Ageing Homes And Ageing Bones

The old homes that have long since fallen into disrepair and why being old doesn't mean you must bring your life to a halt.

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Hello, this is Episode 2 of That’s Just Life. Now my website, just as a reminder, is pamcarter.net. You’ll often see when you go in the word ‘Maitland’, and that is used on the web, so that will distinguish me from all the other thousands of Pam Carters that are there. And also please note that the examples of my artwork is now on the website. And if you wish to contact me or offer a comment, my working email address can be found under contact when you open the website.

In the first podcast of this series, I talked about our home and when we arrived back in Australia in 1977, after we returned from the UK. The subject of houses reminded me of old houses we’ve seen as we travelled around the country. Many of these houses were built by settlers, while others were built by people who, after establishing their businesses, went on to live in more substantial houses. Often the old house was left as it stood on the land and over time had slowly fallen into disrepair through age and neglect. Generally, most of the original houses had just two rooms, but as the family grew, extra rooms were added.

I’m particularly reminded of a small deserted old residence on a farm that I visited on a regular basis. Inside the house, which at this time was minus a roof, were the remains of furniture that, like the house, was falling into disrepair. And in the cupboards, especially in the bathroom cupboards, remained tins of ointment, toothpaste, combs, etc. And old clothing was strewn over a homemade bed. As was my ilk, I wrote a poem that came from my imagination, and I called it The Homestead:

My great grandpa came to this land,
With his bride so long ago
They travelled to the outback,
To run sheep and crops to grow.

They put money in this property,
And toiled the land to clear,
They worked through flood and drought and heat,
With sweat and pain and tear,

From mud and stones and wooden poles
They built a two-roomed shack,
And extended it as the children came,
Beside a winding track.

This homestead did not look like much,
But it was a lovely place to live,
Full of love and warmth and laughter,
They had so much to give.

Although at times the going was rough,
They were never heard to moan,
And everyone was welcome,
From wherever they did roam.

Be it friend or tramp or stranger,
All felt at home there on the land,
With rabbit stew to fill them,
Made by great grandmother’s hand.

This place remained the family home,
Passed from father down to son,
For many years it stayed like that,
Until it’s day was done.

When white ants chewed through the roof beams,
And the tiles slid off the roof,
And rain leaked down the chimney,
It was too old in the tooth.

So my spouse and I decided
With a very heavy heart,
That the time had come to build with bricks,
And with the old house part.

There was no way in the wide world
We could knock the old place down,
It remains there as our heritage,
Sitting there just like a crown.

We built our new house with brick and tile,
Filled with the latest things,
Our life was good and happy
With joys a family brings.

Yet I often look from our window
At the old house across the way,
It makes me sad to see it,
Fall into such decay.

But it seems right that it’s returning
To the land from whence it came,
Time never waits for man or beast,
For nothing stays the same.

But memories last forever,
As do stories that are told,
And as long as our family can survive,
This land will ne’er be sold.

Maybe in the years to come,
Our new home will be outdated,
And some future sons will build anew
With materials not yet created.

My only wish when that time comes,
Is that a pride will still remain,
For all their forbears who came before,
And made their mark on this terrain.

We were fortunate to have pleasant neighbours in the next street where we’d chosen to move to. There were a variety of ages and cultures in our small community, all of which were ready and friendly towards each other, and never hesitated to wish them all a good day when they met.

Across the road lived a family with young children, and before long our children made friends with them. Directly next door lived Jill and Tom, who helped us when we first moved in, and they soon became good friends. We enjoyed time spent with these neighbours, but the best time was attending the wedding of Jill’s mother. That was a very special occasion, and it’s mentioned in the following poem:

Here’s an ode to the folks next door
They’ve been married twenty seven years or more,
So we send our best wishes for their special day,
Let’s hope the navy hurries up with Tom’s pay.

Tom is an Aussie as a bloody Aussie can be,
Jill is a cutie and a good friend to me,
Let’s hope they stay ‘til the year ninety-three,
‘Cos we’ll still be next door, just wait and see.

To us they gave the biggest laugh of the year,
When Tom said, “I’ve got a Pom for a stepfather I fear!”
“It’s not so bad mate, now just don’t you worry,
If she’d married an Indian you’d be swamped out with curry!”

They’ve gone Pommy mad ‘cos Peen for her prize,
Won a trip to England, oh what a surprise,
Not as big as the shock that they’ll have in store,
If from the Motherland she brings a Pom son in law!

So come join the club, bring the family too,
When you can’t beat them there’s just one thing to do,
Join us dear Tom and Jill as we sing,
Just raise up your Middy’s for ‘God save the King.’

I’m afraid ‘the Queen’ didn’t rhyme.

As we get older, every pain or ache is put down to age. Sometimes that is correct, but often it is a complaint that could affect any age. It’s often said, it’s no fun getting older. Although age may bring on a few more aches and pains, age can have good experiences too. For instance, grandchildren can bring great delight, without the responsibility of day-to-day decisions.

Then there is time to do things you’ve often thought of doing. No more working, free travel, cheaper entry into exhibitions and other events, joining clubs, making new friends, older people often gain more confidence to express themselves. Each phase of life should be accepted and enjoyed as a gift. So keep smiling, have the right attitude and have fun in your later years. Here’s a poem about age. I’ve called it, It’s Your Age Dear:

If you are feeling kinda sick,
And you say, “I’ve got a pain.”
Are you told that it’s your age dear?
Take my advice and don’t complain.

If your eyes are kinda blurry,
And books are getting hard to read,
You’ll be told, “It is your age dear,
Glasses are what you really need.”

If your day has been quite hectic,
And your energy starts to sap,
You are told, “Well at your age dear,
You surely need a granny nap.”

Don’t take a youngster to the shops,
If you want modern shoes so neat,
For they’ll hand you wide brown lace ups
For your knobbly, swelling feet.

And frilly pants, brief and lacy
“Are not on at your age dear,
You need those great big bloomers
To cover up your sagging rear!”

You buy some exotic perfumes,
And you’re told, “Maybe you oughter,
At your age my dear old nan,
Buy lavender or nice rose water.”

People will often ask you,
What it was like in your day,
“Hey, I’m still alive and kicking,
So today’s my day,” you say.

So yes, maybe you are older,
But you still have a life to live,
Don’t sink into the old age thing,
For you’ve still got a lot to give.