Myponga Beach. We had a shack down there - my grandfather built it in 1955. I spent a lot of my childhood down there - I fished off the beach and in the creek, made dams and bridges out of rocks, hunted for mushrooms and visited the giant mulberry tree, attempted once to make rollies off the tobacco plants growing behind the shacks, built countless sandcastles, went crabbing and shell collecting, pulled periwinkles and abalone off the rocks and cooked them for dinner, made bonfires on the beach, explored the ruins of the old winery, and terrorised my little sister in the ancient public toilets. These were basically two wooden sheds housing two long drops, with a nail upon which the newspaper to wipe one's bum had long ceased to be replenished, and the door to the Mens had a gaping black hole in it like the jagged silhouette of a monster's mouth. I was only seven at the time but I knew my sister's weakness - she could only be prevailed upon to clean her room or rake the leaves off the lawn if Dad offered her money, and it had to be paid up front. So I told her that I'd dropped a dollar in the Ladies (I chose the Ladies because there was no hole in the door and so the inside was pitch-black) and in she went, whereupon I shut the door on her and legged it.
Anyway, the shack was sold in 2006 - my grandfather, my dad and one of his brothers all owned a share but my grandfather was the major holder and he decided he couldn't afford to maintain it any more. I don't think I'll ever quite be able to forgive anyone in the family for not stepping up to pay the council rates or buy it outright. They could have afforded it. I didn't have the money myself to be able to make an offer. The people who bought it had it demolished and replaced with a six-bedroom monstrosity that takes up the whole block and looks glaringly out of place amidst its modest single-storey fibro neighbours. For a hundred bucks I'd burn the bloody thing down.
It just breaks my heart that my kids won't be able to share in the fantastic experience that I had there. We could rent another place down there but it's not the same. I've been back a couple of times on my own, just to go fishing and once to go through the rubble of the demolished shack to see if I could salvage anything (found four of the old quoits we used to play with - I think one of my cousins has the rest of them), but it didn't bring me much joy - I could never get away from the anger of losing the shack. And the place is beginning to change, too - more waterfront mansions are being erected - none of it fits in with the landscape but I don't suppose the people who own the joints are too concerned about that. Still, I'm going to try and swallow the bitterness I feel and take my kids down there during the holidays, and show them as much of the place as I can before it all becomes private property.