I cannot remember when we first moved in. Was it 1971? Or was it 1972 ? Anyway, a long time ago. The house first belonged to a spinster, a "Mrs." Clark. She died. I inherited her deathbed and slept in it happily for a decade or more. My room was an annex at the rear, louvered windows and masonite walls. Freezing in Winter and boiling hot in Summer. I shared this room with a very noisy Simpson automatic washing machine, which had to be supported by it's own concrete slab, to stop it from falling through the rotting floorboards. I would adorn the weatherboard wall to the right of my bed with illustrations from "Omni" science- fiction magazine and I had a huge black and white poster of Rudolph Valentino on the only space of wall between the louvered window panes. There was also a tiny louvered window on my right which let in the late night "conversations"of the kitchen and dining room. I heard everything that a child shouldn't hear, until I pleaded for my parents to close the window. This was pre-renovation days.

The renovation went on for what seemed a very long long time. A dodgy builder by the name of Murray Chittleborough, erected the typical extension of that time. Flimsy doors, plasterboard and an extremely low roof. An enormous space dominated by a ridiculously long 14 foot kitchen bench of white laminex. The floor of course was cork tiles. The flooring was probably the only part of the extension which lent any sympathy to sensitive ears. Three bedrooms to the right of this space were exposed to the constant noise and bellowing of a very loud family. The original part of the house at the front was quieter, airier and more sedate, I would read endlessly on the couch beneath the shade and green dappled light of the Liquidamber tree.

Much, much later came the inground pool-it must have been around 1990. The place of many summer parties, engagements and birthdays. A beautiful oasis amongst the gums, palms and deciduous trees that surrounded it. But the flora created a constant and difficult task when it came to maintaining the pool.

My Mother always said it was a "Summer House" and I think she may have been right.

THE LOUNGE

click to enlarge

The house in which I spent my teens and intermittent later years was sold last week. My father finally got his wish for a new life on the Mornington Peninsula. After much persistence from him, my mother finally came around to the idea of seaside living when a beautiful house was found in Mount Martha.

It's difficult to gauge my emotions of my formative years growing up in the Malvern house. I can't say it was perfect, in fact it may have been pretty tense. In all, it was a time lived of a teenager trying to wade through a chaotic catholic family.

A month or so to the lead up of the sale, the house eventually blossomed into a beautiful old world Victorian flower. Finally free to be nurtured by the next generation.

Hopefully now it will be inhabited by a more restful and peaceful spirit.

 

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