Cubby Doors

My house had many doors. Well, not doors in the physical sense. When I think about my house, my memories of childhood come flooding back and I realise these doors were the catalyst to imaginative learning which prepared me for adult life. An imagination where secrets, schemes, fantasy, play and naughtiness were delighted in. My house of many doors was a cubby house that my sister and I built.

We built our cubby house between two corrugated iron sheds. The sheds were made from second hand corrugated iron, painted a reddish brown, with old nail holes which we put to very good use. Our cubby house was a rather simple affair made from an old blue plastic rain coat that our mother had discarded. We used string to tie the edges of the raincoat to the sheds using the old nail holes. We had constructed a roof and therefore, a very fine cubby house.

We really loved the privacy that our cubby offered. It could not be seen from the house and so parents would not interrupt or interfere in our play. We found or scrounged an old mat to use as a floor covering and we raided our father’s sheds to find any bits or pieces that might come in handy for our cubby. The cubby was not very high. We had to crawl in and then sit very comfortably on the mat to do our scheming or play. As you might guess, the cubby could only accommodate two small girls at any one time. However, with a tight squeeze, we could bring in our pet dog who was always assigned the role of baby. We would dress him in baby clothes and make him keep still while we fussed over him. I know that he would have much preferred to have gone fishing with Dad. Being a male blue cattle dog, he tolerated this role only because he loved us dearly.

In all kinds of weather, we would crawl in to sit in our cubby house and play away from adult eyes. When it rained gently, we loved listening to the raindrops on the roof. If there was a downpour, the excitement of coping with the bellying of the roof or fixing any loose knots or corners that tore with the weight was added.

Empty malt or golden syrup tins were used to store water that had collected on the roof after rain. We found a thin piece of tubing which we would suck to syphon the water into our containers. The lids were placed on the tins and we loved drinking from our very own water supply. Sometimes, for afternoon tea, we would ask our mother for Arnotts biscuits. Iced Vo-Vo’s were our favourites although we were also partial to Monte Carlos. If we were feeling particularly evil, we would dunk our biscuits in the water knowing that our mother could not disapprove.

Used IXL jam tins and a flat piece of wood made our table. A marigold in an old bottle posed as a vase of flowers and was lovingly placed on the table. We loved ‘keeping house’ in our cubby. We would borrow our mother’s banister brush set to clean the floor always forgetting to return them. We used any old rags we could find to use as doileys, tea towels or general cleaning rags. An old face washer hanging from a nail placed in a hole was used to dry our little hands.

When our neighbours came over, they were not invited to play in our cubby. It was strictly a private place for two sisters. It was also a haven when one of us had a disagreement with our mother. She was always the enemy! We would ‘gang up’ or join forces against our mother and scheme or talk about leaving home to live in our cubby. It never came about although one time we came very close.

One day, we were bold to our mother and told her that we were leaving home. My sister and I were trying to blackmail her but our blackmail back fired. We were at the back door whimpering and complaining. She came to the back door carrying our overcoats and, as she flung them towards us, she yelled, “Its bloody cold of a night, you will need these to keep you warm!” She then locked the back door and went off to bed to read The Woman’s Weekly while our whimpering turned to wailing, then banging on the back door and finally, screaming. After a while, when we realised that Mum meant business, we consoled each other in our cubby. We were eventually allowed to enter the house at tea time but, like the proverbial dog, with our tails between our legs. No-one said anything and we ate our tea very quietly.

Make believe played an important role in our love of the cubby. We often pretended to make cakes. We would use the lids of bottles as saucepans to put on our single brick stove. We would sit around the table pretending to eat our cooking and acting out our parents’ roles. We were always very busy in the cubby telling each other what to say or what to do.

“You be the father and I’ll be the mother,”

“No. I was that last time.”

“Let’s pretend that I’m the mum and you’re the grandma.”

“OK but I’m going to bring a sponge cake with cream and icing, not the cinnamon bun she always brings when she visits.”

“I can’t stand cinnamon buns either!”

Our cubby play lasted as long as the blue plastic raincoat could withstand the elements. From the moment we constructed our cubby, our childish lives became enriched. Play prepared us for adult life. It opened so many doors for us. Now, our cubby lives only in our memories.