Wonthaggi is reputedly a local Aboriginal word meaning either "home" or "to pull along”. Wonthaggi, VIC - Aussie Towns By Belinda Henderson
IN EARLY 2016, my partner & I bolted down the South Gippy highway, incurring a bit of “white line fever” (that’s where you stare at the road ahead, clocking the road signs and hopefully, the speed limits) before arriving at Wonthaggi.
Late for our first appointment with a real estate agent, hereafter known as the REA, we apologised profusely before realising, slowly, that we needn’t have been sorry at all.
We were there to view three properties, with a view to buy. Why Wonthaggi? A clumsy formula of low house prices + services - not middle of nowhere + I sort of knew the place + six months pregnant = Wonthaggi.
IN EARLY 2016, my partner & I bolted down the South Gippy highway, incurring a bit of “white line fever” (that’s where you stare at the road ahead, clocking the road signs and hopefully, the speed limits) before arriving at Wonthaggi.
Late for our first appointment with a real estate agent, hereafter known as the REA, we apologised profusely before realising, slowly, that we needn’t have been sorry at all.
We were there to view three properties, with a view to buy. Why Wonthaggi? A clumsy formula of low house prices + services - not middle of nowhere + I sort of knew the place + six months pregnant = Wonthaggi.
As a child in the early 1980’s, I lived in Melbourne and my parents had a holiday house in Cape Woolamai. It was metres from the beach that stared at San Remo. My Dad used to eat clams straight from the water, and my younger brother and I were allowed to roam free. Ours was the only house in a huge block of land, and it was on stilts to catch the ocean views.
Sitting in the back seat, I smiled at the REA in the rear vision mirror. I just wanted to see these houses. It turned out the first house had tenants, and the REA hadn’t called ahead to ask if he could bring in some potential buyers. He conversed with the tenant in the car- a single mum with three kids – two at home sick – and most displeased with his request. I immediately sided with the tenant and asked him to move on.
Also, there was a very large willow tree in the front. Willow trees are incredibly pretty, but also property death. Their roots are pervasive and get into your neighbours’ space. As in, even your neighbours several blocks away. And you are liable for it. I love trees but not those.
The second house was nice enough, endearingly occupied by a retired couple who’d clearly gone all out to make it look nice on the inside. Sadly for them, my dear carpenter partner (hereafter known as DCP) politely took fault with the structure and worse, the enormous shed. Sheds are most crucial in any carpenter’s life. The conversation went something like this:
DCP: These ceiling beams are stuffed, Mate.
Shed owner: It hasn’t fallen down yet, Son.
DCP: Doesn’t mean it won’t in the next strong wind.
Before they sized up in opposing corners, I left them to wander around the garden. There were grafted fruit trees that puzzled me. I’d no idea you could grow pears, apples and possibly apricots on the same tree. Enid Blyton’s The Faraway Tree came to mind; I almost expected MoonFace, Silky and the Saucepan Man to turn up. The fruit looked manky and barely edible, but impressive nonetheless.
Also, the tapestry cushions on the couch were nice. Before I lost myself entirely I tugged at DCP’s hand and suggested we flee the scene before any further discussion.
The third house looked fine from the street. But it had in fact been burnt out in a fire. The entire back of it was blackened, charcoaled and just, gone.
DCP: Mate, does this place have a certificate of occupancy?
REA: No, I don’t think so, but I’d have to check with the office.
DCP: Dude, seriously? Why are we here?
REA: You said you were a carpenter.
DCP: Yeah, not a fucking magician.
Having not bothered to get out of the car for the third one, I sat crying with laughter in the back seat. They both got back in and joked between themselves on the way back to town. Pulling my dress over my six-month pregnant stomach, I didn’t want to look desperate. But I feared we already did.
My exhausted pregnant self just wanted to go home, which was about 1.5 hours’ drive away. DCP spotted another house for sale and urged me on. “It’s just up the road a bit; let’s check it out before we go.”
Serendipity happened. We called a different REA for this house, and one agent managed to drag themselves away from watching YouTube videos at work to get their butt up the street with the keys. The high ceilings, the elaborate and original ceiling roses, the Huon pine hallway floor, enormous back yard – we were smitten. And in that special mental space that occupies something in between “I am very tired and stressed” and “Do not start, for I will fight you”.
Mind you, most of the place was a shambles. The carpet, for starters. I blurted out “Jesus, that carpet’s seen some love, loss and laughter”. Indeed, it had. You could see and smell it. And almost imagine the people who’d been and gone before.
Negotiations commenced. No-one (least of all the people selling the place) knew what size the block was. We were told it was too tricky to measure, being a peculiar shape. REAs can be slack sometimes. Thus, I stood at one corner of the block in a howling storm, with DCP and his 1000 metre tape measure at yonder diagonal corner. Couldn’t speak to each other by phone – too much pelting rain – but I did feel the odd tug of the tape measure I was slamming into the fence corner. Turns out, the block was measurable after all.
We outbid other people and bought the place. Assuming the “other people” even existed. REAs can be less than honest at times. We settled on February 29. This is easy to remember, not only because it occurs only once every four years, but also because my cousin had her first baby on that Feb 29. Little Lila will be young forever.
