Postwar Bondi
The war is over, but Bondi is still learning what that means. The men who came back came back changed — some of them. Others didn't come back at all. The women who ran things while they were gone have quietly rearranged the furniture of daily life, and not everyone is happy about it.
It is a community of milk carts and sea breezes, surf clubs and corner shops, salt-bleached weatherboard and the particular green of a shopfront that catches the Pacific light. Rationing has eased but not disappeared. The wireless crackles with news of a world rebuilding itself. And along the clifftops and laneways, the morning round goes on: dogs walked, gates latched, secrets kept.
This is the world Kit Moran moves through every day — a war widow who notices things, who listens to what dogs and neighbours let slip, and who has learned that the peaceful surface of a beachside community can conceal a great deal.
The morning round
Every morning before the town wakes up, the dogs go out. Through the back laneways and along the clifftops, past the locked gates and the milk bottles and the neighbours who are always up earlier than they should be. The round is the same every day. It is never the same twice.
More coming soon
Maps of Kit's walking routes. Portraits of the pack. Period photographs and illustrated details of 1947 Bondi life. This section grows with the series.
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