(no, not here, this is an undemolished house around the corner from home)
If had been sitting in my current office working away as a solicitor in 1935 (most unlikely given my gender) this is what my building would have looked like:
The National Trust has just released an app which tracks demolished buildings of Melbourne. Like every city, there are many, although we demolished maybe more enthusiastically than others. Save for the English of course. Bill Bryson points out in his book At Home that literally thousands of magical country homes were demolished in the middle of the last century, a sad fact now the subject of a site which Lisa pointed me to in a recent post.
The building above was used by the US General Macarthur as his residence during WW2, and also played host to Mark Twain and Alexander Graham Bell.It was demolished and replaced with the current high rise.
Almost too sad to think about, that such a building has gone for good.
There are plenty more where that came from. Remember the 1950's? I don't but apparently old things were considered ugly and out of fashion, and people wanted new clean lines. There were very limited heritage controls and so people could buy large blocks of land, demolish the inconvenient Italianate mansion located on it, and build a lovely orange brick block of flats.
Here are some no longer with us, just in my area:
(Alta Vista, South Yarra, 1859)
(Corrabert, Toorak)
(Leura mid 1800s, Toorak)
(Norla, Irving Road Toorak)
So many memories and people laughing, all gone.
But fear not, there are many buildings which have survived.
(Ripponlea in the suburb of the same name)
and many more still in private hands:
(Coonac in Clendon Road Toorak)
(Miegunyah, Orrong Road Toorak)
(Images via the Age, National Trust (thanks!)
I have a very personal reason for feeling sad about demolished houses.
I grew up in a pale pink 1920s house, which we sold when my parents divorced. To me that house was happiness incarnate. I still dream of it.
Eventually, it sold and then sold again. A few years ago I happened to drive past, and the wreckers were there, busily pulling it down. I pulled over, a stared in unbelieving horror. The gingko tree we climbed on, the ancient pear trees, the morton bay fig, the terracotta roof, the slate verandah, all gone. A little bit of me died that day, I tell you.
And what is there now? A large block of neo Georgian neo Tuscan neo Palladian apartments. What can you say?
Happy post next time, I promise.
I have a very personal reason for feeling sad about demolished houses.
I grew up in a pale pink 1920s house, which we sold when my parents divorced. To me that house was happiness incarnate. I still dream of it.
Eventually, it sold and then sold again. A few years ago I happened to drive past, and the wreckers were there, busily pulling it down. I pulled over, a stared in unbelieving horror. The gingko tree we climbed on, the ancient pear trees, the morton bay fig, the terracotta roof, the slate verandah, all gone. A little bit of me died that day, I tell you.
And what is there now? A large block of neo Georgian neo Tuscan neo Palladian apartments. What can you say?
Happy post next time, I promise.
