Last week, I discovered that the house I grew up in is being demolished.
It was built in 1933 and my family, grandfather and grandmother, bought it - and many acres of land surrounding it - around 1940 during the second world war; they raised their family there and my mother stayed eventually meeting my father and it was there they raised their family also - that's me and my brothers and sister.
It sold to a developer late last year (for a massive amount of money) and, despite not being on as much land as we had when I was a kid, it's still a huge parcel of land that is going to be divided into over thirty quarter-acre house blocks.
I'll admit to feeling somewhat sad about it. All those memories I have of growing up there, good and bad times, my entire life from birth to the age of seventeen and a half when I moved out of home really...all of it remains with me still; but part of me can't help feel that as they demolish and scrape the land for redevelopment part of those memories will be scraped away also, like the imaginary tether between them and the place in which they occurred is more tenuous with the physical location removed from the face of the planet.
I've been feeling a little nostalgic and have been remembering the moments that made up my life, the trees I climbed, the jumps I made for my bicycle stunts, the little camping nights I had under the stars, building Lego with my dad, the way the kitchen would smell when my mum baked bread, taking the long walk to the road to check the mail box, the smell and sounds of my grandfather's woodworking workshop and the times I spent in there with him as a little kid...so many other memories, and when the wrecking ball and bulldozers are finished with it...it'll be unrecognisable; another housing development with no character - unforgettable in every way.
I'm fortunate to have been born, and raised, in a small and sleepy Australian rural town at a time when Australia was Australian, not inundated with people from all over; it was a good life, adventurous, and with enough scope for me to cause some mischief if I wanted to (and I did). I could leave the house and wander in fields, scrubland, find tadpoles in creeks, build forts and cubby houses, ride my bike and make my way home to the immovable, rock-solid dependable building that I called home. It was a wholesome life and I'm a better man for it now; going back to that town as I do sometimes now well...it's not the same, but the memories bring me back to how it used to be and I miss it.
It's much bigger now, the town. Progress. More houses, many thousands more people, fast food chains, huge supermarkets, multiple schools...and I can't help but get nostalgic about the good old days. And yes, they were good. Better. Much better than they are now.
So, I'm feeling a little sad about my first family home, the house and land upon which I lived my first seventeen and a half years, being erased from existence. Only minutes from that house is where my parents are buried, and my grandfather and grandmother also; they rest a short walk from where their lives played out and it feels wrong that the ground they put their roots down into, the roof that sheltered them and their progeny...me, will be wiped away in a few short days of noise, diesel smoke and caterpillar tracks when the dozers move in.
Do you, or have you, ever felt this way about your past? If you're inclined to comment, please do so below.
Design and create your ideal life, tomorrow isn't promised - galenkp
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Image(s) in this post are my own
Both houses I lived in growing up still stand. One time a few years back I rode by the house my parents lived in when I was born. It looked horrible! Someone had stripped all the bushes out from in front of the house (probably many times over), but there had been a tall brick foundation behind the bushes that were there for many years and someone had painted the brick black! No shrubbery or flowers, nothing but a small light colored house perched on top of a blackened brick base. I don't know where that could be done and look good, but it wasn't that house. I lived there till I was 8 and we moved, but I do think back on the two trees in the backyard we climbed and the swing set and the huge tractor tire that had been turned into a sandbox. On the side yard there was a patch of pines when I was growing up and a time or two Dad had a load of play sand brought in and dumped in a big pile there. We and the neighborhood kids had many fun hours there.
I went by the other house too much later. At the time we lived there, it was a nice middle class like neighborhood with pretty brick houses. What I found was that someone had a red tin roof put on it. OMGoodness, it looked awful and stuck out like a very sore thumb. I know their neighbors had to love it too. Ugh!! It might have been better if it had been torn down. LOL!
I was a lucky one and had a mostly good childhood. The older I get, the more I look back to those times wistfully. I think I understand what you are saying, but for me, nothing that changes at those houses now would affect my good memories. I do detest seeing beautiful land flattened to develop. I know a degree of it is unavoidable, but it still doesn't make it feel better.
Isn't it weird to go back and see the changes other people have made to what seemed so familiar.
You're right, nothing can change those houses, the one I grew up in and what happened there is indelibly marked in my memory, but I'd go back a couple times a year, about an hour from where I live now, to put flowers on the graves and just be there I guess with my parents and grandparents, and would drive by the house. It felt nice knowing it was there when i went past...soon, gone.
Thanks for sharing some of your story rather than commenting generically, I was hoping a few would.
