My Hometown

I know it may not look like much this house holds my dearest memories.

When I was a small girl my Nanna resided here alongside her nephew, her younger brother and sister. They all lived here together taking care of each other.

This house was in a neighbourhood where you knew your neighbours and you got along well with them. (It also has a cemetery across the street. That was my playground.)

My Nanna was the eldest of five children and a chronic asthmatic. I would spend nights with her laying beside her on the bed keeping her company while she was on the ventilator before we fell asleep.

My Nanna was my world. Through her I learnt how to cook, clean and maintain a household. Nanna had a routine and she was captain of that ship.

4am: get up, make bed, make breakfast

5am: wash breakfast dishes, wipe down table and bench, collect the dirty washing

6am: wash clothes and hang them out to dry

7am: house clean, vacuum and mop floors, clean bathroom and toilet

9am: morning tea (cup of tea and biscuits)

10am: check washing is dry, fold and iron clothes

12pm: lunch

1pm: days of our lives, knitting, crocheting or mending clothes.

4pm: organise and cook dinner

6pm: dinner

7pm: wash dishes and make tomorrow’s lunches

8pm: shower

8:30pm: bed

My Nanna was raised in an era which the man worked and the woman stayed home to look after the house and children. When the children came of age they had to help around the house as money was tight. A lot of the work they did was all done by hand. Washing, cleaning, farming and house maintenance all taught to them and in return was taught to me.

She was very patient with me and she had ways of teaching me that I learnt and I held on to every word. She taught me everything there is to know about upkeeping a household.

You see there is a reason why she had her routine the men in the house worked long hours so her sister and herself would take care of them by making sure their breakfast was ready, their uniforms washed and ironed and that their lunches were ready for them before they left for work.

It’s a woman’s duty she would tell me. “If you want a man to respect you have the house clean, his uniforms washed and ironed and food on the table, you will never hear him complain.”

The lessons kept going after that.

As I was getting older the household chores became more. As a little kid you don’t really understand or see how hard the ladies worked. There’s dusting, washing windows, gardening on top of their routine which I now understood is part of their daily routine. I just didn’t take any real notice of it.

As time went on my Nanna was slowing down but never stopping.

As I was coming into age my Nanna would say to me:

“Never trust a man with shifty eyes or wearing white shoes. When you go on a date always take a 20 cent piece with you and place it between your knees. If it drops run.”

I could go on for hours with the things she would say and my great Aunt had a few herself. My great Uncle on the other hand had one better,“just don’t do it” he would say. He wasn’t a man of many words and I loved him.

Being raised by an older generation was hard. My great Uncle got shingles and then a little down the track he was diagnosed with motor neurone disease. My Nanna and great Aunt cared forever him up to the day he died.

I was only young still and didn’t quite understand death. That I would go to his room and check on him to find him not there. I would sit in his room on the rocking chair or lay on his bed until my Nanna, my great Aunt or cousin would come and get me.

I was missing him taking me to school that Nanna and my Aunt would walk me to school and would be there waiting at the fence for me to finish to walk me home. As neither of them drove.

Sometimes we would go to the shops after school to pick up a few things that they needed before heading home.

Deep down I think this was their way of helping me deal with the loss of my great Uncle.

Nanna would say to me, “Even though we can’t see the ones that have left us behind they see us. They don’t like seeing us upset and sad. They like you better when your happy.”

Nanna had a way about her that always brought comfort. She was the most warmest, welcoming person and those that knew her loved her. We all did.

I was sixteen when awoke from a horrible dream that I was rushing my mother out the door I needed to see her before I went to school.

When I got to the house she was walking around doing what she normally did. I asked her how she was feeling. I got her to sit down and I told her about my dream.

Three months later a phone call from my cousin came through letting us know that Nanna was in hospital she had a severe asthma attack, that she had emphysema and her lungs were too weak to fight.

I went into the hospital room and she was curled up in the fetal position on the right side, eyes closed, she looked so peaceful. I sat down in the chair opposite and facing towards her. She opened her eyes and smiled. She reached for my hand and tried to grip it, she was very weak.

We just stayed there looking at each other as she couldn’t talk. I spent everyday moment I could just to be with her. Until one day I had an appointment I had to go. The moment my mother and I left that room she passed away.

When I look at this house memories come flooding back. Mr Thorogood, Nanna’s next door neighbour would call us to his fence to give us some vegetables that had grown in his garden.

How I would go for a walk up the street to say hello to everyone then make my way down the street to see Edna and pick up my Aunty Kewpie for a cup of tea and a game of canasta.

Although most of them have long passed away and each one of them holds a special place in my heart, as they all helped raise me, my cousin and great aunt still live there today.

I on the other hand have long moved away. I have a family of my own and I am very close to the beach. The beach is my friend and where I go to enjoy the quiet.

When I am asked where do I come from this is what I always resort too. I love talking about growing up there with the oldies and how much fun I had. The life experiences taught to me. Mostly people are fascinated about my playground being a cemetery. There’s no horror stories to tell. The tree that I climbed up as a kid is still there but it is all fenced off and no entry in.

Recently I went for a drive past there just to check up on the area and I was devastated it was not how I remembered it. The houses are broken down and some completely gone. I was devastated when I saw it.

A flash in time “here one day gone the next”, my Nanna would have said, “nothing lasts forever. That’s why we have memories”.

The End