The Blackberry Baron.

 The Blackberry Baron.

 Baron Sir Ferdinand Jacob
Heinrich von Mueller

It’s well documented that the name “The Basin” was originally coined by Baron Ferdinand von Mueller during a botany exploration of the area in 1853. It was named for the depression that you can see from the roundabout looking towards the old Salvation Army Boys home. There seems to be a pre-ordained system involving flora related naming structure when it comes to our local suburbs. The Basin was named by a botanist, while Boronia was named after a flower named by a botanist as a tribute to another botanist.  Anyway. Mister von Mueller was quite the over achiever. He was a German immigrant who was a chemist He had a passion for exploring and botany and was continuing expanding his knowledge of the land he had  adopted. In 1853 he was appointed government botanist for Victoria, and was the reason why he was in the Dandenongs naming future suburbs. Von Mueller was a keen explorer with an inquiring mind and also supported many expeditions by others. Notably Bourke & Wills. He became a member of many societies’ culminating in his acceptance into the prestigious Royal Society in England.  In his distinguished career he became director of the Royal Botanical Gardens in Melbourne, obtained a medical degree, was awarded a knighthood and a in 1871 has given a title for services in science by King Karl of Württemberg Germany. Making his full title Baron Sir Ferdinand Jacob Heinrich von Mueller.

He was also a keen and practising member of the Victorian Acclimatisation Society. You might be wondering what this group where responsible for? Well, for example, it was one member Thomas Austin of Barwon Park, who introduced rabbits. He released 13 wild rabbits on his farm in 1859 and we now have an estimated 150 million. Another Charles Macarthur, of Launceston, introduced the English carp.

All in the interest of making Australia a bit more like the “old country”.  von Mueller was also keen on the idea, especially in his chosen field. He introduced blackberries from 1858, cultivating them at the Melbourne Botanic Gardens and scattering their seeds in the bush, thinking they would provide food for settlers. He also did this with melons, cabbage & pumpkins. But you’d have to agree the blackberries win on the invasive plant premiership table for the most evasive and destructive to the point where it is virtually ineradicable and is the curse of farmer’s and household gardeners everywhere.

So, if someone asks who named The Basin and you can’t remember von Mueller with his endless titles and Christian names just say it’s the guy responsible for the blackberries everywhere.

originally published in the BBCN Issue 360

The Boronia “Super” Market

 

The Boronia “Super” Market

Modernity comes to Boronia.

Did you know that before the mall, way back in 1954, Boronia had a Market?  In fact, it was called a super-market. Not like we have these days, but the precursor to them. The market was designed on the relatively new American concept, the idea of a place where all normal household necessities can be bought under one roof.

It was an open-plan building that had twenty-plus stalls, which were in effect self-contained shops. Included in the main hall, which was described as the shopping centre, were shops ranging from a florist and garden supplies to a cosmetic bar.

There was a self -service grocery, footwear, fruit and vegetables, toys and electrical goods, hardware, men's and women's clothing, and a chemist.

It was intended so that nearly all the normal household shopping could be done there.

A pets' food store was situated at the rear of the hall,  away from the rest of the stalls, as well as pens for the sale of live poultry which could be washed down without affecting the traders inside.

Another feature of the market was an auction room fronting the street and adjoining the main hall. It included the usual list of auction room goods such as second-hand furniture, floor coverings, cycles, and cars, and was to be a feature on Wednesdays & Fridays. The rest of the week it was a kitchen showroom and the markets administration.

These two buildings were separated by the arcade that led straight to the railway station, which was immediately behind the premises.

Other innovative ideas for the market hall included a specifically designed entry that could open its five-metre-wide frontage to allow trucks in for deliveries for the merchants. The middle stalls were all on wheels so they could be pushed to the side to accommodate the vehicles. Specially designed louvre skylights to help with ventilation and rows of refrigeration equipment, including deep freezers.

Early reports had the market set to open in October 1953, with an article in the August 27^th  1953 edition of the Mountain District Free Press giving a rather comprehensive and detailed description of the market and its many features.

The market was the brain child of George Saville, who proudly declared that he and his parents were Boronia-born and that the suburb desperately needed something like his market. It took owner Saville four years to bring the project to fruition, and he had great plans for the premises. One local paper reported the delays with a humorous observation that the signwriter hired to paint a sign for a stationery stall outside the front of the market, painted it as “STATIONARY”.

