I do not remember the house I went to from the hospital after my birth. It was in Tamworth, a country town on the western side of the Great Dividing Range. We weren’t there long. My father was awarded a scholarship to study in New York and I’m not sure how my mother got the money to go with him taking us two children (maybe she won it on a quiz show) so the house in Tamworth isn’t even a blur in my brain.
The manse we then went to in Casino on the north coast of NSW is bright in my memory. It was a brand new house. We were the first to live in it. The old house sat beside it. It looked lonely with its paint peeling and floor boards on the verandah rotting. Timber piers built it up off the ground protecting its occupants from the flood waters which were not uncommon. On higher ground, our new house needed only slight elevation for its protection.
The blonde brick and tile house was built in a T shape. The majority being in the vertical section of the T. The front door was situated where horizontal meets vertical in the T analogy, the kitchen and my father’s office forming the horizontal sections not in contact with the vertical. The huge lounge and equally large dining rooms would be found in that part of the T which was both vertical and horizontal. The lounge opened to two (the dining room to one) verandahs overlooking the park which made our border. In the vertical of the T was a central hallway with bedrooms – my brothers on the left, spare on the right. My bedroom was next opposite the bathroom and toilet (which was its own separate little room). At the end was a door out to a courtyard with the garage beyond. My parent’s bedroom was behind mine.
The first night we stayed in the house for some reason, my brother and I had no furniture. I have no idea whether my parents had any or whether they had to sleep on the floor. I think the removalist had already delivered our meagre belongings but mine and my brother’s furniture was not there. The spare bedroom however was fully built-in. It had two single beds against the wall on either side. A built-in wardrobe followed by a built-in dressing table, then another wardrobe. My brother and I shared this room for the first night and the next day we went with my mother to the shops and we were each bought a bed.
Both beds had a wooden head with a bookcase built-in. My brother had a blue mattress and I had a pink mattress. This mattress survived many years and was sold at a garage sale that I held just before moving to Queensland, nearly fifty-five years later. Despite my excitement at having a new bed, although only there for one night I found it devastating to be leaving the spare room. I had fallen in love with the dressing table which had its own fluorescent light above the mirror. My room did not have this luxury and I begged to be allowed to have this room as my own. I rarely stepped foot in the spare room again.
Obviously the church had set this room up for the visiting dignitaries that my parents would have to entertain so I was choofed out. My brother’s favourite story from the spare room was on the occasion of a visit from an ecclesiastical gentleman who exited the spare room towards the toilet, just as I was coming from the bathroom in my birthday suit. I fronted him full on before continuing my dash to my bedroom. Impersonating a fish he opened and shut his mouth, finally shaking his head from side to side muttering ” Oh my! Oh my!”
A place that you lived is a good place to start with memoir writing. Once you have the setting mapped out it is surprising what recollections will come unbidden. It is even better if you can visit the place of your childhood. If not possible photos can help for detail. I think this is where having a map in a book can help. Trying to describe where things are in relation to something else I have to admit I find difficult. Any hints?
Reflections and Nightmares- Irene A Waters (writer and memoirist) 
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Love the gawking fish visual I got from your story! That’s an interesting point about using a place to get grounded into memoir.
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I think that is exactly what you did when you went and visited McCandless relatives and the old hut. This post (I had to go and read it to remind myself of what I’d written) is at best cringe worthy. I really have to work out how to describe where one thing is in relation to another in a better fashion. Perhaps that will be one aim for this year.
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It’s a finessing skill. I struggle with it when I’m having difficulty seeing a clear visual in my mind of the whole picture. So early drafts are like building blocks for me to see! Glad you posted this one. I enjoyed it when I was lost on your blog! 🙂
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Reblogged this on Reflections and Nightmares- Irene A Waters (writer and memoirist) and commented:
Throwback Thursday I going back in time to the house of my childhood which is also an early blog post. I do have problems with describing where items are in relation to each other. It is a problem that raises itself time after time. If anybody has any suggestions I would be eternally grateful.
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Your post reminded me of the house in which I grew up. I have visited it several times – showed both our children – and strangely enough, I dream about it quite often. I mentioned it in the post I wrote for “About” for my blog.
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I remember your posts about the house you grew up in and that wonderful garden it had. It sounded like the most perfect place for a child so I am not surprised you dream about it a lot. Great to have memories you cherish.
