My Dad drove taxis in Perth for 20 years. He loved his clients and he enjoyed every mile he drove. But in 1960, after a short illness, he took a break. He rented out his cab and took on the lease of a parking area immediately east of the Cloister's Building, at the intersection of St George's Terrace and Mill Street in Perth.
At the time I was 16 and still in fourth year (year 11) at school. Even though I didn't have a drivers licence I helped Dad park cars when he was busy and ran the car park two or three nights a week on my own.
The Cloisters was an historic red brick building, used as an Anglican School for boys, then later girls and then as a boarding school. Further along The Cloisters was used by the University of Western Australia.
Despite being an imposing building, the major landmark was the Port Jackson Fig Tree which dominated the parking site and was a landmark in St George's Tce. The huge canopy of branches and leaves gave us relief from the summer heat and was our umbrella in winter.
I soon learned how to start, stop and park every make and model of car. I learned the tricks of reverse parking cars into the tightest spaces. Our yard was licenced for 65 cars but we often squeezed in 80 or even 85 cars.
It cost drivers two shillings (20 cents) to enter and two and six (25 cents an hour) to park. Drivers simply pulled in, hopped out and handed Dad or me the keys and headed off to work, shopping or His Majesty's Theatre.
One afternoon a farmer from New Norcia (VP number plates stood for Victoria Plains) drove in with his yank tank. After an hour he returned, owing us 4/6 (45 cents). He fumbled in his pockets and wallet and declared he had no money but promised to post us the money. He jumped in his car and drove off leaving Dad and I standing there.
Dad grizzled about rich cockies driving big flash cars and not being able to pay their parking fees. Dad kissed goodbye any thought of us ever seeing the cocky or his money.
Four weeks later the postie pedalled his bike into our carpark. He handed Dad an envelope that was stylishly handwritten.
It simply said
Inside the envelope was a 10 shilling note (one dollar). It was a lesson in life for both my Dad and me.
The 'big' tree is still there today. She is contorted and squashed between tall buildings like an old lady squeezed into a tea chest. No longer majestic, no longer a landmark; her leaves dulled and her branches lopped. She remembers the building boom when bulldozers and cranes arrived and how The Government Barracks, and the Adelphi and Esplanade Hotels gave way to glass and steel high rise.
Perhaps, just perhaps, if her memory is good enough, she can hear a school bell ring and the sound of boys' and girls' laughing.
To read more about the Cloisters click here.
At the time I was 16 and still in fourth year (year 11) at school. Even though I didn't have a drivers licence I helped Dad park cars when he was busy and ran the car park two or three nights a week on my own.
The Cloisters was an historic red brick building, used as an Anglican School for boys, then later girls and then as a boarding school. Further along The Cloisters was used by the University of Western Australia.Despite being an imposing building, the major landmark was the Port Jackson Fig Tree which dominated the parking site and was a landmark in St George's Tce. The huge canopy of branches and leaves gave us relief from the summer heat and was our umbrella in winter.
I soon learned how to start, stop and park every make and model of car. I learned the tricks of reverse parking cars into the tightest spaces. Our yard was licenced for 65 cars but we often squeezed in 80 or even 85 cars.
It cost drivers two shillings (20 cents) to enter and two and six (25 cents an hour) to park. Drivers simply pulled in, hopped out and handed Dad or me the keys and headed off to work, shopping or His Majesty's Theatre.
One afternoon a farmer from New Norcia (VP number plates stood for Victoria Plains) drove in with his yank tank. After an hour he returned, owing us 4/6 (45 cents). He fumbled in his pockets and wallet and declared he had no money but promised to post us the money. He jumped in his car and drove off leaving Dad and I standing there.
Dad grizzled about rich cockies driving big flash cars and not being able to pay their parking fees. Dad kissed goodbye any thought of us ever seeing the cocky or his money.
Four weeks later the postie pedalled his bike into our carpark. He handed Dad an envelope that was stylishly handwritten.
It simply said
The Car Park Man
Under the Big Tree
in St George's Tce
Inside the envelope was a 10 shilling note (one dollar). It was a lesson in life for both my Dad and me.
The 'big' tree is still there today. She is contorted and squashed between tall buildings like an old lady squeezed into a tea chest. No longer majestic, no longer a landmark; her leaves dulled and her branches lopped. She remembers the building boom when bulldozers and cranes arrived and how The Government Barracks, and the Adelphi and Esplanade Hotels gave way to glass and steel high rise.
Perhaps, just perhaps, if her memory is good enough, she can hear a school bell ring and the sound of boys' and girls' laughing.
To read more about the Cloisters click here.
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