Status: Re-uploaded for colibri 20/09/12.
No Room for Ghosts
III
‘From a survival point of view, there aren’t many things worse to be than a caterpillar.’
Delicately, as though it were a chopstick, Leanna held aloft the twig that supported the rescued bug, scrutinising it in the half-darkness. Remnants of cobwebs still stuck in its spines as she transferred it to a variegated stem, to which it clung precariously.
‘There you are, little guy.’ She turned to me. ‘He’s lucky,’ she proclaimed. ‘If it wasn’t for us, he might have been spider food, and would never have made it to being a butterfly. Right?’ She implored the insect, which now posed unassumingly, not daring to make any movement. I nodded vaguely, although I didn’t really have anything to add.
We were in the verdant garden that surrounded Vaucluse House, where we weren’t supposed to be. To alleviate my guilt, I relied mostly on the fact that the stately, colonial era property opened out onto a sheltered pocket of beach that was indistinguishable from the rest of the coastline. It was easy for anyone to wander here accidentally and not know that they were trespassing. The estate was so vast that the fine sand and cushiony couch grass only became manicured greenery about a hundred metres inland.
I knew this, and now Leanna did too, but she didn’t seem to object to my bringing her here. Rather, she appeared to be enjoying herself. It was certainly a magical place by night.
It was difficult to imagine, from the inside, that this bastion of a lost century was nestled right in the heart of Sydney. It must once have squatted in a secluded location, I reasoned, on the periphery of the Harbour, but dense matrices of streets and towering skyscrapers had since put its sanctuary under siege.
Here and there in the city, a wrong turn down a back alley might reveal a secret neighbourhood of tightly-packed heritage houses. Overgrown with thickets of hibiscus and frangipanis, or perpetually summery palm trees, they filled the gaps between urban blocks like moss growing in the mortar of a brick wall. However, such reservoirs were being gradually crowded out by the ever-looming urban sprawl. Only Vaucluse House, out here in its own world, was immune to its expansion.
The House itself, which we could see vaguely beyond the hedges, dated back to the early eighteen-hundreds. Everything inside it –the furnishings, the carpets and the decorations– had been preserved. By day it was a kind of museum, although somebody also occupied it, I thought.
The surrounding gardens were from the same time period. They had once been tame and of a nondescript European variety, but lately acquired the kind of character that only develops with age. The pebbled paths and sweeping lawns were filled with gnarled, swollen oaks, either portly or arthritically twisted, and sprawling beech trees to which maturity had leant a heady shade. The supporting flora was all English, only accentuated by occasional rubbery-leafed specimens more suited to life on the coast.
The whole place reeked of history.
I liked to imagine what it would have been like to sit out here, on garden’s frontier, two hundred years ago, watching the tall, white-sailed ships come in.
‘It’s ghostly, isn’t it?’ I wanted to convey this feeling to Leanna, so that she could appreciate why I’d chosen our spot for tonight. ‘I stumbled into it by mistake in my very first week after moving here- I took a wrong turn trying to find my way home, and suddenly I was standing on the lawn. Since then, I haven’t really made much of an effort to keep away.’
‘Mm.’
The moonlight made phantasms of her dress and pale skin, so that she looked supernatural. She leaned against a bench, looking out to sea. It was as though the darkness was water, and she was something alien and fragile, floating in the depths.
‘It does seem like the kind of place ghosts might be,’ she agreed. ‘I mean, how many people must have lived here since it was built?’
‘I dunno,’ I said, doing some quick sums in my head. ‘At least seven generations, by my reckoning. That’s a lot of ghosts.’ I raised an eyebrow sceptically, in what I hoped was an amusing expression. ‘Plus, any other, homeless spectres probably roam around here because there’s no space for them in the city, what with all the living.’ I rolled my eyes, and was pleased when Leanna chuckled.
‘Ooh, I bet it even has its own graveyard,’ she added excitedly. ‘Wasn’t that something rich people used to do?’
‘I never thought of that,’ I admitted, neglecting to mention that I hadn’t actually explored very far. I was a cowardly trespasser. ‘You might be right.’
Like a marionette on strings, she came to life and sprang away from her post. ‘You know what would be fun?’ she asked, but didn’t wait for my response. ‘Let’s find it!’
