Hampton

 

Beachcombers inspecting what amounts to Hampton Beach glance inland occasionally, wondering amongst themselves, Hampton, does it exist? Travellers, diverted from their usual Glenhuntly, or rather Glen Huntly, route to a replacement bus to Moorabbin via Brighton Beach, wonder to themselves about the track less travelled, the stop they may never visit, the proportions, if any, of so-called Hampton. An answer, if here is one, quickly vanishes in the rear vision mirror of the replacement bus that has other destinations in mind. Rumours and stray indications arrive, nevertheless, of somewhere that is in substance what is referred to in geographic and socio-historical terms as Hampton. Artists, like Clarice Beckett, have rendered scenes with placenames very close in proximity to what is called Hampton, paintings suggestive of a village in the distance, respectably getting on with construction of residential dwellings amidst ti-tree and sandy outcrops, with period cars parked at a straight right angle to the camber on a road vanishing into trackless bush or opaque bay. Ongoing historical postcard suburb series on Google Image confirm the presence of the Lido Tea Rooms (ca. 1920), the Hoyts Cinema (ca. 1950) and Hampton Street, Looking North (ca. 1980) interspersed with frames of verifiable Hamptons in Middlesex and Virginia. Hampton Court Palace is a distant prospect. A colour piece from an old newspaper scan declaims that one of the pluses of Hampton is that it’s adjacent to Brighton. Coincidentally, I received an email from a friend who claims to live in Hampton. Quote: “Hello Philip, I would be very interested to read your suburb pieces. Hampton has changed considerably since we moved there in 1976.  More high-rise, along Hampton Street and adjoining streets. Our church has 17 attendees on a good Sunday. I don't meet anyone I know, in Hampton Street. Still, it's only a 25-minute train ride to the city, with great Bay views between Hampton and Brighton Beach.” Evidence accumulates, but still not sure exactly what to say about the existence of Hampton, it was thought opportune to make an idle detour along the track not travelled to the epicentre of the question. Half a dozen Jaded Bayside Commuters (JBC) sat at half a dozen equidistantly separate windows, staring blankly at the medium high-rise dwellings that had replaced the ti-tree dwellings of Beckett, when not staring blankly at their iPhones. From the safety of the open carriage doorway, photographs were taken as evidence of Hampton for future reference (pictured), but in haste as the doors starting beeping to remind everyone of their existence, then slid shut again. Beachcombers from distant and equally unverifiable parts (it could be said) can be assured, there is life south of South Road, a home amidst the sprawl where bayside rains fall then stall, a place of being that has survived the postcard age.