At the beginning, we lived in Melbourne. Above a shop, next to a petrol station.
The entrance to our place was through a back door and up some dark stairs, I remember that. I have forgotten most of what the inside of the house looked like but I remember that on Sunday afternoons, we used to look out of the front windows which overlooked the wide street and the awning of the shop below. From there, we could watch the Salvation Army band as it marched up the street. On very hot summer days, the marching music floated up the street long before we could see the band and it sounded like the heat of the day distorted the music.
Our Christmas tree for our first Christmas in Australia was a palm tree. My father took photos to send to our relatives in the old country, so they would see that we lived in a tropical paradise.
Nothing at all from those times seemed real to me. It all seemed like a hazy, brightly-lit dream which mostly pleasant but always confusing.