Lola Montez: Un-Victorian in Victoria (Part 2)

Lola Montez and Henry Seekamp,
depicted in Melbourne Punch in 1856.
Courtesy of State Library of Victoria

From last post: In 1855, the notorious courtesan and entertainer Lola Montez visited the Colony of Victoria, shocking many with her saucy 'Spider Dance'. Her story continues...

Moral reaction came quickly. In Melbourne, Dr John Milton, head of the City Court Mission, appointed himself as Montez’s arch-enemy.

After her first performance of the Spider Dance, he demanded a warrant be issued for her arrest, to prevent any repetition of the affront.

He was unsuccessful, perhaps due to mayor and theatre-builder John Smith being in the chair as presiding magistrate. Worthy citizens of Geelong also tried to shut her act down, without success.

Things were easier for Montez in gold mining country.

“Bendigo and Ballarat were turning into settled towns, but their goldfields still held large migratory male populations,” says historian David Goodman. “Entertainment was very welcome, so touring companies and other entertainers quickly got onto a circuit through the area.” Ever the canny self-publicist, Lola visited Ballarat miners at their diggings, and shouted them at local bars.

Her time in Ballarat included a violent incident that was reported in newspapers around the world. After a disapproving letter to the Ballarat Times described Lola as possessing “notoriety of an unenviable kind”, she laid into the newspaper’s editor, Henry Seekamp, in the bar of the United States Hotel, with a whip she’d just won in a raffle (see cartoon above).

Seekamp had been a hero of the 1854 Eureka Stockade revolt through his support for the rebel cause, and was known for his energy and temper; so he was unlikely to take the attack lightly. He replied with his own whip, and the two had to be separated by bystanders.

With highlights like these, Victorian newspapers used up plenty of newsprint on Lola. As they do now, the media loved a controversial woman for her ability to increase sales, whether they were praising or damning her. They were also happy to exaggerate existing stories about Montez, repeat unlikely rumours, and make new ones up, in an ever-expanding game of Chinese Whispers.

It was a situation that would suit her down to the ground. Lola thrived on controversy, often stoking the fires herself via letters to the editor, twisting facts to suit her public image.

She also gave the colony’s moral guardians a clear target, though they’d rarely seen the work they were complaining of, and the varied reactions of newspaper critics suggests the Spider Dance’s impropriety was very much in the eye of the beholder. But as we see today, outbreaks of moral panic have a lot to do with expressing the ego of the complainant, via the volume of his or her moral indignation.

Despite this sporadic resistance to her tour, accompanied by unsubstantiated rumours of intoxication and other unladylike behaviour, her audiences voted with their feet. They were happy to buy a ticket to be in close proximity to fame. They may also have sided with her dismissal of accepted authorities, not unlike the audiences who applauded Madonna’s critically panned West End stage debut in 2002.

Though Montez was only in the colony for a few months, she brought an air of international glamour to this remote part of the Western world. Did her success foreshadow the cultural cringe by which Australians sought validation from imported figures and culture?

No, says Goodman. “International entertainment was welcome, but ‘cultural cringe’ is anachronistic. Most of the population had only been here a couple of years, so they’re not thinking of themselves as Australian. Gold rush Melbourne is a very cosmopolitan society; more so than an English regional city like Bristol, for example.”

How significant was her visit to our developing colony? There’s no question that Lola Montez was one of the most colourful characters to visit Victoria, in the most colourful era of its history. But on the face of it, it’s hard to see her as anything more than a footnote.

Her outspoken commitment to liberal democracy was adopted for a New World audience, and her possibilities as a feminist icon are problematic. Though she was clearly a woman with a desire for an independent life, it was driven by her own demons rather than commitment to a cause.

Whatever her importance beyond the stage, Lola Montez is remembered. Even now, many Victorians recognise her name, some from history lessons at school. There’s even been a children’s book and a musical inspired by her tour. Why is she still so fascinating to the inhabitants of a post-modern era awash with celebrity scandals?

Maybe her memory lives on because, like Oscar Wilde, Lola Montez seems a contemporary figure trapped in an unforgiving earlier age. Or possibly, despite all our advances in equality between the sexes, we’re still fascinated by a woman who could break all rules of female propriety and get away with it.

Geelong & the Bellarine: Travelling to the Other Peninsula

Last month I spent a few days in Geelong and the Bellarine Peninsula, courtesy of the local tourism authority.

