Back in the late 40's and '50's my family lived on Magnetic Island. In those days there was no electricity, reticulated water supply, bitumen roads, septic or sewerage systems and very few motor vehicles on the Island.

Lights were by Hurrican (Larrikan)lanterns or "Coleman" or "Storm King" pressure lanterns. These were fueled by kerosene with a Methylated spirit preheater. Water was saved in rain water tanks and used very sparingly.

As kids we often had our bath in salt water as the house was on the beach front and fresh water was treated like liquid gold. We slept the sleep of the innocent and scratched at the salt induced itch.

We were one of the fortunate few who had a "freezer" for want of a better description. It was called "The Icy Ball".It consisted of a box with a top hinged lid. The unit was made of wood and insulated with powdered cork. Inside the box was a copper ball about 10-12 ins in diameter . This was connected by a copper tube and expansion valve to another similarly sized copper ball outside the unit. Under this outside ball was a primus pressure heater that heated a liquid refrigerant,(probably ammonia) which, when heated, expanded. The gas was then forced through the expanasion valve into the inside copper ball where it changed back to its liquid state thereby creating the cooling effect. If the lid of the box was not disturbed for a few days my mother could make ice cream in it. We were very popular kids when mother made ice cream.

Back then there were no septic systems and the old "thunder box" stood like a sentinel a hundred yards down the back yard, usually with a honey-suckle vine as a protective cover and a hide for those who had to frequent it. During summer when nature decreed you make the trip in the middle of the day, you ran like hell, either to quell the urgent spasms, or to stop the soles of your feet burning on the sandy soil. When it rained and invariably it did of a night, then it was wait for the lightning to show the way or hold a larrikan in one hand and a sugarbag over your head and bolt for the dunny.

Now, our extended family was quite large ( this was well before TV and picture shows)and we had quite a lot of visitors during the holiday periods.This put a hell of a strain (pardon the pun) on the capacity of the old dunny. Quite often overflows occured, a desciption of which which does not need explanation here.Father used to allocate who the volunteers were to "do the deed and give it a decent burial", and as the eldest it befell me more times than enough to carry out his orders.

This leads me to the content of this story.

I had a college friend whose parents owned coffee plantations in New Guinea at the time and he (my friend, who shall remain anonymous for fear of retribution should he read this) never got to travel home for holidays. Therefore he spent his holidays with us on Maggie Island.

Now, you have to remember that my friend , when at home, always had a house-boy to do any of the menial tasks and never in his life did he have to empty a can, let alone a full-to-the-brim one.

We were all treated the same in our house and no one got out of any of the "necessary" chores that went with living that way of life. Therefore it was my friend and I who drew the short straw and had to give the last rites.For the sake of the visitors this chore was always done after dark. I could never figure out why because the smell was the same be it daylight or dark !

I can't keep refering to him as my friend, so I will call him Richard.

Richard and I had the hole dug and he had a 10 cell torch that must have cost a fortune in those days. My Father, an avid fisherman had been eyeing that torch ever since Richard arrived and had borrowed it on occassions to take with him in the boat when night fishing. I had to find Richard an old sugar bag to slip his hand into in case any of the "ingredients" were dislodged in the transportation to the burial site. There he was , in all his good gear (he never owned old gear), white socks and all, with a sugar bag wrapped up to his elbow and his torch in the other hand.

We were very careful when transferring the contents to the hole as I had experienced what happens when you allow a "free fall". The call of "watch the splash back" meant nothing to Richard who was a little late turning his head away........Anyway, what with Richard's long arms and because his head would not turn more than 180 degrees on his neck, he misplaced a footfall and very nearly ended up in the hole. In his panic, he dropped the torch, which fulfilled Murphy's Law and ended up in the hole with the "remains".

I never gave it a second thought and grabbed a piece of green branch from a nearby tree and fished that torch out. Let's face it, that was some torch! If it had been an old carbide or larrakin, it could of stayed there.

I slipped a piece of wire through the loop and walked in down and washed it in the sea. I brought it back to the house and rinsed it in fresh water to which I added some vinegar. After drying it properly, I went to hand it back to Richard.

He took one look at it and pushed it aside. His face changed colour again and he raced outside with his hand over his mouth. He said he could never use it again even if someone paid him. My parents were not rich and we were always told "waste not-want not", so my father ended up with that torch which he kept for some twenty years after the incident. He would on occassion, put it to his nose, take a big snif and say to know one in particular, "Thanks, Richard old son, shitty luck is good luck."