 Even though reports were predicting a late Spring opening, the Market did not open until nearly a year later on June 10^th 1954.

Saville tried many ways to promote his venue after opening; recorded items include a visit by American wrestler Chief Little Wolf. Another was to have professional models display the latest fashions and help at the stalls. Saville was also community-minded and instructed all shopkeepers to give a 10-15% discount on all goods sold to pensioners. He also ran two taxi trucks to ferry people to the store, as well as buying land on the corner of Boronia Road and Station Street, for parking purposes.

It is a pity there are very few images of the market from outside or within. More importantly, what happened to it?

An odd failure in a time of growth. 

Last issue we explored the Boronia George Saville’s “supermarket”; this part we ask and try to answer how such an innovative business opened and then just disappeared from the collective memory of the area. A time that was well documented as a crucial expansion of the suburb's main shopping strip. Let's have a look.

After the devastating train crossing accident that resulted in nine deaths and fourteen injured, warning lights were finally installed at the crossing intersection. The intersection also had traffic islands installed, and major resurfacing of roads began. According to the Ferntree Gully & District Times, this was the catalyst for one of the major redevelopments in Boronia since the Chandler family cleared land for their flower farm 80 years earlier.

In the two years that followed the crossing accident and placement of the warning lights, 26 sites were auctioned off in the strip for future retail shops, and building started in earnest. Falconers General Store relocated and traded by  1953 next to Maguire's garage; this would have been Saville’s market’s major competition. The Ferntree Gully & District Times built their new offices and printing press at what is now Ballistyx.  The State school, which was notorious for being overcrowded, was being relocated to a new five-hectare site 300 metres east on Rangeview Road. All this was happening during the same timeframe. Within a week of the market beginning trading, a brand new modern Pharmacy opened a week later on the corner of Dorset & Boronia in a new building with other smaller shops where Falconers once traded.

By the end of the 1950s, many new shops were built, Maguires garage was demolished, and a new service station was relocated across the road, where the Commonwealth Bank is today.

Sadly, it would not seem so for the new Market, which seems to have stopped trading before the end of the 1950s. It seems Mr Saville overextended himself with the massive investment that included all buildings, concreted pens and yards at the rear, innovative entry & egress and ventilation, independent power supply and purchase of the parking lot. He was declared bankrupt in Mid 1955.  In its relatively short time as an operating business, the bankruptcy meant all the chattels would need to be sold to pay back creditors or repossessed. A small time frame of operation leaves little legacy to be remembered.

As for George Saville, he did reappear and manage to apply for and receive his auctioner licence in 1959.

The original buildings still stand there today, though they have been totally renovated and new stores built within their framework. The arcade still remains, and the original brick wall that stands next to the new park where the Youth Club once stood. A brief oddity in Boronia’s retail history.

References

Boronia & its Deathtrap Crossing Ray Peace KHS

Mountain District Free Press 29/5/1953,  8/6/1954, 12/8/1954

Ferntree Gully & District Times 26 /11/1953, 10 & 17/6/1954

Women's Weekly circa 1954

Government Gazette 29/10/1959

Originally published in BBCN 258+259

 

 

 

 

 

Breakfast Cereal, Toys or Serial Collectors

 Breakfast Cereal, Toys or Serial Collectors

In Australia and around the world, cereal premiums were a big thing. A cereal premium is a promotional item, like a toy or prize, that is included inside or advertised on a cereal box as an incentive to encourage its purchase.

It’s hard to believe these days that cheap little toys given away free in the 1960s now control huge prices and are a much sort of/must have item for (predominantly) men over a certain vintage.

They were manufactured by Rosenhain & Lipmann (commonly called R & L) and were small plastic toys that were very popular in the 1960s and to some extent the 1970s. Manufactured in Port Melbourne, they came in boxes of Kellogg's and Sanitarium breakfast cereal. They were massive in their day, even supplying overseas markets.

Some of the most popular of these toys come from the mind of UK cartoonist Harry Hargraves. Hargraves was a popular cartoonist in his native England and decided to try a new life with his family in Australia in the late 1960s. It was here that Bruno Lippman (the L in R&L) saw his work and invited him to create and design some original concepts. It was from here that he created the Camel Train, Toolie birds, Crater Critters, and the Totem Tribe. Names that still resonate and are highly valued by collectors.

