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.

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 were all black and white, and it seemed that all autofocusing, correction or filters wouldn’t work in the past. At least I had them; 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 a lot of 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. Her calling for her child to slow down.

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 were haunting, What a night.

              Part FOUR                                                          Part TWO

FOR MORE INFORMATION

INTRODUCTION:

THINGS TO BE AWARE OF:

Surburban Archaeology the fun way- Time Travel. Part Four

A more careful and enjoyable journey.

 I thought I’d take a break from Time Travel. (not a sentence I’d ever think I would mutter) and take stock of what I had experienced.

I did make a couple of more observations as I was trying to get people's insides out of my head.

People back in the early 1970s were skinny, not too many fat people. Haircuts back then, on men anyway, were truly styleless. Clothes and cars were so much more colourful than today, and my goodness, everyone wore flared trousers until a certain age – let's say 50,  I noticed everyone looked older than I expected– and for everyone over that age, the men still wore hats and women scarves. People in the 70s seemed to be older than they are now. These days, I really believe that 60 is the new 40. Back then, it was as if you were 70, you were getting ready to die. I know that sounds glib, but I always remember my parents and grandparents always acting and looking so much older than me when I reached the same age. My visits just seemed to confirm it.

And I know this is statistically incorrect because I looked it up. But from my observation, just about everyone over fifteen smoked. Cigarettes were as common as dog turds on the nature strips. The ads for smoke brands were on everything.

People’s houses and gardens all seem so well-kept. Trimmed edges on the lawns. Nice trees, mainly Camellias and Silver Birches from what I could see.

A lot of dogs, mainly mongrels, are just lying around. Considering the amount of dog crap around the place, that made sense.

I resisted the urge to go back for a couple of days. I spent some time with my wife and working around the house. She was used to and supportive of my suburban archaeology, but not at night, so to ease her mind, I made up a story the next morning, telling how a car had run a stop sign and narrowly missed me, and it unnerved me. She accepted it, and I got a bit of undeserved sympathy for a couple of hours.

One of the front yard gardens on Floriston Rd

I was taking notes of my experiences and tried to think laterally to see if there was anything that needed addressing or researching. I also made contingencies for moving about and avoiding what happened in the supermarket. My next day out was four days after the night of my last visit. I dressed and packed the same, because, let’s face it. The temperature variables aren’t that great. Once again, I walked to the site, it’s less than a kilometre, and I really do need the exercise.  On approach to the Exchange after crossing Boronia Road, I had to wait for ten minutes while a Telstra technician was finishing his lunch, sitting in his van in the driveway. I didn’t want to risk any sort of attention, so I walked up and down the street until he left. Having been away for those days had made me anxious, and I realised how much I enjoyed these sojourns, so that I was almost jogging up the driveway to the Lillypilly against the wall. After the usual fanfare of fart, I arrived back there. It was a bright summer morning by my reckoning, the ground was still wet, so it looked like a just missed a passing shower. I decided I would walk down Floriston Road this time. Walking across Boronia Road for me was a breeze; I was a ghostly presence after all, but I couldn’t imagine a younger child navigating this road in busy times. It was so wide with its service roads to add to the confusion. No wonder they put lights here. Another thing I noted was that the removal of the rail crossing certainly changed the landscape from what I was seeing now and before when I crossed earlier. I stopped and took a picture. People were already coming in and out of Woolworths down the street, and I didn’t see any kids, so I assumed I had a weekday. I was gonna guess pre-Christmas. It was warm, but no decorations in the shops yet.

Walking down Floriston Road, I saw that the car park and the loading docks of the Kmarts were all finished. Across the road opposite was lined with lovely houses and the occasional empty block. One which some kids had made a wooden fort with makeshift materials. Something not that common these days back home. That brought a smile to my face. The homes were all weatherboard, and it was reassuring that the owners were all very house proud, as they all looked immaculate. It was sad because I knew none of these would be around come the next century. Sold for office spaces and multi-level apartments. I crossed the road because in my current state, I could do whatever I felt like. And I felt like climbing up the top of the

