When I was twelve, I had been living in the home my parents designed, for six years. Our previous home was an old coalmine managers cottage with no hot water, so we were excited. We moved into our new address, in the new subdivision of Kotara South, part of Newcastle, N.S.W. in November 1968.
Our home, built on the topside of a steep slope was large, brick veneer and split level. The driveway was steep. Something my mother discovered years later, when she was walking behind her car parked on the driveway, when I, not having seen her, began reversing and gently nudged her, causing her to run down the driveway. Unable to stop, she landed in the neighbour’s garden— across the road.
The house was unusual. It had a one and a half car garage underneath, dug into the clay, which the rest of the house was built on. A brick wall took centre stage out the front to create a private area for my grandmother, who lived, in her own room at the side of the house—a space to sit. She required a walking frame so she didn’t go far and enjoyed sitting in the sun.
From the concrete sun area, you walked up approximately ten stairs to the front porch and entrance to the house. The first level contained the bedrooms. Across the front of the house, as it faced west, were the bathrooms, toilet and linen cupboard to minimise the window area, and keep the house cool.
The second level joined by five stairs in the middle of the house, led to the dining room and kitchen on the right hand side. On the centre left hand side was a courtyard to provide natural light to the dining room, my parents bedroom, as well as the lounge room. The laundry was only accessible from the back area outside the house and was behind my grandmother’s room.
The backyard was large and rustic looking. A big gum tree was in the centre of the backyard, next to the Hills Hoist clothes line and provided plenty of shade. The yard also contained a fibro cubby house my father built, a swing set, sand pit and an above ground pool. An outdoor brick incinerator, was how we recycled our paper waste in those days and we would use the ash from the fire to feed the garden. Behind the incinerator was the only part of the yard we kids were not allowed—a large wood heap.
Day 11
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_assignment/writing-101-day-eleven/
I’d actually read this then moved away from your page, only to come back because I kept smiling at the mental image of your mum unintentionally running down the driveway into the neighbour’s yard.
Nicely written.
Thanks it was thirty years ago but a great lesson. I am paranoid if I walk behind cars on even a slight hill. It’s not a lesson I need to learn for myself and always makes me think of mum with a smile.
vivid descriptions- I Love it! And true, the part about the car crash really is funny; no wonder you remember, after such a long time
Thanks. Glad you liked it. Some thing remain etched on your brain for forever.