One day, I shall return to my ancestral home in the Docklands. Generations of the MacGregors family are buried there, all in the same cemetery in between the paper mill and the old milk bar, so I guess you could say it’s a special location for our family.
Did you know that you had to pay for graves? It’s true. Halt those payments and out it goes, which is okay if no one remembers, but a bit harsh when the family is still around. Long story short, it’s now a private function room. Melbourne has benefited from our family for generations, and now…they’ve built a massive function room over the top. Maybe this was their way of honouring the dead? That would make me feel a lot better. Anyway, I went along to get angry and demand that the place be knocked down, but actually…it’s not bad. Really nice, in fact. There’s an ice skating rink right down at the bottom, so I guess if you’re doing serious business up above and things get too intense, you can all come down in your formal finery and have a bit of a skate. Or…drink some coffee, or play some of the arcade games. The possibilities are endless, or just a few but very extensive, in a minimal way.
Is it bad that I’ve been to the arena every day this week? It’s just so much fun, skating around and honouring my Mother’s family at the same time, probably. The MacGregors were a fun-loving brood, so it’s likely that they’d love the idea that people are skating over their graves. And let’s face it: everywhere is graves. There’s no telling where people are buried. Your local supermarket? Graves. The kindergarten your four-year-old attends? In all probability it’s built on the bones of the settlers of this land.
I really love the idea that Melbourne’s ice skating rink industry has turned my family burial ground into something to be enjoyed. But the ancient one is perhaps best left as it is…at least until I return in triumph.