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| Old Queenslander Circa 1940s... |
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| Another style of Queenslander with enclosed sleep-out/verandah...not dissimilar to the one we purchased in Torwood |
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| "Ruska" by Arabia |
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| "Arabia - Ruska" Dinnerware |
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| Similar-style rear stairs to those in the Torwood house |
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| Leopard Tree |
Shortly after we married and while still living in our little workers’ cottage in Toowong, Randall and I purchased another house, a Queenslander in the nearby suburb of Torwood. Torwood is a very small suburb the size of a pocket handkerchief (slight exaggeration) nestled up behind Toowong. These days it’s been snaffled up by the neighbouring suburb of Auchenflower, I think. Perhaps only the “oldies” like me still refer to it as “Torwood”; but in the mid-Seventies Torwood remained true to its original name and boundaries. In the Seventies, also, it became very popular to buy and renovate “Queenslanders”. Everyone was doing it…well, not everyone…but you know what I mean!
Bought as an investment property, immediately upon
settlement we placed the house on the rental market and we leased the house to
a young Vietnamese couple and their two children. At the fall of Saigon they’d fled Vietnam, ending up in Australia. The husband, an eye doctor, had gained a
position at the Royal
Brisbane Hospital,
in the suburb of Herston. They settled into the house nicely and paid the rent
on time. Because they were classed as refugees they were received government
assistances as well as whatever the husband earned from his position at the
hospital. A new life in their new country had begun for them.
All was going along smoothly, except Sasha was still
treating me with the utmost disdain, preferring the elderly cacti lady to the
one person in the world who loved him the most; the one who was willing to
forget and forgive him of his transgressions; but he would have none of it, or
of me. It was beyond my control to alter
the situation. His nose was out of
joint…and he chose to keep it that way, no matter how much and how hard I tried
to coax him into thinking and acting otherwise.
My love for him never waned. His
attitude frustrated me, but I still adored him.
He was still mine no matter where he chose to live.
The renovations on our cottage in Toowong progressed at an
even pace, attended to in between our day-to-day routines at our respective
jobs. Regularly on Sunday mornings we’d join friends at their home, or they at
ours…we took it in turns…for “Choir Practice” also known as “drinks and
nibbles”. Sometimes “Choir Practice”
extended onto lunch.
On one particular morning as we sat around a table on the
patio at our friends’ home, enjoying refreshing beverages while solving the
world’s problems their neighbour from across the street wandered over. In her hands, curled up in a little ginger
ball of fur, was a little kitten.
I’m a sucker when it comes to small, furry ginger masses,
particularly when they look directly into my eyes; immediately commence purring
and, without encouragement, climb into my arms.
I’ve never denied it.
Driving back to our home that Sunday we had an extra passenger. With one member of our family having left
home to explore the world…off on his own personal odyssey into the yard over
the back; and darling Smocka who’d disappeared without a trace - who hopefully
had been stolen and taken into loving home….we were once again three - Ruska, a six-week old kitten came to live
with Randall and me.
My new little friend, Ruska was named by me. I’m not sure how I came up with the name, but
I did discover it was a Finnish word signifying autumn leaf colour. And I’ve
since learned Ruska is also the name of a few villages in Slovakia. Also Rava-Ruska is a city in Ukraine and Ruska Bela, a city in Bulgaria.
Because I prefer earthy designs, colours, décor etc….rather
than feminine florals, frills and flounces (Randall’s taste was similar to
mine…I didn’t coerce him in anyway to my preferences)….we purchased an “Arabia” earthen-ware dinner set that was dark chocolate
in colour. The colour was called “Ruska”.
Whether we had the dinner set before or after Ruska entered our lives, I can’t be
exact with those details. It’s a bit
like “what came first, the chicken or the egg?” I’d had my eye on the dinner set for some
time, knowing it was the one for us, and I was familiar with the name of the
particular design….either which way, we had a dinner set and a cat with a
shared name… neither of which complained.
Like we were mates of old; the best of friends - Ruska
snuggled familiarly in my lap as we left Kenmore
to travel back home to Toowong, a distance of around 6.4kms (four miles). Halfway home he decided he wanted to
investigate his new mode of transport; and that he did as confident as a
well-seasoned traveller. Giving a
thumbs-up, he soon nestled back in my lap and there he remained until we drove
into our yard. I carried him upstairs,
closed all the exits to allow him further, safe exploration. He spotted the main bedroom immediately! He knew he was onto a good thing. He didn’t need a tour guide to show him
around and point out all the benefits at his paw-tips!
I had a sneaking suspicion when Randall and I were at work
during the day, Sasha paid visits. Ruska needed someone to show him the ropes,
and who better to do that than Sasha? He
was a born mentor, and the elder citizen!
Ruska, ginger-furred like Sasha, was very much like Smocka
in personality. He was a very
affectionate fellow (and, it must be said, like Sasha once was with me). Ruska was clearly my cat. He’d put his mark or claim on me from the
very beginning; from the moment he’d climbed into my hands. He was a lovable cat, giving as much as he
received. He loved snuggling in with his paws around my neck, showering my
cheek with kisses. Ruska was a gentle, beautiful
cat.; and smart cat, too, Randall and I discovered one evening.
