If these walls could talk they'd tell a simple but ordinary story.
A young man brought his family to Melbourne. They had no friends. No family for support. Money was in short supply.
They bought a house in the eastern suburbs, not a dream house by any stretch of the imagination. There were rat droppings in the oven. The carpets were damp and mouldering. The gas hearter leaked into the living room.
They knew struggle a plenty in those early years - illness, sadness, empty pockets. Oft-times laughter too. They made friends. Cared for their neighbours. Belonged to a faith community. Then fortune carried them to another part of the world.
Coming back after four years in the pacific, the suburbs felt endless and monotone. But they raised a family there - safe between the cream bricks and plaster board. Gained three daughters. Watched another spiral out of control. And all the while their friends and neighbours were there helping to ease the load.
Now they are leaving the eastern suburbs. Their friends and neighbours. This house where they raised their family. It's been hard and it's been easy. At times just plain ordinary. But they are grateful for twenty four happy years.