Times change, the demographic broadens... but memories of 'how it was' remains.'

Steamy, silent streets of Strathfield

wake and shimmer in morning rain.

Praiseworthy wives frying bacon,

sunny-side eggs, with runny yolks,

butter soldiers of wholemeal toast.

Here Aubrey, David, Absalom –

and sandy Alistair, of Scottish ilk,

Annabel, Daphne, Sarah, Simone

reach out for coffee, cream or milk,

don business suits and ties of silk.

Elegant Jaguar, Mercedes Benz,

a status symbol - a loyal friend

flicks away specs of defiant dust,

throttles thoughts of hidden rust,

drives to the office to earn a crust.

Strathfield streets, soft rain falling,

Jehovah witness on duty calling,

rings the doorbell, meets a scowl

and a shocked, oh no, not me,

we’re quite content to be C of E.

Do Christmas and Easter things,

christenings and weddings too.

Have funerals - in an Anglo way,

go on Sunday, if we hear the bell,

don’t believe in the fires of hell.

On a sign nearby: Deceased Estate:

Urgent Sale - Auction on Friday, late.

Forgotten roses, one day so grand,

droop and wait for pruning planned

by a loving, dead, deadheading hand.

Lunch with the girls at Café Noire,

Alice, Margot and dark-eyed Jane,

her designer labels from Singapore,

decaffeinated latte, happy she came,

loves longish walks in summer rain.

Late afternoon, putting up of feet,

repair the ravages of a trying day.

Watch nimble tennis girls on TV

secreting balls in impish skimps, 

or simply relax, have forty winks.

Muted, evening streets of Strathfield,

soothing twilight now come at last,

cocktails made, dinner almost ready,

hear the car… and the old dog bark,

time to walk in the rain soaked park.

Dinnertime ritual, how was your day?

Did this and the other in the usual way.

Plasma screen, easy chair, market yield,

supper snack, nightcap and stifled yawn,

sound asleep, Strathfield, in a rainy dawn.

End Note:    The greater part of the modern commune of Strathfield owes its genesis to the inspired generosity of Governor Lachlan Macquarie [1762-1824] in granting 570 acres of land, in 1808, to James Wilshire [1771-1840].

Later a wealthy ex-convict Samuel Terry [1776-1838] took on the estate and named it 'Redmire' after his birthplace in England. Seven Oaks Farm was the first property built, in 1868.

In 1885, on the incorporation of the Council of the Municipality, the old burghers adopted the name Strathfield, taken from the name of one of the larger, splendid local homes.

Strathfield became an esteemed and sought after sanctuary. In the early and middle twentieth century, it was a haven for the many wealthy and business families, who built their lives and futures there. It also gave a home to a scattering of poets, artists, sunshine intellectuals and retired academics, attracted by the leafy environment, the unassailable middle class values and the proximity to the city of Sydney.

As the twentieth century ended demographics changed somewhat. Strathfield welcomed to its tree lined streets a new generation of settlers. New Australians diluted the traditionally conservative Anglo texture of the place as Old Australians, sometimes reluctantly, embraced their new multicultural world.

Strathfield In The Rain-Revisited © Dermott Ryder