The Falling Facade.
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| The Building Today 2026 |
Monday, 1 June 2026
Boronia's Second Killer Crossing
Saturday, 16 May 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
FOR MORE INFORMATION
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.
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| Some times you get lucky with your photos. Note there are no people or moving vehicles. |
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.
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| 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.
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| Dorset Square during construction. |
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| 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.
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| Machinery left on site |
FOR MORE INFORMATION
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.
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| 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
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.
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| Dorset Square carpark |
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.
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| The Post Office from the first trip. |
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.
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| Woolworths near the crossing |
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| Classic example of trying to take a photo of people |
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.
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.
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.
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| 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.
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| 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
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| 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
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| 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
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| The light scuplture |
To see what the rest of my travels would reveal.
FOR MORE INFORMATION
Surburban Archaeology the fun way- Time Travel. Part Five
A journey continued.
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| Traffic on Dorset Road |
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| 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.
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| 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.
Only time would tell, pun intended.
FOR MORE INFORMATION
Surburban Archaeology the fun way- Time Travel. Introduction
INTRODUCTION
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.
FOR MORE INFORMATION
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
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| Pictures of peoples faces will never be clear or appear blured when taken in the past.
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