R & L and these types of premiums peaked in the mid-1970s but became a distant memory by the 1990s when the scene shifted.

Even though breakfast cereal is still popular and commands a whole aisle in Supermarkets, toys are no longer a selling point. The market was hijacked by the Fast-food chains and proprietary items and franchises from movies, TV shows, popular books and comics. The advent of electronic media was also a nail in the coffin of most physical toys.  But another aspect had changed, with regulations and the makeup of the premiums.

Toys these days have to pass the Gullet test. A block of aluminium with a 3.5 cm (an inch & a quarter) hole in the middle that represents a child’s windpipe. If any new prototype or part thereof slips through, it doesn’t get made.

 

In his book Searching for Kingly Critter. Barry Divola travelled around Australia exploring the R&L history and the people who are obsessed with collecting these small pieces of plastic. There are Police, Television Producers, Accountants, and Computer experts all constantly on the search for the elusive item to complete their collection. Some are happy to have a certain piece as it is, others need it to be in original condition, in the original cellophane packaging if possible.

They search Op shops, Trash & Treasure Markets, Garage Sales and Antique Malls. They constantly trawl eBay for new listings. One has compiled an encyclopedia of every known item, its production date, available colours, short runs and even items that have production mistakes but still made it into the boxes. That book is Breakfast Barons Cereal Critters and the Rosenhain & Lipmann Legacy by Craig Hall.

It’s known as the Bible in the world of Cereal Toy Collectors.

Why do they do it? To relive that childhood joy, the thrill of the hunt, historical passion or just because it’s cheaper and a lot less messy than heroin?

 

 

Popular Melbourne Herald cartoonist WEG  designed a set of funny pop musicians, which became huge in Japan, but were never seen in Australia and are now hugely collectable. It was revealed he didn’t even know they went into manufacture until years later.

Before you think it, every collector has heard the phrase “I’m sure I have some of those in a box at home” a thousand times, and nobody ever does.

Boronia's Second Killer Crossing

 

The Falling Facade.

I’ve been getting some great insights into the Boronia Shopping district lately, thanks largely to Ray Peace’s new book “Boronia & Its Death Trap Crossing”. While it concentrates on the Train crossing, it also spends a great deal exploring the growth of the area immediately around the intersection of Boronia & Dorset Roads. One incident that piqued my interest and made me go look a bit deeper, was the accident that happened on the afternoon of  November 5 1981, and resulted in the deaths of two elderly sisters when pieces of the facade from a construction site fell and crushed them.

 Ilma Rich was killed instantly at the site and her younger sister Grace Witney died later that night at Box Hil Hospital. The building in question was one of the first “high rise” buildings in Boronia at three stories and was to house the Commonwealth Employment Service (CES) The building was very near completion and was due to be finished within weeks of the accident happening. There was an inquest that ran for several months and culminated in late 1982 with the end result stating it was not worksite shortcuts or the fault of workmen, but a series of errors in communications in planning and design. In the end, the scapegoat was the Pedestrian Crossing in front of the building. One can only guess the reasoning being that the ladies were waiting to cross because if it wasn’t there under a building site, the tragedy could have been averted. Thus, making it Boronia’s 2nd Killer Crossing. The Lights were moved the ridiculously short distance in front of the arcade to the station, which in turn were moved again a decade or so ago to where they are. The building still is the tallest in the shopping precinct (excluding the Coles carpark) and is situated at 252 Dorset Road.

The Building Today 2026

Surburban Archaeology the fun way- Time Travel. Part One

 The Entry                   It you want to read the introduction Click here

It happened roughly a year ago. I was poking around the Telephone Exchange in Hastings Street, all but abandoned except for the occasional Telstra contractor dropping off some goods for another workmate. The building was in good shape, though maintenance was sparse and minimal. That it was set back and tucked away on a curb that was a No Standing zone meant most people were oblivious to its existence now as they drove past. It made it easy for me to poke about, with my iPad loaded with old pictures of the property when it had a function as the heartbeat of communications for all the homes and businesses in the area that had a telephone.

The Exchange as it is today.

My first experience was sudden and (understatement) unexpected. At the front of the building, a Lillypilly tree had grown, covering up what appeared to be removed signage, and I wanted a better look. Taking off my backpack, I stepped onto the small garden bed and slipped behind the tree. All I can remember from that first time was that I blinked, and then there was a noise. I kid you not, and this is the only way I can best describe it. It was a long, loud fart. So convincing, I braced myself for a horrendous stench. Luckily, it didn’t come. However, I knew I was not where I stood a split second before.