The previous owners politely left a box of chocolates and a card on the kitchen bench for us. Would’ve preferred if they’d had a stab at cleaning the place, but t’was cute nonetheless. The card said something sweet, godly and pointless like “We hope you enjoy your new wonderful life with our Lord in this house etc”. The REA left a bottle of what might have been sparkling kerosene, with a ribbon around it saying “Congratulations”. As such, our new life began.
Now my son is seven at Wonthaggi Primary in Billson Street. The local community have been brilliant to us. Between the library, the Harvest Centre, Mitchell House and the local friends I’ve made – some of whom will be friends forever, I’m sure – I’ve never experienced a sense of community such as I have here.
It’s heart-lifting to walk down the street and see people you know well enough to stop and chat to. Or just wave at across the street when you recognise each other.
Am I home yet? Yes, for the time being. After 40-odd years in Melbourne, I wouldn’t go back, even if I had millions. Life is better here.
Sitting in the back seat, I smiled at the REA in the rear vision mirror. I just wanted to see these houses. It turned out the first house had tenants, and the REA hadn’t called ahead to ask if he could bring in some potential buyers. He conversed with the tenant in the car- a single mum with three kids – two at home sick – and most displeased with his request. I immediately sided with the tenant and asked him to move on.
Also, there was a very large willow tree in the front. Willow trees are incredibly pretty, but also property death. Their roots are pervasive and get into your neighbours’ space. As in, even your neighbours several blocks away. And you are liable for it. I love trees but not those.
The second house was nice enough, endearingly occupied by a retired couple who’d clearly gone all out to make it look nice on the inside. Sadly for them, my dear carpenter partner (hereafter known as DCP) politely took fault with the structure and worse, the enormous shed. Sheds are most crucial in any carpenter’s life. The conversation went something like this:
DCP: These ceiling beams are stuffed, Mate.
Shed owner: It hasn’t fallen down yet, Son.
DCP: Doesn’t mean it won’t in the next strong wind.
Before they sized up in opposing corners, I left them to wander around the garden. There were grafted fruit trees that puzzled me. I’d no idea you could grow pears, apples and possibly apricots on the same tree. Enid Blyton’s The Faraway Tree came to mind; I almost expected MoonFace, Silky and the Saucepan Man to turn up. The fruit looked manky and barely edible, but impressive nonetheless.
Also, the tapestry cushions on the couch were nice. Before I lost myself entirely I tugged at DCP’s hand and suggested we flee the scene before any further discussion.
The third house looked fine from the street. But it had in fact been burnt out in a fire. The entire back of it was blackened, charcoaled and just, gone.
DCP: Mate, does this place have a certificate of occupancy?
REA: No, I don’t think so, but I’d have to check with the office.
DCP: Dude, seriously? Why are we here?
REA: You said you were a carpenter.
DCP: Yeah, not a fucking magician.
Having not bothered to get out of the car for the third one, I sat crying with laughter in the back seat. They both got back in and joked between themselves on the way back to town. Pulling my dress over my six-month pregnant stomach, I didn’t want to look desperate. But I feared we already did.
My exhausted pregnant self just wanted to go home, which was about 1.5 hours’ drive away. DCP spotted another house for sale and urged me on. “It’s just up the road a bit; let’s check it out before we go.”
Serendipity happened. We called a different REA for this house, and one agent managed to drag themselves away from watching YouTube videos at work to get their butt up the street with the keys. The high ceilings, the elaborate and original ceiling roses, the Huon pine hallway floor, enormous back yard – we were smitten. And in that special mental space that occupies something in between “I am very tired and stressed” and “Do not start, for I will fight you”.
Mind you, most of the place was a shambles. The carpet, for starters. I blurted out “Jesus, that carpet’s seen some love, loss and laughter”. Indeed, it had. You could see and smell it. And almost imagine the people who’d been and gone before.
Negotiations commenced. No-one (least of all the people selling the place) knew what size the block was. We were told it was too tricky to measure, being a peculiar shape. REAs can be slack sometimes. Thus, I stood at one corner of the block in a howling storm, with DCP and his 1000 metre tape measure at yonder diagonal corner. Couldn’t speak to each other by phone – too much pelting rain – but I did feel the odd tug of the tape measure I was slamming into the fence corner. Turns out, the block was measurable after all.
We outbid other people and bought the place. Assuming the “other people” even existed. REAs can be less than honest at times. We settled on February 29. This is easy to remember, not only because it occurs only once every four years, but also because my cousin had her first baby on that Feb 29. Little Lila will be young forever.
The previous owners politely left a box of chocolates and a card on the kitchen bench for us. Would’ve preferred if they’d had a stab at cleaning the place, but t’was cute nonetheless. The card said something sweet, godly and pointless like “We hope you enjoy your new wonderful life with our Lord in this house etc”. The REA left a bottle of what might have been sparkling kerosene, with a ribbon around it saying “Congratulations”. As such, our new life began.
Now my son is seven at Wonthaggi Primary in Billson Street. The local community have been brilliant to us. Between the library, the Harvest Centre, Mitchell House and the local friends I’ve made – some of whom will be friends forever, I’m sure – I’ve never experienced a sense of community such as I have here.
It’s heart-lifting to walk down the street and see people you know well enough to stop and chat to. Or just wave at across the street when you recognise each other.
Am I home yet? Yes, for the time being. After 40-odd years in Melbourne, I wouldn’t go back, even if I had millions. Life is better here.