From my op shop stories

Remember the days when the air was crisp and clean, when the view of the mountains was breathtakingly spectacular and mundanely familiar all at the same time. Remember when Bayswater was a bright, bustling little place where you stopped and talked to someone you knew every few minutes. Templer community life in the 1950s was not rushed. There was time to talk, time to shop and time to enjoy the quaint local atmosphere of a sleepy outlying suburb nestled into the foothills of the Dandenong Ranges. Long gone and but not yet lost.

Magic still happens. Time stood still for me recently in Bayswater. It was the second Saturday of the month. I was in a hurry. Kids had to be chauffeured, appointments kept. All of a sudden, there it was. The Bayswater Market, a magnet of nostalgia pulling back to a place I hadn’t visited in years. The railway station looked prettier than ever. It hadn’t lost its charm of the 50s and 60s, still curtained by the lacework of autumn trees, staged against the backdrop of the bluest mountains. The theatre of my childhood drew me into the car park of umbrella’d stalls.

I met other Templers, council representatives, the local MP in a warm brown jumper. Conversations came with comfort and ease. How are you today? Wie geht’s? Nice to see you. Mach’s gut. A vendor weighed my produce and threw an extra handful onto the scales just like Mr Pegler had half a century ago. The tomatoes looked real, not plastic. The stall holders had time to chat with customers. The laughter and friendly banter predated the robotic formula I was accustomed to from the salesperson connected to the cash register in the supermarket. A gift-wrapping paper vendor spoke in poetry. How about hail on grass, grandma’s roses or rainbow silly string? I took a roll of each one for less than a dollar. The prices were more like they used to be before we knew about inflation and productivity. Strawberries tasted like my childhood. Then I found the best treasure of all. A gold rimmed soup terrine with a full set of deep soup platters like the ones Oma had brought from another world across the oceans. Too much to carry, but trust grew like the healthy flowering pot plants I was loaded up with. It seemed natural to pay the money and leave behind half my wares with smiling strangers. I could come back for them later.

On leaving the car park timewarp, panic struck me. I had lost myself in the past, forgotten the tight schedule of mum’s taxi. I looked at my watch. Time had almost stood still. No hurry, only fifteen minutes had passed. I could still enjoy a cuppa in the café around the corner in Station Street with another Templer. I’ll be back next month to take in a bit more of the forgotten fifties at the Bayswater Market.

Motto: Sometimes it's good to bring the fifties back into the noughties.