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On a visit to Southern California several years ago, I visited two of the homes I lived in as a child. Unfortunately I took no pictures. The both seemed smaller than in my memory. Houses loom large in my memory though because we lived in so many!
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It is funny how memories of places don’t match up when you return. They are either much smaller or not so wonderful as the remembered place. Visiting them certainly brings back the memories. How many houses did you live in as a child? It must be difficult moving schools frequently. We moved from the country to the city but it corresponded with going from primary school to high school. I was not happy at the move to the city however.
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A blue mattress for him, and a pink mattress for her! It was interesting to read about these homes. I’m not sure I could help with the location request, but I love the sound of the dressing table and light. I understand your disappointment.
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Yes I was a real little girl then with dreams of my own dressing table. The gender distinction was big in those days. I had the dolls and my brother the meccano set bought for him by my grandfather who had two daughters and was depressed the joy of meccano had to wait until my brother was born.
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I wonder how interested the girls may have been in the meccano set if he’d offered it to the them. My brothers had meccano sets. I don’t remember being very interested. But I wasn’t too interested in dolls either – more in reading and writing! 🙂
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My mother would have loved a meccano set. She was quite upset when a set was produced when my brother was a few months old that he had, waiting for a boy. Of course he wanted to play with it himself. I wonder if my mother had been given a meccano set would she have gone into engineering rather than the classics where she became a latin teacher.
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All the what ifs to which we can never know the answers. While we still have a way to go, I think more opportunities are opening up for both boys and girls these days. It doesn’t help those who missed out on them though.
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I agree. I think we will see (already seeing) big changes in the jobs people are doing. I don’t think there is any gender divide now although some work is still gender biased.
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I think we’re moving closer to equality, which is a good thing. 🙂
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I read this with great interest Irene. I could relate so well to how I felt when I first moved into a big house in America with lights above the mirror in the bathroom and the huge rooms with built in closets, but of course, I was an adult by then. Your spare room sounds like a dream come true, no wonder you wanted to stay there, I would have felt just the same as you. In my memoir piece that I submitted for the competition I tried to describe my bedroom as it just been newly decorated and I adored it but I came home from school one day not long after and it was deserted, my mum left my dad and took us with her, no warning or anything. I’m not sure if I adequately adescribed my room but what you share here makes me realise the importance of doing so, and of getting the setting right, as memories are jogged and what comes to mind. I love reading about your life, I find it fascinating. As for the story of you starkers in the hall, well, that is utterly priceless 🙂 ❤
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Thank you Sherri. I find describing things, particularly where they are in relation to other things and directions possibly the hardest part of writing a memoir. I have clear memories of the spare room but very few of my bedroom. I can describe where the furniture was situated but nothing really comes to mind as to events that happened in it. Perhaps I was always in my brother’s room annoying him. I’m sure you described your room well for your competition as I haven’t read anything you have written that hasn’t been well described. (Will write longer in email thanks for yours) Glad to share my life with you as I enjoy sharing yours. So happy that I left you with a good visual at the end ❤ 🙂
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You did, Irene, you certainly did! Look forward to your email. And thanks again for always being so encouraging, but yes, describing things and their relation to one another is really hard. I forgot to mention too that I just read an article about a man who recently receieved a heart and lung transplant from a younger man who was a cycling fanatic but who was sadly killed in an accident. The first thing the man wanted to do as soon as he came through the op was an overwhelming urge to ride a bike, having never ridden in his life. Now he rides for charity and is training for a marathon ride. He says he can’t stop, his life has been totally transformed. Isn’t that just amazing? So what you said about memory being held within the body just fascinates me. I just can’t get my head around it? How does it happen? I hope you are having a lovely weekend my friend 🙂 ❤
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I am going to do a post on that soon Sherri. It is fascinating. There is also a heart transplant recipient who was a lesbian meat eater. Post transplant she became a man loving vegetarian, discovering much later that her donor was exactly this. It has huge implications for writing but I will do a post on that. I am giving a paper on the subject in April in Sydney so I have to get my thoughts together soon.
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I really look forward to that post Irene, and all the best as you prepare your paper…I’m intrigued to say the least!!
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Great. Lets hope the audience is equally as intrigued and I get some people listening to me.
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