It took me a few seconds to orient myself, not only from the missing smell but also from the instant abundance of natural light.

I realised I was no longer standing behind the tree. Because it wasn’t there anymore. The day, which was overcast and a cool late Autumn morning, was now blue midday skies, the sun directly above. I could instantly feel its heat. I placed my hand against the brick wall and noticed it was cleaner, and above my head were silver-painted letters screwed into the brick courses spelling out. BORONIA TELEPHONE EXCHANGE. Above the letters, the Royal Cypher of Queen Elizabeth the Second: EIIR.

Turning to my right, I looked out towards the front of the building onto the street and saw clear to the horizon. When it dawned on me, all the shops that were there when I arrived twenty minutes ago were now gone. I stumbled and fell backwards off the small garden bed and onto the grass. I stood up and went to stand in the same position I had fallen from to take in this open vista when the same farting noise rang out, and I was behind the tree again under overcast skies and a blank brick wall.

Where I arrived

Trying to gather my senses, I thought I would do something on impulse. Stepped out of the garden bed and then back into it. Once again, the same fart noise, back to the treeless front wall with letters, but this time, no blue sky. It was cloudy and cooler than it was five seconds ago in another space. I turned to look back at the horizon. It seemed the same, I assume, as my last look was so fleeting, but in the distance, the sun was low in the sky, peeking through broken clouds. I was back, but it was a different season and time of day. Taking my time to soak in the sight in front of me, I started to take mental notes. Everything pointed towards something I thought was never achievable except in science fiction and fantasy. I was back in time, at least forty to fifty years by my reckoning. Then, with all confidence, I stepped out of the garden bed and entered it again. The same obscene noise sent me back again to my time and place. My car was parked across the road in the Dance Studio car park on the same dull Autumn morning.

I needed to go home and process what had just happened. At least sit down before my heart bursts out of my chest.

Part TWO

FOR MORE INFORMATION

INTRODUCTION:

THINGS TO BE AWARE OF:

Surburban Archaeology the fun way- Time Travel. Part Two

Going "back there" again

All that night, I kept my new discovery and excitement to myself, and after dinner, spent hours on my computer moving every image of the Exchange building to my phone. In my shock and awe from the day, I never once thought of taking my iPad back with me, leaving it in my backpack. I assumed that my phone being more compact would be more convenient and easier to carry. There were so many questions and so much to learn. Old pictures to use as comparisons were the quickest method I could think of.

The next morning, I was out of the house by dawn, being May, which meant just before 7 AM. I was in a walking mood, so the car was left at home; no rain was forecast, so that was a perfect reason for a bit of exercise.

That time of the morning meant lots of cars, but little foot traffic and I didn’t pass anyone on the way. After arriving at the Exchange, I put my phone in my pocket (no backpack this time) and stepped into the garden bed.

Nothing.

Some times you get lucky with your photos. Note there are no people or moving vehicles.

I backed out, disappointed, thinking yesterday was a dream or my life's biggest missed opportunity. I tried again, stepping in a bit deeper this time. When I heard the unmistakable sound of flatulence, my heart leapt for joy.

I was back. It was raining. No, it was pelting down. The sky was black, and the wind was howling. I could feel the rain and the wind, but realised I was not getting wet. I walked towards the road. The view was obscured by rain and mist. It was a miserable day. It then dawned on me. I turned and reentered the garden ged. I was back in my time. Dry as a bone. I stepped back and forward again to the old familiar sound, as I was back this time to a warm morning with the sun rising above the mountain behind me. It looked like a beautiful Summer day. Perfect for exploring.

The whole rain and not getting wet was a surprise, and just to add more to the mystery, I tried to kick the dirt in the garden bed. I felt my boots kick the ground, but nothing moved. I then noticed I wasn’t leaving any footprints either.

I was thinking that’s impossible, but since I had just come and gone back in time for better weather, even though I wasn’t getting wet. It seemed a moot point.

Sometimes they dont. Looking up Boronia rd at Floriston Rd.

