Life on Whanganui’s East side – Rob Rattenbury

OPINION

We have only lived in four houses since we came to Whanganui 41 years ago. Very different houses. All over east. We never set out to live on Whanganui’s Left Bank but
that is how it turned out.

Every time we looked for a new home we found it on the other side of the river from town.

When we first came here we were allotted a cold 1950s police house in Ikitara Road. We arrived in winter and shivered around our three-bar heater until spring.

By then we had found a nice renovated cottage on Durie Hill which had the best heating.

A small place we were to outgrow with two small children slowly turning into big kids with friends all bouncing around the place on wet days.

The cottage was built in the 1920s, a standard two-bedroomed cottage that had been added onto over the years and then renovated nicely in the early 1980s.

It is so close to town I was able to walk to work for the first time in my life.

Along Maxwell Avenue, down the lift, across the bridge and around to Bell Street.

Easy 20-minute amble. It was close to Durie Hill School for Miss Eight-year-old and Polson Park kindy for Mr Three.

A very nice little community. Even a church over the road if one felt the need for a bit of quiet.

It was an interesting place to be a gardener. Digging in the backyard we found a bottle dump.

I had a mate who was a bit of a historian who knew about these things and he had a look.

We found some interesting old bottles and bits of china. We didn’t know that in days gone by a not uncommon practice was to dig a hole in one’s backyard to throw rubbish into, cover the hole up, job done.

Maybe the Balgownie tip was a bit far back in the 1920s.

Our next home was on Anzac Parade.

It was a rambling big old place, again a police house, no carpet on the floors and just grey roller blinds as was usual then.

Very basic but it did have a gas heater in the lounge. We were there for a few months until we finalised the deal on the love shack where we still reside today.

The old house had an interesting history. Of course, I worked with a few police who had lived in it over the years.

Most police houses then, even now, are short-term stays, a few months perhaps until a transfer or a new home is purchased.

When my workmates heard we were setting up home there they told us it was haunted. Haunted. Really? There are no such things as ghosts.

So Mr and Mrs Sensible moved into the house with our two now substantially larger children. Ghosts, yeah right.

The place had about half an acre of lawn that took a day to mow. It had some beautiful trees and was just over the road from Kowhai Park. It still has the biggest walnut tree I have ever seen.

The first night we were in the house Jen was on night shift at Belverdale Hospital. I was alone in the house with the kids. No worries.

We were both shift workers, used to it. But then I heard a noise in the hallway. It was all dark, so dark. No streetlights as it is on a back section. My mind began playing games.

Someone is walking up the hall. I bound out of bed. I don’t bound now.

Out into the hallway, nothing. I checked the kids, both in bed dead to the world.

Back to bed, end of sleep. Creaks and steps all night. Great. The next morning I told the nurse. She just laughed and went off to bed where she slept soundly all day.

Strange things did happen though. One night, as usual, we locked the back door on the rear verandah, leaving the key turned in the old lock. Next morning the door was ajar with the key still in the lock. The door was fine, it always locked well.

There was always a presence in the house. Whether it was our imagination or what, I still do not know. The old story was that the guy that built the place way back in the early 20th century allegedly murdered his wife in the place.

The police bought it at some stage for the district commander; hence its imposing size and luxury compared to all the other police houses in town.

I was going to tell you about Whanganui’s Left Bank but I got side-tracked. That will have to be another story.