Starter Stories - My Roslyn Apartment

January 4, 2015 - 8:41pm - by Alyson Shane

Roslyn Manor. The Roslyn.

Built in 1909 and rumoured to be haunted, it is an incredible old red brick building with weird turrets, huge sunrooms, winding staircases and heaps of history; I've been obsessed with it since I first rode the bus into Osborne Village when I was 14.

When I moved back from Ontario I stayed a short stint with my parents out in the suburbs but after an infuriating winter of waiting for busses, frozen feet, and a severe lack of anything to do that didn't require a 20-minute drive, I moved the heck out of there the moment spring started to arrive.

This is where my Starter Story apartment began. A big thanks to Urban Compass for inspiring me to share my memories in Roslyn as part of their "Starter Stories" series.".

I applied to live in a 1-bedroom which was one of two one-bedrooms in the whole, sprawling building. Most suites in The Roslyn are massive apartment-style townhouses with sunrooms, walk-in pantries, dining rooms and bedrooms upon bedrooms.

Not mine.

(The amazing old hallways with beautiful woodwork)

My tiny corner apartment on the 5th floor was less than 350sqft.

It had 12ft ceilings; an incredible claw-foot tub; huge windows that let in a breeze no matter which way the wind was blowing, dazzling sunlight and (unfortunately) every sound the neighbours made.

My little apartment overlooked a narrow courtyard which separated the two "sides" of Roslyn Manor and my bedroom and kitchen were right across the courtyard from walkways which attached to back kitchens in larger suites, likely for hired help

That's what my suite used to be: a butler suite, or for a fancy level of hired help.

But for a single girl like me, it was perfect.

(Me, terribly sick, in the living room)

I repainted the living room wall a deep chocolate and got matching pillows for the couch.

I tucked a tiny red chair (which I still have) in the little window alcove in the living room.

I strung Christmas lights up around my bedroom, which was so tiny that I had to turn to the side to walk around my bed and get to the dresser.

I loved bringing people over for the first time and hearing their gasps of delight as we crowded into the old elevator -the first residential one in the province- and closed the heavy copper cage door. That elevator still ran smooth as butter. We took it to the 5th floor, rounded a sharp corner and walked across a tiny, narrow concrete footbridge across the courtyard.

This was when people lost it.

"This is how you get into your place?!" they would gasp and I would laugh and smile and guide them further, into another hallway, around another corner, and into my little L-shaped slice of heaven for a glass of wine.

I loved that apartment endlessly; it was the first place that I truly felt was my own. 

(So many parties and memories made around this table)

I danced to Fleetwood Mac while mopping the floors; I spent hours curled up on the couch watching old movies; I opened all the windows during the summer and let the sounds of Osborne Village echo off the coved ceiling.

I lived there for a magical year before I moved to a cheaper, larger, shared apartment so that I could begin my studies at the University of Winnipeg.

Moving was bittersweet. It hurt to leave a place where I had learned so much about myself, where I had fallen in love and shared so many smiles, tears and memories with people that I held dear, but at the same time it was exciting to be starting a new chapter of my life.

Now, years later, I still walk by The Roslyn almost every day.

Sometimes, as I'm passing, I see a girl turning her key in the lock of the front door and stepping inside those walls that hold so much history and so many memories.

I imagine that she is me, in my younger days, taking that winding corridor, that silent elevator, to the little apartment that would come to shape so much of her soul.