The street was lined by violet. The beautiful monotone corridor emerged at around the same time each year, lingered for a few days then disappeared. The jacaranda trees remained prominent, but robbed of the ephemeral purple blanket spread across the footpath, the street returned to its usual status as a pleasant rather than breathtaking vista.

A stroll down the purple corridor offered evidence of man-made, as well as natural, beauty. The dwellings on the street held a certain quality. Many were run-down, some had taken on a shanty-like appearance, while others had been well maintained—but none seriously challenged the harmony of the ensemble. Long verandahs encouraged people outside, the homes stood solid and proud, much like the working-class families they had sheltered for over a century.