It's hard to imagine less noble beginnings than a modest, cream weatherboard house in Noble St, Noble Park, Melbourne. This is where 10 members of my family started our Australian lives.
Back then there were apple trees in the back yard and a Shetland pony next door. On Saturdays you'd hear nothing but the sound of lawnmowers, and on Sundays the local market gardeners would ply their trade, carting fruit and vegies in small open trucks. Our favourite was a middle aged Greek gentleman, whose name we could never pronounce.
When Nick and I visited recently, the old weatherboard house was gone. In its place was a brick villa of sorts, with another behind it, where the apple trees used to be.
The suburb - the main street, the station, and the shops - no longer looked or felt the same. In fact it felt like a forgotten part of the world. Interestingly though, we noticed many migrant families who, just like us, were starting their new lives in Australia there. I wonder what they will see when they return 44 years down the track?F
