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

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