Williamstown Racecourse

Williamstown is one of the oldest suburbs of Melbourne.

Situated at the Western mouth of the Yarra river, the town arose naturally after the founding of the city, as it proved a good location for a port. With the river impassable to large cargo ships (discussed further here), Point Gellibrand was quickly established as the disembarkation point for goods headed for Melbourne.

Founded in November 1835, a few months after the city itself, and named after King William IV, Williamstown thrived as Melbourne expanded. Like much of the city, this growth increased exponentially during the Gold Rush of the 1850s.

One tangible indicator of this expansion was the founding of  the Williamstown Racecourse.

Williamstown Racecourse, shortly after its founding.

In 1857, local enthusiasts formed the Williamstown Racing Association, and began looking for a place to build a track. The local council denied their initial request for lands close to the township, but they were able to secure an open clearing on the waterfront, adjacent to Koroit Creek (then in Wyndham Shire). Construction of the track began in 1858, and the first race meeting was held on Boxing Day in 1859.

Aerial view of the racetrack

Location of track on current map.

Reached by a small causeway crossing the creek, the track's location offered a sweeping view across the bay. The simple wooden grandstand was augmented by decorative Canary Date Palm trees, and Norfolk pines ringed the far side of the course. It was a simple, but handsome, layout, and the track grew quickly in popularity.

The Boxing Day races became an annual event, and the racing program would expand into the racing season proper. In 1885, the Williamson Racecourse Railway Station was opened, to allow punters easy access to the course. Originally the end of a small side spur from the Geelong line, this track would eventually be expanded through to Altona (where it still runs today, as the Werribee line).

In 1887 a new public grandstand was built, and the following year the Williamstown Cup was first held, which soon became one of the most prestigious events in the local racing calendar. By the 1890s ,Williamstown Racecourse was as well established as Flemington or Caulfield.

Phar Lap wins at Williamstown, 1931.

The course's place in local racing history was secured on 25 August, 1931, when local legend Phar Lap won the Underwood Stakes. The Age gives a sense of the day:

But despite its popularity, the outbreak of World War II would eventually put paid to racing in Williamstown.

The final race meeting was held 10 February, 1940. Shortly after this, the Government took over the track, as they also did Caulfield and the MCG, and put it to use as an Army camp. Throughout the war it was used as a training facility, and barracks.

After the war, the Williamstown Racing Club intended to start holding meets again, but were delayed by the poor condition the course had fallen into. The club worked to rectify this, and pencilled in the 1947 racing season to resume competition.

Then, fate intervened:

Fire destroys the Williamstown Racecourse Grandstand.

Around 5pm on January 29, 1947, smoke was seen coming from the roof of the public grandstand. Fanned by a strong wind, the stand was soon fiercely ablaze, the fire quickly spreading to the members stand alongside. Fire brigades from several surrounding areas were dispatched to the site, but they were unable to control the fire. It blazed out of control for several hours, and, eventually, would consume all of the principal buildings at the course.

The local press reports the story.

While police investigated the fire as suspicious, the totality of the destruction deprived them of clues and the case eventually petered out. To date, the cause of the fire has never been determined.

The timing of the destruction was especially unfortunate, as the State Government had been agitating for consolidation in the ranks of local racing. Now, without a home track, the Williamstown Racing Club was in a vulnerable position. Pressured by the state government, and without the funds to rebuild their course, Williamstown members voted to accept an amalgamation with the Victorian Trotting and Racing Association, forming the Melbourne Racing Club.

The track was this time sold to the State Government, who put it to use as temporary accommodation for homeless Army veterans.

Racing in Williamstown was consigned to history.

The last Canary Date palm.

But once the last of the veterans had been re-settled, the Government decided to preserve the site as a public park. Now known as the Altona Coastal Park it is in this form still, and is now part of a popular hiking, bike riding and dog walking track.

But a few remnants of the area's racing history remain; the last of the canary date palms, part of the wreckage of the burnt out grandstand and artist Yvonne George's 'Requiem for a Champion', a small tribute to a vanished era.

Grandstand wreckage.

'Requiem for a Champion.'

The Heavenly Queen of the Maribyrnong

Standing on a nondescript bend in the Maribyrnong River, between Footscray and Flemington Racecourse, is a most unexpected sight. Rising above a former industrial block, towers the Heavenly Queen of the Maribyrnong.

The Heavenly Queen of the Yarra, Footscray.

Under construction for more than a decade, her arrival at this location is a tale that actually stretches back several thousand years.

