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Roberto T. Cast
05-25-03, 04:13 AM
The Little House Behind the Big House


One of my bygone recollections
As I recall the days of yore
Is the little house, behind the house,
With the crescent over the door.

T'was a place to sit and ponder
With your head bowed down low;
Knowing that you wouldn't be there,
If you didn't have to go.

Ours was a three-holer,
With a size for every one.
You left there feeling better,
After your usual job was done.

You had to make these frequent trips
Whether snow, rain, sleet, or fog ---
To the little house where you usually
Found the Sears-Roebuck catalog.

Oft times in dead of winter,
The seat was covered with snow.
T'was then with much reluctance,
To the little house you'd go.

With a swish you'd clear the seat,
Bend low, with dreadful fear
You'd blink your eyes and grit your teeth
As you settled on your rear.

I recall the day Granddad,
Who stayed with us one summer,
Made a trip to the shanty
Which proved to be a hummer.

T'was the same day my Dad
Finished painting the kitchen green.
He'd just cleaned up the mess he's made
With rags and gasoline.

He tossed the rags in the shanty hole
And went on his usual way
Not knowing that by doing so
He would eventually rue the day.

Now Granddad had an urgent call,
I never will forget!
This trip he made to the little house
Lingers in my memory yet.

He sat down on the shanty seat,
With both feet on the floor.
Then filled his pipe with tobacco
And struck a match on the outhouse door.

After the Tobacco began to glow,
He slowly raised his rear:
Tossed the flaming match in the open hole,
With not a sign of fear.

The Blast that followed, I am sure
Was heard for miles around;
And there was poor ol' Granddad
Just a'sitting on the ground.

The smoldering pipe was still in his mouth,
His suspenders he held tight;
The celebrated three-holer
Was blown clear out of sight.

When we asked him what had happened,
His answer I'll never forget.
He thought it must be some thing
That he had recently et!

Next day we had a new one
Which my Dad built with ease.
With a sign on the entrance door
Which read: No Smoking, Please!

Now that's the end of the story,
With memories of long ago,
Of the little house, behind the house
Where we went cause we had to go!

For those that never had to trot out in the Cold.....

Just Give Thanks!!!
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

How many of you Old Timer Marines remember the little house behind the big house.

Like in the Oscar Brandt album, "Tell It To The Marines" it says something like this: "The wind blows through the open hole and tickle my curly hair." :banana:

Do you Old Timer Gyrenes remember? :yes: :no:

You yound ones Marines grew up with indoor plumbing. You do not know the thrills of having to take a dump in the odd house during the winter season. And I may add, there was no toliet paper like today, smooth and gentle soft.