I was researching a craft beer story, which will appear in due course. In the meantime, I'd like to share a few images of other places I visited while in the region.

The Bellarine is, for whatever reason, less renowned than the Mornington Peninsula to its east. Both of them stretch around the southern end of Port Phillip Bay south of Melbourne.

The two almost meet here at The Rip, the turbulent channel where the bay connects to Bass Strait:

At that Point Lonsdale lookout near the town of Queenscliff, there's a marker bearing the distances to various other places, some near and some far:

North of Queenscliff, I stopped for quite a decent long black coffee at Pik Nik. As its form suggests, it was once a service station:

I spent the night at the attractive Starhaven Retreat in Indented Head (there's a great place name for you!). It's a grand modern home that functions as luxury bed-and-breakfast accommodation, with a friendly resident couple as hosts.

This is the view from the retreat's balcony across Port Phillip Bay (you can just make out the tall buildings of central Melbourne on the horizon)...

... and here's the retreat's dining table, set for dinner:

After sampling much beer, it was good to have coffee at one of central Geelong's newest and hippest cafes, Freckleduck:

This was my breakfast choice - baked polenta with roasted and pickled mushrooms, kale chips, beetroot hummus, and poached eggs ($18). All the flavours. Probably good for you too:

Disclosure: On this trip I was hosted by Tourism Greater Geelong & the Bellarine.

Geelong to Ballarat: All Aboard!

It's exactly 150 years today since the railway reached the Victorian gold mining town of Ballarat, on 10 April 1862.

Those were heady days for Ballarat: only 11 years since gold was discovered, creating a bustling settlement from nothing; and only eight years since the Eureka Stockade armed rebellion against the colonial authorities.

Nowadays there's a line directly linking Ballarat to Melbourne, but in 1862 the Ballarat route ran through Geelong, itself a busy port made busier by the gold rush.

It's many years since passenger services ran along the Geelong-Ballarat line, which still carries freight. But today, to mark the historic occasion, a special heritage train carried assorted local dignitaries, toffs and bigwigs (along with your humble correspondent) between the two regional cities to mark the occasion.

Here's a glimpse of what I saw on the way:

1. Here's our special train waiting at Geelong station, diesel-hauled but with early 20th century carriages:

2. Here's the interior of one of the second-class compartments. As attractive as it is, it struck me that there must have been a hell of a lot of maintenance required in those days for all the timber, both inside and outside the carriages:

3. There were a number of stations along the line in its passenger days, all solid constructions made of bluestone. Here's a glimpse of the station at Bannockburn, which I caught as the train sped past:

4. At a couple of stations along the way, the local government dignitaries disembarked in order to cut a ceremonial ribbon. Here they are using the Good Scissors at Lethbridge Station:

5. At our next stop, Lal Lal Station, I spotted this gent trying to influence the 19th century planning process. The inhabitants of Buninyong agitated for a station on the line, but to no avail:

6. Also at Lal Lal was this rather convincing 19th century couple. Station ghosts, perhaps?

7. Finally, about two hours after our departure from Geelong, we pulled into the impressive Ballarat Station. The grand tower dates from 1891:

8. Alighting, we were greeted by much pomp and ceremony, including catering, speeches, the unveiling of a commemorative plaque and the repertoire of this brass band. I caught a spot of Rule Britannia in there at one point...

If you're interested in taking this journey yourself, the Australian Railway Historical Society is operating a similar train from Melbourne via Geelong to Ballarat on Saturday 14 April 2012. More information is available at this link.

Disclosure time... On this trip I travelled courtesy of V/Line.

On Platform 2: The 8.05 to Adelaide!

In 2007 I underwent a journey of discovery regarding interstate train travel in Australia. In March I took the overnight sleeper from Melbourne to Sydney; and in September I headed to Adelaide on Australia's oldest interstate (once intercolonial) train journey, the 828 kilometre Overland route, established in 1887. This is what it was like:

The early morning scene at Melbourne’s Southern Cross station is suitably atmospheric; there’s a chill in the air, and passengers are beginning to gather on platform 2 for the train.

The location is majestic, the great curves of the station roof undulating way above our heads. On the other platforms, scuffed V/Line trains are pulling in at regular intervals, disgorging tree-changers commuting to work from their country homes.

I feel that every great rail journey should begin early in the morning, just a little before you’d comfortably like to be up and about. Because train stations are open to the elements, there’s none of the antiseptic claustrophobia of airports. The chill in the air, the bustle of commuters, the grandeur of the setting and the proximity to the city means the journey takes on a certain importance... even if it were just a holiday jaunt.

