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August 26, 2006

from nowhere in particular

...step off the train, squeeze through the gate and plod slowly across an empty carpark as a light drizzle floats down. The sun set during your journey so you navigate by the sodium-yellow light, out of the carpark and past some now-empty shops. A few streets later, you're home.

the next morning, you share the platform with the same people as every other working day since you moved to this suburb. it's almost as if you each have your own square of space marked out on the platform while you wait for the train. nobody talks, but there's a kind of near-telepathy as people share glances. eventually, there's a familiar bing - one you hear occasionally in your sleep, by now - and a disembodied voice says "good morning, passengers. the next train is the ...".

August 27, 2006

Rush hour

A crowd gathered to defend our history, one day in Camberwell.

There was a guy from hollywood who entered our households via an insane pianist one day a few years. He is one of us, he shares our hopes and dreams, he doesn't catch the 6:32am stopping all stations to Lilydale but he defends his right to do so on the same platform is father once stood.

Several years later we stand in the rain, rush from platform 1 to 3 to make connecting trains, girls in black suits and nikes, guys in pants and colorful ties, school kids, mothers, the zone 2 and zone 3 dwellers.

Thanking god and hollywood for the unique pleasure that only a heritage can bring.

camberwell citybound 2


When things were new, we would walk down Essex Road hand in hand, having seen the sun rise in each other's eyes, having kissed, like lovers kiss before breakfast, having asked if we looked good in this, having worn the tie she got me or the skirt I got her.

We would glide across Canterbury Road, the traffic biblically opening itself up to us, we would walk towards Chatham station the 8:02 Flinders Street direct could depart seconds before we reached the platform, it didn't matter, how could it matter.

Later we would walk together, our minds awash with what the day had in store, meetings, lectures, lunch options, occasionally hoping for a weekend or a holiday.

We would cross Canterbury Road at the lights, the cars a seamless flow of metal and frustration. We would validate, stand together on the platform and silently kiss goodbye at Richmond because the loop train meant a three minute shorter walk to work.

Sometimes we had to run to make the 8:02, sometimes only one of us made it.

Near the end she would walk ahead of me, stand at the city end of the platform because it was closer to the Elizabeth Street exit, put the headphones from her flat batteried walkman in her ears and hold her 3 for the price of 4 novel upside down. She always sat in the last available seat in a 6 seat spot, with her back to where she thought I would be.

West of East Richmond

east richmond transport sunset

August 28, 2006

moving galleries

I haven't personally spotted his contribution in the flesh (as it were), but it's heartening to know that Our Bro has contributed to the Moving Galleries train poetry project. Leanne Hills over at Cordite suggests:

In my mind, the defining image is of a 42-year-old financial advisor, somewhere between Kooyong and Richmond, looking across at one of the rooku decals, sports pages still open on his knee, and connecting with poetry - for the very first time.


August 31, 2006

the other colour


Glenferrie and Auburn station have those dark, hairpin ramps down from the platform to a tunnel below, evoking an early part of the 20th century circa The Sullivans when life was, apparently, more brown than it is today*. Dad hops off a Red Rattler after work and pops into the local for a quick pint on the way home. Junior rides his bike around the streets after school, smiling in his shorts and a shirt and a sleeveless jumper. Nothing to do on Sunday but tag along to church with everybody else and wait for a nice roast dinner. Johnny O'Keefe is years away.

I'm just passing through this time - off to a bright red shop of sorts, dropping off some piece or other of broken technology - but I spent a couple of pleasant years in this area a decade previously. More on that later.

* (When did Melburnians move on from brown to black, anyway?)

About August 2006

This page contains all entries posted to station'ry in August 2006. They are listed from oldest to newest.

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