Faded not granduer

Another long blog silence here, soz.  Working three jobs and something(s, many of them) have slipped this year, including blogging.  Anyway on a whim I'm sharing this from an outing a few months back. 

The West Australian School for Deaf Children opened at Cottesloe Beach in 1899. It provided residential education for children from all over WA until about 20 years ago. A little bit of old Cottesloe, when it was a place for public investment into community services due to its healthy sea air.  They deaf crew still have control of the building but no one has lived there for years now, and it is somewhat set in aspic.   The government are dithering over what to do with it, but in the meantime opened it up to the public one day.  There's something wistful and a bit creepy about old institutional buildings, don't you think?

Exactly when did they stop making carpet that colour?

Must have got a job lot on that pink paint.

For fire, flick switch to ring bell.

Now that's a laundry.

A cup of tea and scone, don't mind if I do.

That's the ocean out there.

You can just hear that screen door slamming.

Ahh candlewick bedspreads.  Time for bed. 

Somewhat lacking in privacy, but a brilliant idea for bathing kids.

Killing it softly

These pictures are from a place in Perth perched high on a hill, overlooking river and sea.  Monument Hill in Mosman Park   It should be lovely but it's not; it's shabby as.  There's two wonderful relics there; the obelisk (built in colonial times as a navigation point and moved in the 1980s to make way for a bigger water reservoir), and also an observation post from WWII (I think that's what it is but it's hard to know really, no signage).

Once upon a time this area was home to lots of thriving industry providing stacks of local jobs for the workers living in their weatherboard cottages, and a motorcycle scramble track (environmentally sensitive no, fun and useful, yes), but the land is now worth a squillion so all that's gone and it's now covered in big ugly gaffs.  Except around the foot of Monument Hill which was sold off in the 90's or thereabouts which has plenty of cheaper but equally as miserable housing jammed up against each other.  Think: that gorgeous and popular development, the 'group of 8 townhouses' lined up like teeth in a denture someone left lying around.   There's often no footpaths, but that's OK because you never see any people on foot.  Clearly there's an arbor aversion from the new settlers too cause there's not a lot of foliage action up high in residential Mossie.  What's left of the natural bush is really just scrub with plenty of litter spread about, for colour.   If you want to see how a site like this could be, look at Bold Park in Floreat.  All timber walkways and decorative steel handrails and plaques about the regenerated flora.  

These slightly arty snaps make it look pretty good though, if I say so myself.  

Don't get me wrong, we definitely need more affordable housing in Perth's inner and more desirable suburbs, but jaysus it sure is hard to to get right, glad it's not my job.  It's all wrong in Mosman Park.  And we haven't even started talking about the blocks of flats built in the 1960s when a certain developer (with, I've heard some help from his friends in office) managed to acquire large chunks of housing stock to build ten story blocks of flats and create a pop-up slum on the apt named Battle Street.  Thankfully the vibe and name has improved in recent years, and apart from the odd junkie swaggering down the middle of the road it's a place where many young people might dream of being able to get a toe hold in the property market (grappling irons recommended).   There's also lots of good stuff going on around the place: the most amazing kids' natural adventure playground down by the river, a luxury mens' shed and restored WWII tunnels.    

But for all its woeful failures, I really like Mosman Park.  It has a bit of everything and all ends of the social spectrum, keepin' it real.   Like an ageing divorcee it's made plenty of mistakes along the way but has some excellent stories to tell.    This place would be one, the rope and twine factory which gave up the good fight in 1990.   The rope walk that stretches out behind it (towards the hill) was used for making the long heavy lengths of massive rope. How amazing that must have been to watch.  (Pic: thanks SLWA, taken 1930s).  

 

In WWII there was a ban placed on all Americans from crossing the highway into Mosman Park after a pub brawl got out of hand and someone got stabbed by a yankee serviceman. But that, is another story.

In Miniature

Oh dear, I've turned into one of those ghastly mothers that do their kids' school projects for them.  Well sort of.   Our primary school run an annual 'sculpture by the school' competition and in previous years my kids have not got their act together in time to make one.   Not this year.  This year their mother said bugger it, I want to make a sculpture and you shalt be my beard, daughter.    It is our school centenary this year so there is a strong vintage groove happening around the place.  Our little cottage is nearly as old as the school, so we (ahem, I) had the idea to make a model of our house, using only materials salvaged from around and under the house.  We have heaps.   A few bits of dolls house furniture made it in too.

Daughter did grudgingly stick on a few bits of china and arrange a bit of furniture, to give that authentic  child touch.   We started with the old rotting wooden letter box and worked from there...

Coke can (water tank) that needs a can opener to open, who would have believed that.

A surfboard shaped piece of broken china, which I confess was her idea.

The family that lived in our house from the time it was built in 1917 until we moved in a few years ago were Catholic, so there was no shortage of religious ephemera.

I was foolishly concerned that our entry was so good it might win, which would be highly embarrassing, but I need not have worried.  When we took it in and checked out the competition, the standard was amazing.  There are some damned creative parents, I mean kids, out there.