From the top car park looking down on the Mall

Kmart tower and having a look down. One thing I had to convince myself of during my break was that there were no real boundaries. Fences and locked doors were no barrier. So I walked up to the top car park and climbed up the Boronia/Kmart sign and took a picture. I wasn’t having my luck with pictures, but occasionally I would get a gem. This, however, wasn’t one of them. I could see all the way to the pool. I like making little comparisons. The pool was still outdoors, and opposite was the Boronia High School. Still standing, but would be gone by the 1990s. I noticed Tormore Reserve was not built, but it looked like the area where it is now was in the process of being started. The Market Gardens that were there had been cleared. So I think I was safe in predicting I was somewhere around 1975. I could go and have a proper look, but I decided today I would have a walk down Chandler Road. My pictures were so inconsistent. Over and under-exposed, blurry or just didn’t come out at all. It made documenting my journeys less satisfying as a result. Walking down Floriston towards Chandler Road, I kind of resented the progress of the area. There were so many lovely mid-century houses with lovely gardens here, and the majority would be gone long before I moved in. Somethings look out of place, and some look ridiculous. Opposite the entrance to the Mall was

The Police Station

the Boronia Police station. It looked more like a bungalow facing this new shopping centre. One was waiting for the other to catch up to the present.  Assuming it was only early, I made my way across the road into the Mall. This was the one I was most eager to see. To experience it as new would be a real thrill, and here I was doing it. It didn’t disappoint. I lived in Boronia when Kmart still had an entrance into the Mall. To see the doorway, cash register, and the huge nursery section behind was a bit of a buzz. The colour and variety made me think of Bunnings these days. Just on from the Kmart entrance, the tile wall continued. These days, it is just panels. It made me wonder if these tiles still hide underneath these sheets back home? Looking out from the walkway that leads to the outside and the main Kmart entrance

Looking at the original tiles wall

and car park, I looked out over the Mall and saw all the shops full of brand names and people

moving about in the familiar floorspace. Then I saw it. I really don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier. The grand chandelier-like light sculpture hangs down over the staged area. I needed a closer look. The time of day was in my favour as not a lot of shoppers had gathered, so I could dodge any unwanted “pass-throughs”. Looking at the shops, names that were big back then but are long gone now. The Cargo Hold, Waldrons, Radio Rentals, Fosseys. All gone because of economics or changing shopper habits, and of course, the ever-fickle “progress”. I stopped at the railing opposite the sculpture. It was glorious, a tri coloured plastic piece of 70s kitch. But now a grand fashion statement. Behind me was Clements Records. Exactly how I fondly remembered such stores when I was growing up. Racks of vinyl, heaps of posters and pretty girls behind the counter. The same space that Manny

The light scuplture

Ciavarella and his brother would open and become one of the longest tenants in the Mall. That was still ten years away from where I stood now. I couldn’t reach the disc of the hanging art; it was positioned perfectly to stop people from doing precisely that. But for some stupid reason, I tried and forgot what happens when I push on solid objects, and I started to fall through the railing. With nothing to hang onto, I started my slow descent. This is where things got to be fun. As I fell through the barrier into thin air, my speed didn’t increase; the laws of gravity were meaningless. I floated gently to the ground.  I was so thrilled by the experience, I  ran up the stairs and tried it again with the same result. You can have a lot of fun when you realise no one is watching. The third time down, I used the slow-motion fall to have a closer look at the sculpture and noticed, in essence, it was just plastic and fishing line, but the sum of its parts made it look quite impressive. But not stunning.   I could see why, in less than a decade, it would be gone; it was too dated, much like flared trousers would be in the 1980s. I walked around admiring the wide stairs and little kiosks. The renovations done in the future kept the same aesthetic, but in my opinion, they should have kept it the way it was. Because, let's face it. It didn’t change much after that renovation. Seeing the Mall with name shops that were busy was heartening, especially given the state of it today. But at least I got to see it in its heyday. I walked out of the side entrance. 

              Part FIVE                                                         Part THREE

FOR MORE INFORMATION

INTRODUCTION:

THINGS TO BE AWARE OF:

Surburban Archaeology the fun way- Time Travel. Part Five

A journey continued.

