Little Bay – © 2026 Steve Gray
It’s not as little as I remember it, but it was a long time ago, fascinating how early memories make sizes and spaces so different, perhaps more vivid or subdued.
Back in my original memory, I was waiting out the front of an apartment block set on the corner of a T intersection. The guy I was with that day was a carpet cleaner, he said, ‘I’ll show you about the place, I get to go to a bunch of jobs around the broader Sydney area, and have to get in and out quickly, steam clean carpets and move on to the next one. You will get to see places well off the main roads and well into the burbs.’
I said, yep, then gave him a hand to drag the equipment into buildings and then out again. While he was cleaning I usually stood out the front, or chatted to the client.
Here we were at a small apartment block in Manly, old style, three stories tall, in a dark cork coloured brick, I guess it was built in the nineteen thirties. The apartment was on the first floor, so it was up one flight of stairs with this awkward carpet cleaning gear.
It was a fabulous day, sun shining and all that, across the road was a stunning small bay framed by gum trees, then off in the distance across a broad expanse of water was central Sydney. Back then there were a bunch of gum trees hiding the view of the bay for some of the houses in the street, therefore I had to go a bunch of steps to the right and then the entrance to the bay opened out from the street. So across the road I went, I had a good half hour before I was needed again so that was fine.
I crossed the road, to take a better look, the sand on this delicious crisp bay was in shade for the most part, large gum trees swaying in the breeze. A lady with a young child frolicked about in the gently unfolding waves, they had a brief spot in the sun. The child giggled, they were clearly having a fantastic time. Off in the distance the water across the bay sparkled, magic, ideal, inviting.
Off to the right were two weather-beaten dinghys tied up to the shore, one slightly larger than the other. I looked out to see if they were tenders for larger vessels out on the bay. There were about twenty yachts and goodness knows what else, a reasonable distance off the shore. My mind wandered, what would it be like to play about on a dinghy on a day like this, row out and back, taking things slow and easy.
I walked down towards the bay, across towards where the grass met the sandy edge of the bay. The grassy verge was well worn, I imagined that on a weekend, lots of people would be here on the grass, perhaps on beach towels. Soaking up the delightful warmth on a good day, I imagined voices, parents calling out to their children, squeals of delight, water splashing about their feet.
On the right were houses perched high above the water. Access? By a street well back beyond these houses well out of view. The houses disappeared off into the distance.
There were birds messing about in the trees and the odd car going by, but other than that and the pair playing on the edge of the bay, there was little to upset the serenity. In fact all those things seemed to gently add to it.
I stood mesmerised, the still air, the sounds and sights, then the ever so gentle lapping of the water on the sand. I walked down to the waters edge along it and back. My time was soon up, I turned and headed back to the apartment, we packed up and moved on to the next job on his list.
Forty or so years later I had the chance to take a walk, it’s a reasonable distance from where the Manly ferry jetty is, but I got there. Winding through a range of streets wondering if my memory was leading me astray.
Now some forty years on I’m wondering why I couldn’t locate the place I had been all those years ago, so I sat on a park bench for a break, a similar sunny crispy and moorish day. I looked up, the apartment I remembered was now white, but there it was straight in front of me. At some stage the owners saw fit to paint the whole three stories in white paint.
I was in the right place, behind me was ‘little bay’ but most of the gum trees had been removed so the view was different. The whole place was much bigger than I recalled. But it still held a sense of serenity, even though there was now a coffee shop and more than just two dinghies.
