By Elisabeth Wynhausen
There is often a moment in people’s lives they look back on later on, wondering if everything fell into place for them at that instant. For Luke Wilson that moment came the day before his fifteenth birthday. He was walking down Campbell Parade, Bondi Beach, on his way home from a swimming carnival, when he noticed a man pulling a surfboard from a car and stood staring. The instant he saw the board’s design, Luke bolted over.
“That’s my board,” he said, grabbing it to carry it into the surf shop, the Bondi Surf Co. He hadn’t imagined it. It was his board – the first custom-made board he would own. He’d had cheap polystyrene boards before but this was a proper fibreglass surfboard.
Twenty-one years later, Luke was in the Bondi Surf Co., perched on a bench under a rack of skateboards, telling the story. He was there because he has worked in the shop ever since and was at work that day.
Inevitably the shop changed with the times. The original Bondi Surf Co was little further up Campbell Parade and sold only boards and wetsuits rather than the branded teeshirts, boardshorts, bikinis, baby rashies and hoodies considered essential to the business now. What Luke remembers from the days he first worked there is that there was always a mob of surfers hanging around. It had been like that since the shop opened, when it was known as the Hole in the Wall. “Everyone hung out there,” he said. “They used to leave their boards in the shop, wetsuits everywhere. It was a proper hangout. That’s long gone…”
The thought made him nostalgic. “Back in the day we had everything,” he said, reminded that he and a couple of mates shared a three-bedroom flat, with a sea view, for $300 a week. They were in an old building occupied by swarms of surfers, a two minute walk from the beach. The place was emptied out four or five years ago after the local council ordered the owners to install a few mod cons like fire exits and back stairs.
Luke thought of it as the end of an era that stretched from the working class Bondi of his childhood to the days half the surfers he used to know had gone because Bondi was beyond their means.
And yet for all the dizzying changes he sees around him, he manages to live his life as if nothing much has changed. In fact you could set your clock by him – and probably your compass – because his trajectory through space and time is as steady and reassuring as the ebb and flow of the tides.
Except when he goes fishing far out to sea with a mate who owns a boat, he stays within an area as neatly defined as it would have been had he lived in a little village a long, long time ago.
He goes from the flat on Hall Street he shares with his brother, Shane, to the brick wall at the south end of Bondi Beach, where he sits watching the world go by until it is time to cross Campbell Parade to report in for work. Nine hours later he covers the half-block to Ravesi’s, the bar on the next corner, grabs a beer and then another, orders something to eat and parks himself at his usual table, by the window overlooking Hall Street. It is a straight line up the street to his flat.
The routine is as unvarying as the route. He likes it that way. The very predictability of the pattern is how Luke singles himself out. Other people like veering off the beaten track once in a while. Not him. But the fact that he has anchored himself to his little patch makes it all the more noticeable that he is part of the bedrock of Bondi, the vital substratum often forgotten in all the froth and bubble about the place.
There is something solitary about him and yet if he is at Ravesi’s or on the wall at the south end of the beach, with his headphones on and his cup of tea beside him, no more than a minute or two will pass before the first of a dozen or more people pause to greet him.
At the beach, first thing in the morning, young surfers often stop by to ask if he happened to notice what they were doing right or wrong “You’ve got to encourage them,” he said when I mentioned it, recalling he once told me he was five when he taught himself to surf, on an old foam surfboard he and his brother had dug up somewhere.
They weren’t from the sort of family that could afford to buy them things. They were condemned to cheap polystyrene boards – and boards they bought second-hand – until the great day Luke ordered his custom-made board with money he had earned working part-time. He still has photographs of it. “I drew all over it. I’ve been doing that 20 years. Now it’s trendy to draw on your board,” he said, waiting to have it recorded that he was ahead of the trend, before he unfolded himself from the bench under the skateboards. His break was over. It was time to get back to work.