After I commented, I thought about my Grandmother's house. It is on a main road. She had been in a nursing home a little while before she passed, but my Uncles had kept her house from falling apart. After she passed, it was sold to I'm guessing one of those companies that fix houses up cheaply and flips them. The house is still there, but landscape is plain now, missing all the flowers and porch boxes and swing. The shutters they put up on the windows on the side were longer than the windows, but they put them there anyway. I guess it was something they already had and so they just used them, but what a hack! I still like seeing it nearly every Sunday when it is normal for me to use that road heading out to my Mom's.
When my grandparents moved there the little front yard had a picket fence and the road was only two lanes. Somewhere along the way the road was expanded to 4 lanes, so they planted two large trees in the front, just in case and for shade, but it took part of their yard, which was not huge to begin with. Still, the porch went across the entire front of the house. On one side was a porch swing and there were several rocking chairs on the other. They and we sat out there rocking many times, waiving at all the folks that would blow the horn as they went by, because they knew my Grandparents. We had a lot of good times there too.
Progress. Something human beings are quick to do when it comes to material things but slow to do when it comes to other things. People will do pretty much anything for money and flipping houses is certainly one of them. I guess, for those who haven't lived there or had the memory there's no emotional value, just financial.
At least we can recall the "good old days" and that can't be taken away.
That's right. As long as I can still remember, they still exist exactly as they used to be.
I know it is too late now, but there should have been some law that a certain amount of forested land should have to be left between each housing development in order to give humans a place to stay in tough with the earth. Wouldn't that have been a great law??? Nobody asked me what I thought though. LOL
That's a good law indeed. Here there's laws about "private open space" meaning a minimum amount of uncovered land within a person's fenceline/boundary, and with housing estates a percentage of the development needs to be parkland, playgrounds, walking trails etc. but I like your law proposition. Tracts of land between estates/development would also give animals a fair go.
I have grow up for like 8 years in a shitty house, my parents didn't like it but were waiting for a better one, I often pass in front of it, no real good memories there... On the other hand sometimes I pass in front of the apartment we went after, always for rent, I've been 20 years there then I moved and a bit after my parents too, now it has been taken by some immigrants that keep it crap... Shopping carts in the garden, garbage all around, the pomegranate tree we planted and kept well now is almost dead... Makes me a bit sad too
I often pass the places I used to go when kid, parks destroyed and removed, trees cut off... Everything is worse, buildings everywhere, no more fields, people are worst, before I could go around alone in the bike, now it's not good to leave your little kid alone
In your case it's surely more painful to see that happening, it's unfortunate you hadn't the money back then to hold the property but I'm sure your parents did what they thought was the best to do
It's all a bit sad really, but that's what if all about as well, progression. Things come and go, we live and learn and hopefully as we move forward we enhance our lives, make it better, more fulfilling.
I've not been a kid for a long time but I can't help but get nostalgic about the fact where I grew up will be erased from the face of the earth, but my memories go wherever I do and that's something right?
We had one of these. We had an entire fruit tree orchard actually. It was really cool, putting in the work required to pull in all sorts of things like almonds, apricots, oranges, lemons, pears, loquats, figs and all. Thinking back, I really had a great upbringing despite their being some complexity. I don't complain though, it all culminated in me being the me I am now.
Yep, put work and effort and then harvest fruits I think is really teaching expecially for kids... My grandparents did vegetables also besides that tree, I had a little space for my growings... Good memories
My parents were never forthcoming about where I was born. ‘Somewhere in Cabra,’ my mother would say whenever I asked. I’m not even sure she remembered herself. Legend has it they sailed back from England days before my arrival and rented the first hovel they could find ...complete with a manger.
I find that somewhat sad; I mean, putting myself in the position of not knowing some aspects of my origins doesn't seem to sit well with me. You seemed to turn out pretty well despite the lack of this knowledge though so I guess all's well that ends well.
Maybe the stork brought you to them? Just a thought.
If it wasn't for inheriting my father's protruding ears, I could easily have believed the stork was blown off course in strong winds and I was misdelivered:)
That gave me a chuckle. 😁
More so as I get older. My older brother and I often talk about our younger days with great pride in that we didn't have much at all, especially him when he was younger. But we still made it with hard work and had lots of fun along the way.
Sounds like a familiar story. We didn't have much either. Nearly all I had was purchased second hand and that was ok, I was grateful to have it. Although, I did get a brand new bike one time. Had one of those 3 speed gear changers on the frame. It was my pride and joy.
We made fun with what we had, usually outside, and didn't feel like we were overly disadvantaged. Growing up in the country was awesome.
YEah, spent most of my youth in the country as well. We didn't move into two until I was in about the 6th grade, but I still spent most of my weekends in the country with aunts and uncles and cousins. Your imagination was the limit of your playground and what you could play with back then. One of my Uncles owned a scrap yard and it was like Disney land to me.
