Putting the final touches to his cone, the nightwatch would stand up and fit it with the toilet seat.
Now it was time for pyrotechnics at the chimneyed drum: he would pour in a generous amount of dieselene, splash some onto on a wad of paper, light it, momentarily lift the lid, and toss it in. A roaring inferno would ensue. Minutes after this, the radio staff from the radio shack next door would arrive like swallows in springtine and take up residence on the three other crappers. “Why come at any other time and have to hurry because it’s bitterly cold?” they would say.
That work done he would slip and slide down the slope from Law Hut with one or two of the aforementioned 4-gallon tins from the urinal until he reached the aptly named “Piss Glacier”, where he would empty them. And it was his task to do this whenever required until 6 am, a challenging tasks during a blizzard — and particularly on Saturday “ding” nights. At the Sunday evening meetings chaired by Officer in Charge Henk Geysen, there were heated and acrimonious debates about the virtues of upright versus inverted cones — whatever Henk’s agenda may have been to start with.