If you’re overimaginative like me, you can hear a mental echo of the great days of rail, of Agatha Christie novels and Sherlock Holmes stories, of exiled Russian princesses and shady American magnates with obscure motives.

The Overland, a survivor of the 19th century, has two sit-up classes of travel nowadays; in May 2007, the old sleepers were swept away in favour of daytime-only travel, either in standard seating (Red Service) or the more roomy Red Premium carriages.

There’s also a dash of dagginess - or alternatively, homeliness - as part of the mix. As we travel, a recorded commentary pipes up from time to time, with service announcements and information on the destination we’re passing through. The commentator’s smooth tones dance the line between cheery and cheesy, with gags like “GSR has some of the finest train staff in the world... unfortunately they’re not on board today”. Sophisticated it ain’t, but the older audience likes it and it raises smiles.

Heading west

The first part of the journey, to Geelong, is a familiar trek, with Melbourne’s western suburbs giving way to flat, scrubby countryside punctuated by the odd little town. I always find this landscape faintly melancholy for some reason, imagining it as a wasteland between the two cities.

At North Shore we pull over for a while, opposite a maze of equipment in the industrial complex opposite. I can see from the schedule that we’ll be biding our time in a number of sidings today as the single track on most of the route gives priority to freight trains. It’s not really a problem, as the passengers on this ten hour journey are clearly vacationers out to enjoy the company and the passing scenery.

The clearest contrast to the more businesslike Melbourne-Sydney train is the Overland’s very pleasant cafe carriage, a notable omission from the Sydney train. It has comfortable table seating, and I sit here for a while with a coffee, talking to an older couple who are on holiday (On the way back, I share a table around sunset with a Muslim student from India, who breaks his Ramadan fast as the towers of Melbourne’s CBD appear on the horizon).

West of Geelong, industry gives way again to picturesque grassy, gently rolling fields lined by gum trees, though livestock seems thin on the ground. The light rain creates a mist across the horizon, softening the view and giving the suggestion of an Impressionist work. Around 11.30am we pass some fields dotted with rocky outcrops that look like worn remnants of ancient stone circles, happily ignored by lambs prancing about their mothers.

The commentary continues to flick on and off occasionally, giving info on passing towns and remarkable features, in the announcer’s best commercial radio tones. The attempts at folksiness also continue... a segment on SA’s wines mentions “great-tasting plonk” and concludes with the sound of clinking wine glasses.

Border crossing

Lunch arrives and is good - a tasty and crisp chicken caesar salad and excellent apricot cheesecake, served in bowls with a bubbly pinot noir chardonnay on the side. All for $24, which seems reasonable for long-haul transport in both price and quality. As the remains are cleared away we pass the red-brick Dimboola station building, a classic country station of the old school with its all-caps sign.

The crossing of the South Australian border is an anti-climax, announced by the driver after it’s happened. And, unsurprisingly, eastern South Australia looks much the same as western Victoria - green fields alternating with bright yellow fields of canola, interrupted by the occasional farmhouse.

At 2.15pm we pass through the aptly named Bordertown, the first town on the SA side of the border. Sadly, the charming old stone and timber train station, painted white, is boarded up. It seems an unnecessary derelict given the town’s role as the gateway to South Australia... perhaps it could become a visitor centre, or a museum?

South Australia’s passenger rail system has clearly declined since its glory days (there are, in fact, no passenger services outside Adelaide except the tourist-orientated interstate trains), and we pass more abandoned stations along the way. There may be nothing more depressing than a mouldering old platform with a pair of bare metal poles which once supported a destination sign. At least Tailem Bend station, reached about 4pm, is evidently still in use; I find out later it’s being restored as a visitor information centre.

Hills and vines

Ten minutes later, the landscape suddenly becomes dramatic. The consistently flat farming country gives way to hills, and the train begins to climb. Below, as we rise, I can see floodplains and grazing cows. Along the way we pass a peacock in someone’s backyard and a bathtub washed up somehow in the middle of the plain, then cross the Murray River on a spectacular 1924 bridge which carries us high above the plains and crops directly into Murray Bridge station on the opposite bank.

From this point the terrain becomes ever more hilly, as we head toward Mount Lofty and the Adelaide Hills, with rocky outcrops of silvery gum trees growing out of reddish soil. We soon have brilliant views over fields far below us, undulating distant hills, and a highway with cars driving past farmhouses, sheds and dried-out sporting grounds.