Randall and I were sitting in our kitchen, on stools, enjoying
a few after-work drinks one evening. Ruska, as usual, was with us, at our feet,
listening in, adding his tuppence worth when he felt it necessary. He was
resting on the floor following a hard day’s resting.
After a while I noticed he was busy at one of his bowls…the
one filled with his “munchies”…the dried food.
My eyes widened. I drew Randall’s
attention to what Ruska was doing. He,
Ruska, was taking from his bowl one pellet at a time and placing the pellets,
one by one, in a circle around the bowl!
Once the circle was complete…he began eating them, one at a time until
the circle of cat pellets was no longer. He then sat back and proudly surveyed his
handiwork. Randall and I couldn’t
believe what we’d witnessed. We put it down to Ruska giving us a hint to hurry
up and fill his bowl with his dinner of freshly-diced raw meat. It was either that or he’d become bored with
the subjects of our conversation, hoping we’d move on to a more cat-appropriate
subject.
Another time Randall and I were sitting out in our backyard
at dusk, again enjoying after-work drinks while discussing the events of our day.
It was a habit of ours, and one we liked
to uphold. With music playing in the background and a drink of choice in hand,
it was a pleasant way to end our day. Ruska, of course, was downstairs with us,
running around like a mad cat, happy for our company. Sasha, no doubt, was spying on us through the
long grass in the yard yonder.
Overwhelmed with joy and lost in the moment, Ruska ran, like a bat out
of hell, up a tall, but rather spindly tree at the boundary fence between our
cottage and the identical cottage next door. In his excitement, Ruska had
scampered up the tree higher than he originally intended.
With a look on his ginger face that clearly said:
“Oops! I’ve gone too far! What do I do
now?”
He froze on the spot…high up in the tree…which, in fact, was
a Leopard tree…one may as well keep it in the family, so to speak!
Alarmed, I jumped up and ran over to the tree; to my
stranded mate who was hanging on to the tree trunk for dear life, terrified to
let go. He was immobile with fear. I
lifted up my arms and called to him.
What happened next shocked both Randall and me. Ruska let go of the tree. He fell down
through the air into my waiting extended arms.
Misty-eyed, I hugged him close. Randall and I looked at each other in
amazement. Ruska trusted me so much he had no doubts I’d safely catch him. It was quite an incredible. He had no doubt that I’d catch him. He just
fell into my open arms and straight away snuggled into me. Every time I think
about that special moment in time I’m still in awe at the faith Ruska had in
me.
A few months after we’d rented out our Torwood house to the
family of four we received the shock of our lives when we discovered they’d
invited all their relatives to take up residence in two-bedroom with enclosed
sleep-out house! Open house for all-comers – permanent bed,
breakfast, lunch and dinner!
Every adult occupant received welfare from the Australian
government (tax-payers). Doing a head count we discovered, there were at least
eight adults, and almost as many children.
The interior walls of the house, again as in our little
worker’s cottage in Cadell Street
were tongue and groove…and in almost every strip of timber were nails. The inhabitants had strung up fabric to act as
screens, making separate living/sleeping areas all throughout the house. Not one room escaped being nailed. Hardly a strip of tongue and groove, if even
one, escaped being nailed by many nails!
It was unbelievable. The walls
looked like they’d been peppered by buck-shot!
The rental fee had remained the same even though the
occupancy level had risen immensely. Of
course, up until that stage we weren’t aware the number had increased; or by
how much.
The figure paid by the original family of two adults and two
children was a very fair rental. The original tenant, the doctor would’ve been
receiving good money in his position with the Health Department; on top of that
he, too, was receiving welfare payments.
He was probably earning much more than Randall and I were a week! Who else of the adults in the house were
working as well as receiving hand-outs, I don’t know. I was reeling in the aisles. The amount of money entering that household
was astronomical – mind-boggling! And we
were receiving a pittance in rental, but still had a mortgage to pay.
Some may think I’m being cold-hearted as I describe what we
suddenly had come face to face with, and that’s okay…but I don’t see it that
way at all. It was our blood, sweat and
tears that had gone into purchasing the house.
At one stage, both Randall and I had worked two jobs in an effort to get
ourselves ahead. We were starting a bit
later than our peers. We were in our
early thirties when we married, ten years later than most of others of our
generation. We had a bit of catching up
to do.
We’d chosen the husband, wife and their two children over
and above other applicants for the house, believing in giving them “a fair go”
in their new country; but they didn’t give us a fair go in return.
The day Randall gave the tenants Notice to Vacate he received
a mouthful of abuse from a fellow who obviously was one of the grandfathers,
and one of the extra “tenants”. The older fellow tried to make out he didn’t
speak or understand English, but he sure knew how to curse. Cursing must be a universal language…not unlike
“Esperanto”.
We gave the family/families a decent time to find
alternative accommodation. Randall,
being in real estate, even assisted them in finding other housing at reasonable
rental costs. No thanks were given in
return; and none were expected, to be honest.