I pulled out my phone, a relatively new model Samsung and checked for coverage. Of course, there was none. I could, however, access my photo gallery and the clock on my homescreen said 7.20 AM. The time ”back home”, as I decided to call where I had just come from. I walked down to the road, where there was no footpath. The road was semi-asphalted but had soft shoulders and no gutter. All the shops next to it and across the road where I parked my car were gone. I walked towards Boronia Road. It was so wide, there was still a cutting on the Northside going up the hill towards Forest Road. It seemed so much steeper. Looking down Boronia Road, I saw something I hadn’t seen in decades. The rail crossing, due to the lack of traffic, I had to assume it was either a weekend or school holidays. Then I noticed the decorations hanging from the power poles and street lights. It must be after Christmas. Back in the day, everybody took holidays in January. Walking down the deserted street, I headed for the Post Office. With its row of telephone booths, it looked like every other Post Office built in the 1960s. I wanted a closer look, and as I stood outside the ring ring of the crossing cut the

early morning silence. One beat-up old Volkswagen was the only poor driver on the road in either direction and had to wait as one of the asbestos-filled Blue Harris trains slowly crossed the line. From my viewpoint, it looked absolutely empty. Probably just starting out after a night in the Upper Ferntree Gully sidings. Those bells seemed to ring forever, and the boomgates remained down, and after another long minute, a dirty old red Tate train came from the direction of the station. It was one of the real old ones with doors that opened outward. I had to laugh after all that time when the bells stopped ringing, the gates lifted, and the Volkswagen took another 30 seconds to drive on. Either they’d stalled or just fallen asleep waiting. With all that ringing and two trains blaring their horns, sleeping in wasn’t much of an option for those down the road where the shops finished. Watching the trains made me wonder what year I was in. The Post Office was here in 1964, the Telephone Exchange in 1969 and had established lawns and gardens. No silver Hitachi trains ran on the rails. I had to be somewhere in the early 1970s. I got my answer by just walking a few steps past the Post Office and looking down Turner Street. A massive building site all but abandoned for the Summer holidays. This was the construction of Dorset Square and the Mall. I was in January 1973. Miles away down Ferntree Gully Road in Jordanville, I was an eleven-year-old still playing with toys I got for Christmas in a Summer that seemed to never end. This was the year Boronia was beginning to become part of the big smoke.

Dorset Square during construction.

I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through my phone’s photo gallery at some of the pictures I loaded last night. I walked into the site and was amazed at the lack of security and safety. The concrete multi-level car park was cleared but still to be built, but the massive slab walls that would be the Mall, KMart and Kmart Foods were well underway. I did a few comparisons with my phone and what I was physically experiencing, and decided I was a few months ahead of the pictures on my phone. I decided to go camera crazy and take photos in every direction. I checked the time and saw it was approaching nine o’clock. The lack of shoppers and only the occasional kid on a bike seemed to confirm my theory on the approximate date. The Woolworths across the road still hadn’t yet opened its doors. It didn’t look like anyone was rolling up to work yet. Maybe it was a Sunday. I had to smile. Back in the early 1970’s, no time was less active than a Sunday during the Summer holidays. Except for church.

The Mall site empty due to holidays

But I needed to get back. I still had no idea how time worked compared to back home, and I'd better check it out. Walking back up Boronia Road was a bit more of a trek than I remembered, and the air didn’t quite smell as fresh. On my way, I tried to kick some litter out of the way, but my foot passed right through it. I bent to pick it up, and my fingers did the same thing. Up ahead, an older man, complete with a hat and pants held up with suspenders and the waistband under his chest. As he approached, I wished him a good day. We passed each other as if I never existed. He didn’t look like the sort that would deliberately ignore someone.

Machinery left on site

I walked up the Exchange driveway and took one last look back towards the horizon. I could make out the CFA tower and a few houses under construction up the hill.  Yes, I decided I would definitely come back and then stepped into the garden bed… right back into a busy morning in May 2026. The traffic noise was noticeable from the hour or so of peaceful quiet that was 1973, but the air was noticeably fresher here. I pulled out my phone and checked the time 8.55 AM. I looked across to the real estate window display on Floriston Road intersection and saw the same time. I'd better get back home and make up some story for the Missus.

Part THREE                                                            Part ONE

FOR MORE INFORMATION

INTRODUCTION:

THINGS TO BE AWARE OF:

Surburban Archaeology the fun way- Time Travel. Part Three

 Getting into peoples heads the wrong way.

