Perhaps there are no bills to be collected in Skull Terrace because no
credit is given. No jugs are put out, because there is no place to
put them, except on the pavement, or on the narrow window ledges,
where they would be in great and constant danger from the feet or
elbows of passers-by. There are no tradesmen's entrances to the
houses in Skull Terrace.
Tenants and sub-tenants often leave on Friday morning in the full
glare of the day. Granny throws down garments from the top window to
hurry things, and the wife below ties up much in an old allegedly
green or red table-cloth, on the pavement, at the last moment. Van of
the "bottle ho" variety. It is all done very quickly, and nobody
takes any notice--they are never there long enough. Landlord,
landlady, or rent collector--or whatever it is--calls later on; maybe,
knocks in a tired, even bored, way; makes inquiries next door, and
goes away, leaving the problem to take care of itself--all kind of
casual. The business people of North Sydney, especially removers and
labourers, are very casual. Down old Blue's Point Road the folk get
so casual that they just exist, but don't seem to do so.
One thing I never could make out about Skull Terrace is that when one
house becomes vacant from a house agent's point of view--there is a
permanent atmosphere of vacancy about the whole terrace--the people of
another move into it. And there's not the slightest difference
between the houses.
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