So many two-way streets become one-way streets….
The block of land the house sat upon was steep, situated two
doors down from the crest of the hill. Looking at the house from the street, on
the right, the main bedroom was ground level, whereas on the opposite side, to
the left, the sunroom/sleep-out that wrapped around the left side of the house
was high above the ground; high enough to park our car underneath the house
with metres of head space to spare above.
The land fell away at the back of the property. We could only park one car under the house;
the other had to be left parked out front on the kerb. Most times I parked my car, half on the
footpath and half in the gutter in front of our house…facing downhill…the wrong
way because Payne Street,
Torwood was/is a narrow street. Illogically,
I received a parking ticket and fine one Sunday for illegal parking…another
story…for another time.
The rather expansive back yard of our property after the
tenants (and I use that word loosely) vacated was littered with rubbish. It looked similar to the city tip! Egg
cartons, milk cartons, bottles, paper; all forms of garbage had been thrown out
the kitchen window or, perhaps to make it more interesting, to break up the
monotony, they stood at the back door and just tossed the rubbish out,
willy-nilly, not giving a damn. I kid
you not…it was disgraceful.
As described above the land at the rear of the house fell
way rather steeply. The street below…was
way below as were the yards of the houses in that particular street - “Annie Street”;
which, considering the mess in our yard was a good thing.
Randall hired two men who did that particular kind of work
to clean up the yard, but after about an hour or so they walked off the job
refusing to tackle it any further. And
one couldn’t blame them! I do not
exaggerate.
Upstairs, the interior was an equally sorry sight. It wasn’t
only all the nails, but the kitchen looked like something out of a horror
show. The fridge was ours; it was in the
house when we bought it. The fridge, in
good condition, came with the purchase, and as we had our own fridge we left it
in the house as part of the rental.
The tenants had switched off the fridge before vacating, but
they’d not bothered to empty or clean it out.
It was full of stinking, rotting food, prawn shells included!
The vinyl on the kitchen floor, which, to be honest, wasn’t
new, but it had been in relatively good condition when we bought the house – it
had been almost destroyed…somehow…I don’t know how. Maybe they’d practised “Riverdance” steps in
the kitchen. Who would know? Underneath the vinyl was an even more
surprising, disgusting discovery.
Obviously, the whole supply of Woolworths Toowong’s soy sauce had been
purchased and spilled over the kitchen floor, and not cleaned up. Beneath the
vinyl was a stinking, sticky black mess!
I think the creature from the Black Lagoon lived under the
floor-covering.
There was nothing left to do but clean it up ourselves. Randall again took time off from his work to
get stuck into it. I remained at my job,
but helped out in other ways where and when I could. We hired a skip and
trailer…and became good friends with our local rubbish dump/tip. Some of the waste we burned.
We made the decision that if we were going to put in all the
work that needed to be done to the house and yard to get it back up to scratch,
we’d move into it, and make it our principle home, working on it as we
went. We rented out our cottage; the one
we were living in, in Cadell
Street. It was
the logical thing to do; so that is what we did.
Sasha remained stand-offish with me. I hated having to leave
him, even though he was still living in the street behind Cadell Street; still calling the
greenhouse belonging to the elderly lady, home. There really was no other
choice. Randall, because his work
premises were nearby regularly went to check that he was doing okay. I didn’t do it as often because it broke my
heart whenever I did.
Before we moved to the house in Torwood I said a very
tearful goodbye to Sasha. I wasn’t
moving very far away, physically, but emotionally he and I were worlds apart.
The situation tore me apart. Sasha’s glaring at me and his ducking away from me
when I reached out to him were almost too much to bear.
A suitable tenant was found for the cottage and up to the Torwood
house Randall, Ruska and I went (as I described…up on the crest of a hill).
I’m sure Ruska and Sasha compared notes and said their
farewells when we weren’t at home.
Randall and I again donned our renovators’ overalls, tool
belts and studied paint charts. But
before we could even think about painting the interior we had to remove a
thousand nails from the walls!
After a brief inspection Ruska approved of his new
surroundings, but as long as he was with us, all was well in his world. The enclosed sunroom with a view to the city
skyline beyond received his tick of approval soon after he moved in. He loved seeing the bright city lights in the
distance, but he had no intentions of becoming part of the nightclubbing
set.
The rear stairs with a small landing midway through the
descent, breaking up and steering the decline in a different direction onwards
to the ground became his morning meditation-yoga spot where he uttered his
mantras.
One morning having finished his uplifting cleansing he
yawned widely. A sparrow flew by just at
the very moment his mouth was at its widest. Much to his and the bird’s
surprise, accidentally and freakishly the sparrow got caught in Ruska’s
mouth. I’m not sure who received the biggest
shock, Ruska or the bird.
I think Ruska received top points because he quickly
spluttered, wondering what the hell had happened; and the bird, counting his
lucky stars, flew away, shaking its tail feathers with a tale that was to be
passed down forever more in his family tree.
True story…it did happen!