I shrugged. ‘Sure,’ I replied, ‘why not?’
Delicately, as though it were a chopstick, Leanna held aloft the twig that supported the rescued bug, scrutinising it in the half-darkness. Remnants of cobwebs still stuck in its spines as she transferred it to a variegated stem, to which it clung precariously.
‘There you are, little guy.’ She turned to me. ‘He’s lucky,’ she proclaimed. ‘If it wasn’t for us, he might have been spider food, and would never have made it to being a butterfly. Right?’ She implored the insect, which now posed unassumingly, not daring to make any movement. I nodded vaguely, although I didn’t really have anything to add.
We were in the verdant garden that surrounded Vaucluse House, where we weren’t supposed to be. To alleviate my guilt, I relied mostly on the fact that the stately, colonial era property opened out onto a sheltered pocket of beach that was indistinguishable from the rest of the coastline. It was easy for anyone to wander here accidentally and not know that they were trespassing. The estate was so vast that the fine sand and cushiony couch grass only became manicured greenery about a hundred metres inland.
I knew this, and now Leanna did too, but she didn’t seem to object to my bringing her here. Rather, she appeared to be enjoying herself. It was certainly a magical place by night.
It was difficult to imagine, from the inside, that this bastion of a lost century was nestled right in the heart of Sydney. It must once have squatted in a secluded location, I reasoned, on the periphery of the Harbour, but dense matrices of streets and towering skyscrapers had since put its sanctuary under siege.
Here and there in the city, a wrong turn down a back alley might reveal a secret neighbourhood of tightly-packed heritage houses. Overgrown with thickets of hibiscus and frangipanis, or perpetually summery palm trees, they filled the gaps between urban blocks like moss growing in the mortar of a brick wall. However, such reservoirs were being gradually crowded out by the ever-looming urban sprawl. Only Vaucluse House, out here in its own world, was immune to its expansion.
The House itself, which we could see vaguely beyond the hedges, dated back to the early eighteen-hundreds. Everything inside it –the furnishings, the carpets and the decorations– had been preserved. By day it was a kind of museum, although somebody also occupied it, I thought.
The surrounding gardens were from the same time period. They had once been tame and of a nondescript European variety, but lately acquired the kind of character that only develops with age. The pebbled paths and sweeping lawns were filled with gnarled, swollen oaks, either portly or arthritically twisted, and sprawling beech trees to which maturity had leant a heady shade. The supporting flora was all English, only accentuated by occasional rubbery-leafed specimens more suited to life on the coast.
The whole place reeked of history.
I liked to imagine what it would have been like to sit out here, on garden’s frontier, two hundred years ago, watching the tall, white-sailed ships come in.
‘It’s ghostly, isn’t it?’ I wanted to convey this feeling to Leanna, so that she could appreciate why I’d chosen our spot for tonight. ‘I stumbled into it by mistake in my very first week after moving here- I took a wrong turn trying to find my way home, and suddenly I was standing on the lawn. Since then, I haven’t really made much of an effort to keep away.’
‘Mm.’
The moonlight made phantasms of her dress and pale skin, so that she looked supernatural. She leaned against a bench, looking out to sea. It was as though the darkness was water, and she was something alien and fragile, floating in the depths.
‘It does seem like the kind of place ghosts might be,’ she agreed. ‘I mean, how many people must have lived here since it was built?’
‘I dunno,’ I said, doing some quick sums in my head. ‘At least seven generations, by my reckoning. That’s a lot of ghosts.’ I raised an eyebrow sceptically, in what I hoped was an amusing expression. ‘Plus, any other, homeless spectres probably roam around here because there’s no space for them in the city, what with all the living.’ I rolled my eyes, and was pleased when Leanna chuckled.
‘Ooh, I bet it even has its own graveyard,’ she added excitedly. ‘Wasn’t that something rich people used to do?’
‘I never thought of that,’ I admitted, neglecting to mention that I hadn’t actually explored very far. I was a cowardly trespasser. ‘You might be right.’
Like a marionette on strings, she came to life and sprang away from her post. ‘You know what would be fun?’ she asked, but didn’t wait for my response. ‘Let’s find it!’
I shrugged. ‘Sure,’ I replied, ‘why not?’