The Old Balmain House

by Graham Wilson

  Part of him felt a pull to share his excitement with his friends at the pub, and have a beer to calm his nerves. But he knew, deep down, that today was far too important for that. He walked the streets, restlessly at first, then he settled into a methodical pacing. Without intent his steps led him to the old house in Balmain, his grandmother’s cottage in Smith St, still the old battered name plate ‘Casa Ardwyn’, half fixed to the door.

  It was as if the cogs were whirring in the back of his brain, now alive to new possibilities. He did not want Maria to see the old girl in this state, already his mind had a picture of them living there together, their children playing on the front verandah, as he and his brother and sister had when he was little, often with Rosie and Sophia sitting on their stools and chatting while they watched on. The smell of frangipani, wafting over them on late summer afternoons, as they played under its branches, shaded from the hot afternoon sun. Sometimes there was a big fire in the bush behind, just across the water; and little half burnt leaves and twigs would fall from a grey hazy summer sky, down into their garden, and they would hear the noise of the fire engines racing to save lives. But they always felt safe in their little house.

  The daydream had transported him. He looked up again at the sad reality. Half broken fence, piles of rubbish, a broken stump with a few leaves shooting in one place was all that remained of their old frangipani tree.

  He took a deep breath, time to get to work. Walking round the corner to the West End Hotel, he asked the barman for an old burlap sack. “What no beer today Jimmy, and very posh we are with that jacket” the barman said.

  Jimmy could not help grinning. “I have work to do.’

  He set to work, gathering the mouldering boards and papers, broken branches, cast off rags and all the other detritus which filled the yard.

  He was conscious of not getting his best clothes dirty or smelling like a tramp for his afternoon tea. He stepped back and examined himself. Only a few specks of dirt so far that he could brush off. The burlap bag was already three quarters full.

  But the rest would have to wait for tomorrow; he would get to work then in his old clothes. He knew what he would do, tonight he would call to see his Mum and Dad, and ask if he could borrow some tools to fix the house and then start living there. Perhaps they could even lend him a few pounds to buy paint for it; in his mind he pictured a soft lemon colour.

  It was time to go. He suddenly realised that the day had flown. In haste he found his way back to Darling St and the shop, hoping she had waited. The shop was closed and he felt mild panic. He came around the side into the shade. There she was, sitting in her carriage, surveying him with a cool stare; as if assessing whether he had failed his first test.

  He just grinned; nothing could spoil his day now. She made space for him to sit alongside her up front, and headed the horse down Darling St towards East Balmain.

  He found himself talking to her, telling her about himself and what he had been doing, his grandmother and how he missed her, the old house and his dreams for it, his rough life and troubles. It all came spilling out. She listened quietly, taking it all in, as if she knew and understood half already.

  Finally she said. “My Maria is a bit like you. Her life should have been easy, she was given much. But sometimes that is not enough and you have to find your own way. Sometimes things do not go right. She too has had her troubles, but now she is grown and moving beyond that. She is a good girl but often she wants to fight the world. You and she could help each other.”

  So absorbed was Jimmy that he barely noticed the road. With a start he realised where they were, as they pulled up to a stop in East Balmain. It was just above the cobbled street that led down to the ferry, past the graveyard where his dear Sophia was buried.

  Again he found himself telling this to Alison, and how his grandma had been placed there to look out towards where her husband’s ship would come in. Alison smiled and looked kindly at him. “This I know. She too was my friend when I first came back to Balmain, and I was the lonely one. She told me the awful news that day when her husband’s ship was lost.

  Then I saw you standing there, after all the others had left, when they buried her, and I knew your sadness. My mother, my little brother, my sister and my dearest second grandparents lie next to her. They too loved the view. On that day I could feel your hurt and I felt, perhaps, it was you who would make my Maria happy.

  Today, when you did not come back, I feared that you were not strong enough for her and had returned to your drinking. Now I feel I know you, and that you and she will make each other strong.

  We will go to our house soon. But first I want you to see another house.”

  She dismounted the carriage and led him off Darling St down a small lane to the east where the view opened out to Sydney town. Perched on top of the hill was a weatherboard cottage, with a sandstone fence and lots of roses growing in the front garden.

  “This now is my daughter, Heather’s house, where she lives with her two children. But, once, it was my parent’s house and then it was my house. Here I found and knew love, and this house shared it all. It is like the love you feel for the house in which you first lived, and where you hope to live with Maria someday. Now Charles and I live in another house that I love too, but this house will always be most special for me.”

  Jimmy felt a surge of affection for the lady who stood beside him; it was as if they had known each other all of his life.

  She turned and took his hand in her own small hand and led him back across Darling Street, to where the land fell away to the other side, down another lane. She passed him the reins to lead the horse as they walked side by side. Around a bend in the lane stood a grand sandstone house, its bulk rooted to the earth and its towering sandstone walls holding up the sky. He saw the name ‘Ocean View’ written on an ornate plate next to the door.