Have you sensed it?
The mysterious atmosphere at Bondi Junction interchange during the recent morning commute.
A feeling, a sensation; difficult to describe but impossible to ignore.
An ambience so peculiar and subtle it is rarely mentioned for fear of ridicule.
This rare phenomenon coincides with the arrival of teenage boys clad in khaki, blue and gold. Every weekday morning they gather, normal in appearance but exuding an unexplainable air of distinction.
Suddenly, they vanish.
They charge en-masse with unbridled testosterone at the seemingly impenetrable doors and chassis and instantaneously absorb themselves into the bus sitting 9 ¾ lengths from the entrance to the interchange.
Where do they go?
Nowhere us mere mortals can venture so it is but ours to wonder. Wonder what ornate and opulent dwellings lie behind the guarded walls the boys pass though upon disgorging from the bus.
Creating yet more intrigue is the absence of these lads from Bondi Junction for six weeks a year. Their absence marked by kiosk shelves stacked full of sugary treats sporting exotic names and fantastical promises to the taste buds. Treats which nevertheless fail to leap from the package when you or I eat them. The same treats consumed in even greater rapture by boys who carry extra luggage and vanish into thin air for 10 weeks at a time.
So, where do these boys go?
Residents speak in hushed tones of a grand edifice set on verdant fields. A mythical structure replete with gleaming polished timber, golden detailing and sparkling chandeliers, boasting enviable bucolic views of a stunning harbourside city through ample windows.
Rumours abound of walls housing beautifully-framed images of illustrious figures central to the institution’s undeniable prestige, so delicately portrayed their countenance appears to come to life.
Tales abound of secretive alcoves, columns and cloisters resembling the Tower of London, where many of Scotch descent have met a fate more torturous than Shakespearean analysis.
Upon these grounds, it is supposed, opponents face off in peculiar games which present great danger for the combatants as they fly above the earth for possession of an elusive ball. Games which evoke fierce tribalism among the witnesses and earn the victorious tribe a prized annual trophy.
Is it to that magical land that Harrys and Rons, and Mickeys not Minnies, are transported after dematerialising from Bondi Junction interchange?
Is it to a land reserved solely for those gifted privileged rights through birth?
Is it to a land blessed by exclusive visits from those who rule with an eternal and paternal mandate?
Is it to a small world within a world?
A world of magic and wonder where mystery and wizardry are to the fore.
Image: Jorge Martinez
First published in The Beast magazine, August 2025.
kieranblakewriter 