That night, I was once again disappointed, even though I had accomplished something no one (to my knowledge anyway) had ever done before in history. Gone back in time. The pictures I had taken for some reason, only half turned out and they were all black and white,  it seemed that all autofocusing, correction or filters wouldn’t work in the past. At least I had some; the only thing is they looked like they were taken by an amateur from the 1940s.

I went back the next day. There were still things I needed to try. If I went at night, would it be nighttime in the past? Is it the same year every time I go back? Should I try to contact people? Was that old man rude, or didn’t he see me at all? I had some exploring to do. I had to admit that being in a place that was only accessible through photos was an exhilarating experience.

This time, I waited until my wife had gone out with a friend, so it was just after lunch when I arrived at Hastings Street. I took my phone again to see if there was any way to take better photos; maybe playing with the settings might help.

The Boronia Telephone Exchange

It was a cool day, but at least the sun was shining. I was looking forward to what the other side had in store. Stepping into the garden bed and behind the tree automatically triggered the now familiar sound, and I was automatically hit with a burst of heat. It was a summer afternoon, judging by the sun’s position in the sky and unbearably hot. The heavy windcheater and jeans were not ideal clothing today. I wished I had some sunglasses as the glare was distracting. To my right, walking up the driveway, were workmen. Working in this stifling heat -it had to be near forty with such a strong wind blowing- They were bare-chested in shorts and boots and were carrying boxes and cable drums from a pile on the front lawn. No one noticed me. I tried to get one of the men's attention. Still no reaction. I thought I’d do something bordering on rude and went and tapped one of them on the shoulder. To my surprise, or was it horror? My hand slipped through his back as if he were a phantom. I felt nothing. So did he. My presence was not felt. I was not here. Not to them anyway. I was a ghost. I yelled at the top of my voice. No reaction. I was not doing myself any favours in this heat, and I had a sudden urge to urinate. Accepting that no one could see me, I unzipped and began. To my horror, I was pissing all down my trousers; no matter where I pointed, the stream fell straight down my pant legs and shoes, without a drop hitting the ground. I couldn’t stop, so I had to finish. That was enough. I stepped back into the garden bed and returned back home. Then making a hasty retreat home with very wet jeans and socks and smelling of piss. It was embarassing and I didn’t take any photos. 

I was so glad the wife wasn’t there when I got home. A shower and change later, and I sat down to think about making some plans before I make another trip “back there”.

The next day, I would wait till it got dark. Being May, that would make it a bit after 6 PM, so I made an excuse about Mother's Day shopping at Kmart to the wife and drove to the Exchange. I had a backpack ready filled with a bottle of water and an empty one (just in case), my trusty phone, sunglasses, good runners and a light T-shirt under my winter hoodie. Hopefully, I would be better prepared for what I was walking into. It also allowed me to see if the time I entered roughly corresponded with here. Would it be evening? I was about to find out.

The roads were busy, and people were still making their way home, but the Exchange building was so badly lit that I didn’t even hide the fact that I was going up the driveway.

Adjusting my pack, I stepped into the garden bed and heard the familiar fart sound. It was losing its impact. I wished it would change pitch, volume or length, just to humour me.

Well, the night-at-night entry theory didn’t hold; it seemed the time of entry was totally random, unless I was missing some important clue. I was looking at a nice spring morning, judging by the buds on the trees across the road. Lucky I wasn’t surrounded by gum trees, or else I would have had to look a lot harder. There were quite a few people walking about Boronia Road, and traffic was busy but not hectic. Looking back at the Exchange, it was still looking good, and a look up the driveway saw the gates open and a HQ Kingswood panel van parked in the car park at the top. It looked new, so I was assuming I was back in 1973-74.

Dorset Square carpark

Maybe the Mall was open; a quick walk down the street would answer that query. One of the things I was pondering while I was making plans last night was to try how this “ghost “ I had become played out. An old car was parked across the road, a Hillman, I believe. I walked straight at it, then straight into it. I was moving, feeling nothing but feeling a resistance similar to wading through water, but harder. I gauged the car as about six feet wide; it took me about fifteen seconds to pass through it. I was getting my head around what I had just did when a lady dressed in a very early 1970’s attire, a mini skirt and bright cardigan and a haircut just like Jane Fonda from Klute (need a reference, look it up) with her was toddler who ran straight for my legs, before I knew it the kid ran straight through me, no delay, no resistance, just straight through me. I stepped aside before the woman did the same. She continued calling for her child to slow down as she passed.