The house that my maternal grandfather bought when he married my grandmother is still there, the same house that gave me refuge when my parents separated, it was like my big bunker. That same house that I renovated with my own hands for years... there is a lot of feeling in it. It's not just a house, it was a refuge that I renovated in my own style. The people who are there take very good care of it, of course the inside is different, I remember how I left it when I left and I know it will be very sad when everything changes more or disappears.
I understand your feeling, you have no idea how much I do.
We all have to move on from the past, sometimes it's just not that easy and a little more emotional than at other times I guess right?
Yes it is, when I left I didn't look back... I wanted to remember everything as I left it, now I know that things have changed a lot... and they will change even more. It's hard those moments.
I don't have a picture of my old house, which we left in 2015, because the investor who built the hotel bought the house from 1914, so I took the picture taken by their vehicle from google maps.
I see that it is from October 3013.
they even took a picture of my old red Opel Astra 🙂
even today, when I walk down this street, I remember with nostalgia the years I spent at that address, but not 17 like you, but full 38.
my father grew up in that area, my brother and I went to the same school as him, all my childhood friends lived in that area (those four I wrote about two days ago...).
38 is a lot of years. I was asked to leave home, mum thought it was time, so at 17.5 I moved out and made my own way in the world. Itgeas a good thing because I learned that relying on others was never going to work out as well as being the driver if my own life.
I know how it is in the world, that young people leave their parents' homes early and build their own lives (America, England, now you say Australia too, it's probably the same in most European countries), but in our culture (in the Balkans), it's different. Sometimes "children" live with their parents on a common property (in houses) all their lives and create their own families there.
They inherit their parents' property and live there with their children for the rest of their lives.
We also left the house because it was sold and we secured a separation into two apartments (my brother moved to GB a year before that).
But both in the shared house and in separate apartments, everyone went their own way.
At this moment, when my mother is an elderly woman, it might be easier for me to live in the same house as her and to have her nearby.
This way, I spend more time on tours, because we are several kilometers apart (although in the same city, it is not very convenient to drive every day).
It makes a lot of sense really.
Back in my day it was usual to stay with th parents until around early-mid 20's and less typical for people to move out early like I did. These days they're moving out later and later, financial matters make it difficult to move early, high rents and general cost of living.
Do I remember correctly that your grandparents immigrated from India? I imagine it was tough for them living in a small Australian rural town? I'm guessing it was a pretty massive culture shock without their community around them.
Nope, that's not correct. My father immigrated from Malaysia and met my mum here; I'm not sure what you're remembering. My grandparents, who bought the house I mention in this post during world war 2 have ancestry back to England. I've written some posts on it, traced the ancestry back to about 1450.
Oh... I'm sorry, I think I've had the wrong background story for you and your brother for literal years... that's wild, I'm super sorry. I don't know where I got that from either.
I haven't seen those posts, but tracing your ancestry back to 1450 is incredible.
You've obviously misread/remembered/misinterpreted, that's ok it happens.
My father immigrated in 1965, met mum and that was that. None of us was raised in anything other than the Australian way and that's how my parents both wanted it; I have no link or any real understanding of my dad's previous culture, he saw himself as totally Australian. I've been to Malaysia of course, actually the only one of my siblings who has, and enjoyed it.
As for the ancestry...yes, it's cool. Two were sentenced to death actually, early-mid 1800's, but it was commuted to "transportation" as convicts to the penal colony that was Port Arthur, Tasmania - survived their 20 years obviously, never went back to England.
Some came as copper miners from Cornwall as well and there's a cool (true) story of one making her way from Germany with her lover (she was minor nobility, lady in waiting to a queen, and had to run away as she was refused permission to marry the guy, a commoner.) They ended up here via New Zealand and Sydney. I have all the ships they sailed on, entry papers, paperwork on the house they bought here, their subsequent children, deaths and all. Pretty incredible. A straight line to me.
I really enjoyed tracking all that down, took years.
It's so heartwarming and fun to remember things like this in our lives, especially if we see things or pictures to help us remember them. These are the happy and sad memories that shaped our personality and thoughts, but we can't go back but we cherish the memories for the rest of our lives.
I totally agree with you.
I'm sorry to hear about that. My parents still live in the house where I was raised and when they are gone I will be sad, but I probably won't hesitate to sell it. It's not really in an area where my wife and I would want to live. I guess my sister might have an opinion about it, but who knows. I had a great aunt and uncle that had a house on a lake and I found out a while ago it got sold to some developer after they died. I doubt I could have afforded it, but I would have loved the chance....
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STOPA similar feeling today is setting in as I prepare to part with a "mobile" home away from home for 9 years that You labeled "Prime Mover"
I still smile when I call it that in my thoughts. Never out loud tho. People would think I was fucken nutz.
Maybe only a fraction of what you must be feeling. But a bitter sweet nostalgia just the same. 😉