At 5pm we get our first glimpses of vineyards, lots of them, forming geometric patterns up and down the slopes. We’re also starting to see winery signs, neat stone houses from colonial times, and other types of farms hugging the hillsides.

Just after 5.30pm, nearing the end of the journey, an amazing view opens up from the heights above the city, looking down onto the vast flat plain with a cluster of tall buildings within the central business district. It feels like we’re truly in Adelaide’s orbit now. We slide down into the city and reach the interstate rail terminal, in the fairly unattractive industrial surrounds of Keswick, close to 6pm.

My verdict? The Overland takes time, but if you want to give air travel a miss in favour of a more relaxed approach involving non-stop scenery, canola fields, vineyards, evocative old stations and drinks in the bar with fellow passengers, it’s a great way to go intercolonial in the 21st century.

Tim Richards travelled courtesy of Great Southern Railway. The Overland travels between Melbourne and Adelaide three times a week in both directions. For more info, visit GSR's website.

Geelong: Seaplanes & Wooden Horses

On Wednesday afternoon, I went up in a seaplane for the first time, circling high over Corio Bay and the city of Geelong. It was a clear day, and I could match the landmarks below with the map I’d become familiar with by walking the streets.

I love doing that, there’s something seemingly miraculous about a printed piece of paper coming suddenly to life. Intellectually, I know it must depict the streetscape accurately, but to see its 3D detail from the air is emotionally satisfying.

And seeing a city from the air tells you something about its nature. As I looked down from on high, Geelong’s distinct street grid spoke of its Victorian-era founders and their need to impose order on an alien land, and the low-rise spread of the suburbs said a lot about how Australians have preferred to spread out rather than build up.

A plenitude of sporting grounds in prominent locations pointed out sport’s prominent role. Kardinia Park, Geelong’s Australian Rules Football venue, drew the eye as an island of verdant green in an otherwise dry environment, and the streets next to the nearby Richmond Oval seemed subordinate to the sporting field, bending around its shape.

Half an hour later, I was seated on a wooden horse, oscillating up and down as I travelled in circles all by myself on a restored carousel on the Geelong waterfront. I’d taken the place of a group of seniors who'd been experiencing a second childhood on the painted ponies as I’d arrived. As I went round, and up and down, it occurred to me: I have a weird job.

It’s human nature, unfortunately, that whenever you achieve a long sought-after goal, you immediately begin to regard it as mundane, and overlook what drew you to it in the first place.

Travel writing is such a competitive field that it’s essential to be as efficient as possible: making lightning visits to places while writing notes and taking photos, joining media trips with packed itineraries, and calculating how to get as many stories as possible out of the material to hand. There’s a fair bit of stress in making ends meet, and a lot of admin to deal with (BAS statements anyone?). So, unfortunately, there’s a tendency to be focused on the practicalities of work.

However, every so often I’m lifted out of my work mentality and reminded how marvellous it is to be out of my office, travelling and being stimulated by the new.

The first place I visited in Geelong was its Botanic Gardens. All notable Victorian cities have these, and they’re usually attractive; but I wasn’t expecting anything special.

My mistake. The Geelong gardens are composed of three sections constructed in three different centuries. The newest, at the entrance to the gardens, is a fascinating oval-shaped garden filled with plants that use very little water. It was constructed as a response to climate change and our sharpened awareness of drought, and a renewed interest in indigenous plants and the natural balance of the environment we find ourselves in (rather than that of the ‘Old Country’).

It’s a fascinating contrast to the earlier European-style gardens at the back. Though it’s low on grass, it’s a beautiful space and very calming, its greenery contrasting neatly with the dry gravel surface in its centre. There’s something meditative about the placement of plants and benches among its curves. A guide told me that they’d planned for the new garden to use 10% of the Botanic Gardens’ water supply, but in fact it’s turned out to only need a fraction of that.

And that’s the other thing I like about my job: regularly talking to people who care deeply about their work. Too few have that enthusiasm or are bold enough to show it, so I always appreciate people sharing it with me. In talking to a gallery owner about his customers and their collecting enthusiasms, or a guide in a top hat who enjoys leading schoolkids around the city’s streets and explaining its history, or a pilot who gets to share his love of flying, I’ve been tapping into the passion behind a city like Geelong.

Tim Richards travelled courtesy of Geelong Otway Tourism.