This gave me an idea, and I walked straight to Boronia Road into the path of an oncoming car travelling down the road. It passed through me at the same speed it was travelling. Once again, I felt nothing. The car, like the lady, gave no indication or reaction that I was in their presence. I was a ghost, except I could smell the lady's perfume, the fumes of the car. This reminded me again of the air; it had an underlying smell, not smoke but something like it. Something industrial. They say smells can bring back memories, and this one reminded me of when I was growing up. We had a lot of factories where I lived, and if the wind didn’t blow or it hadn’t rained for a while, there was a haze, a smog on the horizon and this familiar scent.

The past was polluted.

The Post Office from the first trip.

I walked over towards the Post Office. I was hit by a truck. I could smell the oil and diesel and even the driver's cigarettes, as it was higher than the car. My head was also engulfed, and I could see the internals that passed through me. It was a surreal experience. But the worst was yet to come. But first, let me just jot down some observations about Boronia in the early 1970’s.

When you approach areas with people gathering, and every shop, store or hall. All you can smell is cigarette smoke. Maybe it is because my nose has grown used to not being around smokers and all the laws that have been put in place restricting the practice. The aroma is overwhelming. Some of the tobacco that some of the men were smoking was so strong and thick that it was like a rubbish tip fire.

Litter, people just threw cigarette butts (and packets) anywhere they felt like. Newspapers just left on seats, ice cream wrappers. It wasn’t uncommon on a windy day to see papers blowing down the street like a flock of low-flying birds. Bins weren’t as plentiful as they are now, and the ones that were installed were overflowing. So people did have a choice, till it wasn’t available anymore.

Dogshit. Not so much the footpaths, but definitely the nature strips. So much dogshit. I must have blanked this out of my collective memory.

I had to document that before I recalled the first time I entered a crowd. It was a lesson learnt hard and fast, and I soon prepared for any future events. This visit was my first with people in abundance. The experience with the car, truck and child was a learning curve, so I believed if I kept moving towards things that moved at a steady pace towards me, I would quickly move through them. I was wrong; there were some things I didn’t take into account.

Woolworths near the crossing

Walking past the Post Office, I noticed it was closed, with so many people around, my assumption was that it was Saturday. On the windows were two WEG posters of the Tigers & Kangaroos. The last Saturday in September. Grand Final day. I walked down Turner Street and headed for the now-open Kmart Foods. I chose to walk in the middle of the road for the novelty of cars driving through me.  

Classic example of trying to take a photo of people

I waited for the doors to open for someone and walked in. I wasn’t prepared for the crowd inside, and as I walked around the front of the store, 

I couldn’t avoid the crowd. Suddenly, I was unable to avoid people, which was instinctive but pointless because technically I wasn’t there to anyone else. This is when I started to freak out. I was passing through people, which meant I was looking at the insides and smelling them. It was a horror show. One lady stopped exactly where I stood, and I felt like I was trapped, inhabiting her body with all its pumping and squishing. I was too afraid to open my mouth in case I inadvertently swallowed something. I also blocked my nose. Basically, I stopped breathing. At the first opportunity, I tried with all my might to get to an empty spot near the front windows. I felt safe to breathe again. What a nightmare. A strange thought came to me.
Would I be able to taste people’s brains? I realised I could smell, see and touch. So I turned to the window and licked it. Nothing. Point to remember when passing through anybody or anything at head height: breathe through your mouth. I wanted to go further in, I wanted to see Kmart and the Mall, but the experience of entering living beings was too much and had shattered my nerves, so I wanted to go back home and to normalcy. I made it out of the supermarket without having any serious contact with anyone. I looked at the car park. There were cars driving in circles looking for a parking space. The majority are either a Holden, Ford or a Valiant, maybe a Datsun or two. Each and every car I noted would be a rarity on today's roads. I kept to the middle of the road to avoid running through people and made my way back to the Exchange. When I got home, my wife asked what took so long to get   nothing? I just replied that I couldn’t find anything, and she kept commenting on how quiet I was for the rest of the night. 

Was I OK? 

I really couldn’t share those images swirling in my mind . They were haunting. 

What a night.

              Part FOUR                                                          Part TWO

FOR MORE INFORMATION

INTRODUCTION:

THINGS TO BE AWARE OF: