From the Archives: Backstroke down Fitzroy Pool’s memory lane

First published in The Age on October 14, 1994

Doing the backstroke down Fitzroy Pool’s memory lane

After the last of the laps I’d try a few dives off the board, wet feet splatting on the steps going up. And then down, down into the water, grey in the fading light, to breaststroke along the bottom and surface near the ladder at the side. I’d cling on to the top rung, water dripping from my hair, watching the guys from the office get ready to close up. I loved the way they coiled the hoses in concentric circles, like a snake waiting for the sun.

Outside I’d unchain the bike from a parking meter on Alexandra Parade, with all its traffic flowing off the freeway, and cycle up the Princes Street hill into Carlton. Then round the south end of the cemetery and swoop down Gatehouse Street past the kids’ hospital. By the time I was back home in North Melbourne, my hair would be dry again.

This was more than 10 years ago. I was younger and fitter and sillier then. To ride to Fitzroy and back made little sense. The North Melbourne pool, next to the Arden Street ground where the Kangaroos still played home games in winter, was closer. So were the City Baths, which were also warmer. But I’d go to the Fitzroy Pool, which the new mega-council now wants to close, shutting the gates on a piece of my past.

I’d go to the Fitzroy Pool late in the evening, getting on towards nine, giving thanks for daylight saving. Often I’d be the only one there.

Eighteen, 19, 20 – arms heavy as lead before a few laps, never more than a few, when it all felt effortless.

It was the only full-size pool I knew of in the area. The North pool, the City Baths, the Carlton pool off Rathdowne Street – all of them were just play pools. Places to go on inner-suburban sunny days to splash about a bit, meet friends or just sit on a towel spilling sauce from the sausage roll on the paperback novel you were reading.