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

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