Going once, going twice

In amongst all the end-of-semester madness, this Saturday we sold Pop’s house. There were something like 150 inspections of the property, 17 contracts handed out and countless enquiries. It went for auction at a very nice price at 11am on Saturday.

It was, predictably, difficult for all concerned.

Dad and I arrived at the house at a little after 9am, after dropping Sister at the local church for morning mass, and realised there was nothing much we could do so we drove to a local coffee shop where Dad’s old school friend works for a free coffee and a quick chat in the kitchen. After picking Sister up we returned to the house, where two of my aunts and one of my uncles were there waiting. By 10.30, punters had began to arrive for a final inspection so we locked our valuables in a cupboard and stood in the backyard, keeping out of people’s way as Jimmy (the realtor, another old school friend of Dad’s) worked his magic on the cloud.

More family arrived, another aunt and uncle, two cousin, and two children-of-cousins. We assembled in the front yard as the auctioneer started his spiel, explaining legislative requirements and giving a rundown on the house: five bedrooms, potential for city views if a second story added (subject to council approval), generous lounge room, detached lock up garage, detached purpose built workshop. Rah rah rah. Dad and I were crouched beside the veranda watching the crowd of fifty odd people, trying to work out how many were “ours” and how many were sticky-beaks, so that we could gauge how many were actually there to buy the house.

The auctioneer asked for an opening bid. Silence. Dad and I exchanged significant looks. “Six-fifty” someone shouted. “Fuck off” I whispered to Dad. He nodded his agreement. The auctioneer, who was impressively on-the-ball said “I’m sorry sir, I respect your bid, but I can’t accept it, it’s a little too low for this wonderful turn of the century federation style home with original fixtures…” and on the spiel went until “so, ladies and gentlemen, do I hear an opening bid?” A slightly shorter silence followed before someone called out “Seven-fifty!” Dad and I said to each other, almost in unison: “that’s more like it”.

After getting to around the 820 mark, the auction began to stall. “Ladies and gentlemen I have eight-twenty going once…” silence “eight-twenty going twice…” silence. I looked askance at Dad, this was well below the reserve, why was he doing the going once, going twice thing? “Eight-twenty going—” then another bid: eight thirty. “What the fuck are all these people doing here if no one wants to bid?” I said to no one in particular, perhaps a little too loudly.

This game continued until we hit the reserve. Jimmy came over and consulted with us, asking if we accepted the bid and were prepared to put the house on the market. Dad nodded and motioned a thumbs-up to the auctioneer and he announced “ladies and gentlemen, I’ve been informed the house is now on the market, we’re bidding for this beautiful federation property…” etc etc. Dad hung his head slightly. Although he had sunglasses on, I knew his eyes were welling up with tears.

It hit me then too. This was really happening. From this point on, bids came thick and fast between two bidders, going up in $5000 increments. Finally the winner was declared and Dad was visibly upset. I stood up, awkwardly as my legs were not being co-operative at all, to give him a hug but I was beat by the gaggle of aunts and neighbours who were suddenly upon him saying both “congratulations” and “I’m sorry”.

It hit me, in six weeks this will no longer be ours. Already the house is so empty and has lost the ambience it once had when it was cluttered and distinctively Pop’s.

It turns out that the buyers, Judy and her husband, hadn’t even considered the suburb at all and it was just happenstance that she saw the listing online and drove over to have a look from the street. She was so impressed she called Jimmy on the spot and asked if she could have a look inside. He raced over, she fell in love, and the rest is history.

Dad and the winning couple sat at the dining room table with Jimmy to sign the preliminary paperwork. One of the buyers, Judy, introduced herself to us all saying that they are going to do the house up, not tear it down and rebuild. That made everyone feel much better. She added: “and you are all welcome to come by and have a look if you’d like”. I for one was really happy it won’t be torn down; it does need a lot of work, but it is a great house with a lot of memories for us all.

So in six weeks we will no longer own the house that has been the home-base for our large family for the last 70 years. The date of settlement is a few days after the anniversary of Pop’s passing. That’s going to be a fun week!