Traffic on Dorset Road

After I walked out the side entrance I didn’t realise the shops running down to the theatre weren’t built yet and were the backs of larger shops facing Dorset Road. Back on Chandler Road, the scout hall was still standing, and nothing says you’re in the foothills of the mountains like a place that sells firewood and stock feed like Bowen Bros. & James Fuel & Fodder Merchants. Both would be apartment buildings in the next century. Coming down Dorset Road, it was strange to see it as a T-intersection and the old Primary School and not the McDonald's. It was good to see the old youth hall and Maguire's garage still standing. Two places that made it to the 2010s. I wanted to see the station. The arcade that was prime real estate here, as the entry to Boronia station, was a shadow of itself back home. The station itself was in bad shape. I had read how, back in 1972, it had been burnt down in an arson attack. Ironically, before any fire brigades could save it. The Boronia CFA station was stone-throwing distance from the Western platform. The station would look like a makeshift stop between Ferntree Gully & Bayswater until it was

The Fountain and park on Boronia rd

finally rebuilt in 1985. Seems strange since a brand new shopping centre was just across the road. I went back onto Dorset Road after the disappointment that was Boronia Station and saw that it was a vibrant strip shopping area. Large Furniture and fashion shops, butchers, milk bar, chemist, green grocer, and the theatre. Today it is small takeaways or the rear of shops in Dorset Square. The unmistakable ringing of the railway crossing began, and within a minute, the traffic which seemed to be flowing steadily was starting to back up past Chandler Road. The crossing has been gone for nearly 30 years now, but I still remember it being the one place locally to avoid at all costs if you were in a hurry. This just brought back so many memories of how relieved everybody was when the crossing went underground.

Maguire Park fro the station

I continued down Dorset to go have a look at the park and the fountain, which became famous as a make-shift bubble machine when wags would constantly pour detergent into it. Both the fountain and park playground were victims of a more convenient and shorter wait at the intersection. I was never aware there were so many trees removed to be replaced with asphalt. Standing back on the road and looking back at the fountain, the wall and all the trees behind it, bookended by the railway and the Fire Brigade building and tower, gave the whole park a peaceful aura, and it’s a pity they never kept it instead of the carpark and service station that replaced it. I walked back up Boronia Road, attempting to take some photos of the traffic on my way back home. I realised, time travel takes it out of you.

  

I did get the occaisional video to record, but

with the same restrictive results.

Coming back home and sitting in my kitchen having a cup of tea, it occurred to me that I had been moving progressively further up the timeline. Each trip was about six months in advance of the other, approximately.  I was now considering if there were any other portholes in the guise of garden beds to explore.

              Part FOUR                                                  

FOR MORE INFORMATION

INTRODUCTION:

THINGS TO BE AWARE OF:

Surburban Archaeology the fun way- Time Travel. Introduction

 INTRODUCTION

I remember when I was a lot younger, living out in the wasteland that was the outer suburbs. We would need to catch the train into the city to do anything that resembled entertainment. The Royal Show, the football, or even things we take for granted these days, like a hospital visit or the movies. On these long trips (it seemed like an eternity to a pre-teen), I would look out the window and see abandoned buildings, some derelict, some burnt. Factories, warehouses, even sheds in the middle of some paddock. Every now and again, viewed from trackside, I’d see grass erupting from asphalt tennis courts with mangled fencing and no nets. Even the train tracks at the station we stopped at had sidings that looked like nothing had run on those rails in years.

To me, it was unnerving. It upset some part of my brain to see things just ignored and left to rot. I hated it. I would rather see a cleared piece of ground covered in gravel or tar rather than something ignored and wasted. In the country, on our school holiday banishments to our cousins’ farm, where building abandonment and dereliction were rampant. Huge old barns and hay shelters, even farm houses, would lean at dangerous angles, so near to collapse, even though they were so close to roads, whilst bridges that once had a use would be in pieces over creeks and gullies, with me wondering what their purpose was in the first place.  

It's strange how I remember how vividly I felt about those sorts of things back then, because it is not how I feel now.

Most of the angst was replaced when puberty arrived like an asteroid slamming into the moon. More important things took over: girls, music, cars,  money, every shiny trinket under the sun. And, after a lot of life living, book reading, and appreciation, I began to notice all these ruins again, but in a different light.

I wanted to know the story behind the abandonment, why it was there in the first place. What is the history?

 This became a bit of a hobby, now with the internet and easy access to local history via social media and, of course, the reliable local library. I would visit old buildings and properties in the area where I live and its surroundings. Not just the ruins, but old buildings that had once been prominent and had now been sold once their original purpose had become redundant. Such as Post Offices, Milk Bars, or local factories that once employed many local residents.

I would spend days off in reclaimed building developments trying to picture what the dismantled houses looked like, and if they had gardens, before everything was reverted back to nature. I would return home and research everything I could to get pictures of places in the before times, back when these properties were people's homes and what they may have considered their future.

It was a very satisfying project, and I would often take old pictures and morph them into current-day photos I had taken to show the changes over the years.

