There was no pleasure in getting old. It appeared there was no respect for the elderly and what they had done for the country. Frank Martin was anxious contemplating his situation. This was the third tenant who had threatened him and with this show of aggression and, after a conversation with his stepdaughter, he decided it was time to sell. His plan to live off the rent of his properties had faltered, and it was time for change.
As a young real estate agent in the outer suburbs, he had seen the Gold Coast transform. The area renowned for its value as a holiday destination had evolved from servicing Brisbane and providing shacks for fishing trips, to a booming cosmopolitan city drawing people from all over the country looking for a warm climate.
Where once the land lay fallow covered by swamp or bands of bush, now project homes grew unchecked. Sprouting uniformity, they covered the paddocks with both promises and illusions while providing opportunity for those who could see the future. Bulldozing the bush and filling the lowlands with sand, the urban sprawl swallowed everything in its path. Development was determined not to let nature stand in its way.
Early on Frank recognised an opening, bought a small farm and when he retired, moved into the farmhouse. Through planning, he set himself a project and when the city expanded around his property, he brought the surveyor in and sub-divided the land. He then built the necessary road and sold off most of the blocks for development. When the flush of activity subsided, he was left with five unsold blocks. Using the proceeds of the subdivision he found the cheapest of builders and built the requisite project homes surrounding himself with the reminders of his cleverness.
The development, on the periphery of the city, drew young families. Reliant on their cars or, if unlucky and with no second car available, the women and children walked; the only option available as no services reached the outskirts. Families peopled the streets and there was a blossoming of social activity but, when the kids were of school age, the necessity to move brought change. The houses were sold and investors bought the properties and renters moved in.
Pride slipped as the neighbourhood transformed its character. Gardens were neglected and pit-bull terriers protected properties behind high mesh fences to growl at those who still walked the streets. The tenor of the population changed as an excess of cars mounted the verges and a criminal element moved in. A chop shop stripped essentials from stolen cars and helped reconfigure the dreams of machismo males through newly painted, bespoke throbbing machines.
Frank’s renters changed. Threatened by his tattooed and mullet haired tenants who refused to pay, and too invested in his old identity, he refused to put the properties into the hands of an agent. But, with his ego taking a beating, reality set in. Age was no protection and life demanded adjustment.
Burnside Writers Group 