Not bloody necessary. Where do you start and where do you finish? How about I mount an
outboard motor on the back and go fishing in it?” Grandpa asked him.
“Now yer bein' silly. But we could enter it in that annual dunny race in Queensland.”
“Yeah, right! What do you think Grandma's gunna do without her dunny for a few days?”
They thought about this for a while. \“Have you got a spare bucket?” Danny suggested. They reluctantly decided the idea was not a goer.
They jacked the dunny up, fitted the wheels and stood back to admire the revised dunny. "Yer know, Danny, I might paint the wheels silver."
"Yeah Mate, that'd really set it off." Danny said. "A touch of class,"
They towed it over the new hole with Danny's old truck. The land was on a slight slope and being a technically aware pair they decided, for safety's sake, they'd make a couple of chocks. Danny had a power saw and a lump of wood at home. "I'll go home for me lunch and bring back a couple of chocks later." Grandpa kicked a rock under one wheel just as Grandma called him for lunch.
After lunch they had their usual nap. Grandma awoke to the call of nature and traipsed off to
the newly positioned dunny, grumbling that the blasted thing was getting further away from the
house all the time. Next year the damned thing would probably be over the hill and out of sight.
She'd need a cut lunch and a map to find it. She entered and plonked her substantial self down.
Now this part of the story is largely conjecture based on sound principles of physics. The
substantial plonking of Grandma rocked the dunny and pushed the temporary chock into the earth.
Thus effectively de-chocking the aforementioned dunny which took off with a stately grace then
gathered speed at a frightening rate. Grandma opened the door and looked out realising two things:
One, she couldn't jump clear, the juggernaut would run over her. And two, it was aimed like a
missile for the house. She closed the door, shut her eyes, hung on and screamed. The dashing
dunny hit the concrete edge up to the back veranda and stopped. Dead! Later, clever people in the
pub would try to work out the G-forces that Grandma's substantial being was subjected to and the
amount of kinetic energy released at the point of impact, but this was not possible without knowing
Grandma's weight. She was asked, just as a matter of scientific interest but got extremely agitated.
Grandpa told everybody his side of the story: He was astir, heard Grandma screaming and stuck his head out of the bedroom door, looked up the passage and saw the actual collision with the concrete step, the dunny door exploding off the hinges and skidding across the veranda with Grandma prone on it. The door hit the doorstep of the house and stopped. Grandma didn't. Fortunately the back door was open. She continued, skidding face down along the polished wood in the hall-way, past an amazed Grandpa and stopped just short of the front door. The thought crossed his mind that if Grandma was fitted with wheels, she could have made it out to the front gate.
He went over and helped her up. She seemed OK. Maybe a little puzzled, “Are you alright? What
do you think you're doin'? You nearly wrecked the dunny. Are you aware I've gotta go and get more
hinges, all because you want to play silly buggers at your age. Bloody near an indoor dunny, thanks
to you.” Grandma, now standing, took stock of the situation, and belted Grandpa.
“Oof! C'mon, you poor old thing, I'll give all your sore bits a rub-down with the horse liniment." Grandpa offered. "I'll even rub-down your bits that aren't sore.”
“You're just a dirty old man. But then again, when I married you, you were a dirty young man, so
I've had no surprises.”
“All your fault, my love. You were inspirational. Still are.”
Grandma thought for a second, “True.” She said and hugged him.