In time, with each property, building, or place, I could put together old photos to go along with some historical narrative or social media memory. I would also discover how or why they became irrelevant, failed, or were sold. Of course, the majority didn’t tell too much of the glorious beginning, middle, or end. It was plain old progress, changing times, and technology that rendered most defunct. While others survived through the ages and hung onto their importance, and became iconic. Their past is recorded in great detail and treasured in the history of the area. Some, not many. Progress rarely takes everyone along on its fast and furious path ever forward.

During all these visits, one of the things I started to notice about myself was that when I researched the places I visited, I found I envied the people who wrote posts remembering what it was like when the subject they wrote about was in its prime. something I could never do because those memories aren’t mine, and that time is gone. Albeit, sometimes I don’t think the writer's memories were entirely accurate. As we all know, our minds tend to cloud things and sometimes recreate the way we recall them in our later years.

Never in my wildest dreams would I believe that I would be able to confirm these memories, but in real time. 

I would discover time travel. 

In a manner of speaking.

              Part ONE                                                         

FOR MORE INFORMATION

THINGS TO BE AWARE OF:

Surburban Archaeology the fun way- Time Travel. Things to be aware of.

Things to be aware of when inadvertently time travelling.

Things to be aware of No.1

No one in the past is aware you are there. You are invisible to them. You have no impact on the past. You can breathe, touch, feel, smell (but not taste) your surroundings, but you leave no physical marks or impressions. You can step on a soft sand pit and leave no markings. One theory is that the body entering the past is one-half of a dimension removed, where presence and accessibility are one-way as a sort of security shield or protection from interference. What has happened has happened and cannot be changed.

Things to be aware of No.2

As per No.1, you cannot leave anything behind. What you take in will come out with you. You cannot leave notes or messages. Small snacks and bottled water are recommended, especially if you intend on walking distances. So will be tempted to use taps or drink from waterways. You will not even get wet. (refer to No.3) Avoid urinating, as your only option is to wet yourself; it is unavoidable. At all costs, avoid defecation for obvious reasons. If you drop anything, it will automatically cling to your clothing until you exit.

Things to be aware of No.3

You can move freely around the past. You can pass through any solid object. But the pace at which you move through any object is relative to how fast it is moving, not you. Passing through objects comes with its own challenges. Whereas you can walk around normally and at the same pace in your own time, when passing through static or paused objects, you will meet resistance similar to wading neck deep through water. Crossing a road of heavy traffic will be less obstructive as the pace of the cars will dictate the passage of time. But if you find yourself having a car park where you are standing, you will need to force your way out. It is inadvisable to go to crowded places, as passing through people can be a distressing experience because you will be able to see all their internal organs, muscles, and skeleton as you move along, and if one decides to stop exactly where you are standing, you may find yourself encased in human anatomy. Speaking from experience, it is not recommended, and vomit-stained clothes do not lose that overpowering stench until you return and you can wash. Avoid walking through solid objects whose thickness or mass you are unaware of. Even though breathing is always possible, the denseness and your speed can be disorientating and claustrophobic. A shortcut sounds nice, but it can possibly lead to you not finding your way out and being stuck until you starve. Deep waterways should also be avoided. Though you are not affected by currents, you cannot swim and will need to walk along the bottom. Remember, you can always breathe and will never get wet or dirty under any circumstances, and you can’t clean yourself. (Refer to bodily functions advice). This does take some getting used to.

 

Things to be aware of No.4

Cats. Whilst in the past, you would never feel as if your presence was being felt or observed. Except for cats. I have noticed every time I encounter a cat. They will always turn their heads and stare directly at me. Never stopping or breaking stride. This has happened far too often to be coincidental. They do not impede your visit, but they seem to sense your presence.

 

Things to be aware of No.5

Yes, your phone can take pictures, even videos (if you're lucky) and your clock still works, but that’s about it. Your phone relies on the internet, as do most apps. The drawback of taking photos is that they only come out in black and white and often flare at the edges. Some are clear, but most are dependent on the light source. There are virtually no pictures with people in them. For unknown reasons, all pictures of people are blurred or don’t appear. It is as if your phone has turned into the equivalent of an old Kodak Brownie camera, but with faster processing. Your phone's time will always remain in the present.

Pictures of peoples faces will never be
clear or appear blured when taken in the past.

     

                                                                FOR MORE INFORMATION

INTRODUCTION:

    Part ONE