Last night I had the strangest dream..

I woke last night at about 4am and found it hard to go back to sleep (due mostly to someone snoring noisily beside me!!) but when I did I had the strangest dream.
I was walking down a very dark street and I knew I had to get to the end of it to get to my destination.
I started, filled with a sense of fear... and as I walked I found myself unable to do so quickly...one of those dreams where your feet feel like they are in two cement blocks and you are dragging every step in slow motion.
As I made my way down the street, the fences on either side were very high and behind them big dogs popped up and looked at me - they did not bark nor scare me..they just watched my progress.
As I moved further down the street I walked past groups of people who did not threaten me..if anything they were not even aware I was passing.They just continued to talk amongst themselves. I walked amongst them as if I were a ghost.
Then I got to the end of the street and I could see a well lit shop on the other side for which I made a bee line.
My legs were still like lead..I thought that I would get run over trying to cross the street so slowly.
But I made it.
The shop was filled with people and they were trying to push me around so that I could not get past.
All I felt I could do was elbow my way past them all shoving as I went.
I did not talk to anyone during this whole journey other than expressing my impatience at the rudeness of this last bunch of people who were making it so hard for me..
this was when I woke up.
The dream had ended at about 4.20am.

Lost memories at the Family Hotel

Memories live on everywhere. They may be left behind by those who visited a place long ago and they may be kept alive by those who remain. This week I had the opportunity to rediscover old corners and lost memories at the Family Hotel - Maitland when I ventured up into a manhole that led to a forgotten part of the Hotel closed off because of safety reasons.

The Family Hotel was built in 1860 on a main thoroughfare heading out to the Hunter Valley. New settlers, miners, freemen, convicts, prisoners, fashionable ladies and gentlemen all passed by its front doors.

 

We were invited to explore the forgotten and sealed top floor of the Hotel - closed for safety reasons after the original staircase was removed. Why this floor was originally closed remains a mystery. This is where travelers would spend the night, up high under the roof.
Rooms had huge windows that would look out onto the Maitland plains.

The place is now just a ghost of what it used to be. Rooms remain dusty and broken. Only some old brass bed frames remain propped up against walls reminding me of all of those long dead pioneers who slept there overnight.

We know that a murder occurred in one of these rooms in the early 1900's. A man was caught going through another man's belongings and a fight ensued. The thief died.

What a shame that this floor is now a secret part of the fabric of this hotel. I am sure each room has stories to tell.

Bullock teams would arrive at the Hotel and be pastured out the back while weary men had a cold drink at the bar on their way to farms still many a days walk away.

It was a very exciting time to fit through the man hole to see a place that time has left behind and that only a hand full of people have entered in the past 50 years. Memories are alive and well at the Family Hotel - High street Maitland. If you are passing stop by and have a drink at the Bar - and if you are there at approximately 2.35pm in the afternoon you can watch the lights mysteriously flicker.

Lost stories of Christ Church cemetery

Welcome to my page of lost memories..

I anticipate a great adventure..an opportunity to peak and sneak into places that have been long forgotten yet are full of lost memories. I hope to explore and uncover stories that may hold a special place in the lives of some. Lets see what we dig up...one memory at a time.

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
William Shakespeare