Lin Niang; traditional representation.

Born in 960, on the island of Meizhou off the south eastern coast of China, Lin Niang was marked as a remarkable child from an early age. Visiting a Buddhist temple with her family when she was 4, Niang experienced a vision of the Goddess Kuan Yin, which left her with the power of second sight.

Pious, and highly intelligent, Niang began to study Buddhist teachings when she was 10, and was accepted as an apprentice to the village priest shortly afterwards. From her early teens, people from the surrounding area would come to pray with Niang and she developed a reputation as a healer.

Niang seen by sailors, travelling atop a cloud.

She also had a profound connection with the sea; Niang's father and brothers were fisherman, and village life revolved around the ocean.

When Niang was 15, her father and eldest brother were out at sea when a fierce storm blew up and overturned their boat. Working on a tapestry at home, Niang was overcome by a powerful vision and fell into a trance. She was able to project her consciousness out to sea (some versions say she was actually transported, via cloud, as depicted above), and was able to drag her brother back to safety. When she returned to rescue her father, however, her startled mother woke her from her trance and her father was drowned.

And there are many more stories of Niang patrolling the ocean, or answering calls of distress, and rescuing sailors at sea.

When she was 27, answering the call of another powerful vision, Niang said goodbye to her family and climbed a mountain that overlooked her village. Clouds covered the peak and, when they cleared, Niang had vanished. It was said that she had ascended to heaven.

Such is the legend of Lin Niang, later known as Mazu, Goddess of the Sea.

Mazu Temple, Kinmen Matsu Park, China.

The story of Mazu - her heroic behaviour and protection of the weak - is one of the most popular in Chinese mythology, which has given rise to a legion of followers. Temples and statues have been erected to her around the world, and it estimated that she may have as many as 100 million active disciples.

So, it is no surprise to find that multicultural Melbourne, with its high population of Chinese residents, has erected a statue to the Goddess as well.

The Mazu temple site in Melbourne.

The project has been a long time in development.

Starting in the 1990s, a fundraising committee was organised to gather money to purchase both a site, and commission a statue. The location on the riverbank was settled on early, as the poor state of the land (it had been the long standing home to a factory) meant it was available at a reasonable price.

The committee, headed by local businessman William Tsang, had ambitious goals; a 16 metre statue, flanked by two temples (modeled after buildings in the Forbidden City, in Beijing), then surrounded by gardens. The statue alone would cost $450 000 and would be imported from Nanjing, in China.

Mazu: overlooking the Maribyrnong.

The elaborate temple site entrance.

Progress has been slow but steady. At time of writing, the statue and the first of the temples are complete, while the remainder of the site is still under construction (final completion is expected in 2019).

But the statue of Mazu already has a commanding presence. Clearly visible from the main road, and especially from the nearby train line, her calm, inscrutable countenance overlooks the waters of the Maribyrnong, much as it is said she did the waters of the China Sea, a thousand years ago.

Prince Wikyama and His Amazing World Record Dive

Let's be clear before we start.

There was no Prince Wikyama. And he definitely didn't complete a world record dive.

But the title of this piece is in keeping with the the story that I'm going to unfold; a story of one strange afternoon in the city's history, and the colourful characters that took a turn in the spotlight that day.

As unlikely a forgotten tale as you could imagine...

Alick Wickham.

Born in the Soloman Islands in 1886, everything about Alick Wickham was striking. Strongly built, handsome and athletic, Wickham excelled at sports from a young age, showing a particular aptitude for swimming and diving. In 1901 he was sent to Sydney, living with relatives of his father while he finished his schooling, after which he determined to make a name for himself.

Finding work as a house boy, in his leisure time Wickham would swim laps in the sea baths at Bronte Beach. While doing so, he used a stroke that was commonplace in the Soloman Islands, and many Pacific Island nations, but relatively unknown in Australia; freestyle.

And so the story goes: Watching him one day was prominent swimming coach George Farmer, who remarked: 'Look at that boy crawling!' 

The Australian Crawl was born.

Wickham equals the National 100 yards record, July 1903.

What Farmer also saw that day was an immensely strong young swimmer, who he was keen to help hone into a world class athlete. Farmer recruited Wickham for the East Sydney Swimming Club and, under his personal direction,the youngster equalled the national 100 yard record in 1903. The following year, he broke the world record for a swim over 50 yards and, over the next few years, would break still more state and national records.

Alongside his sporting achievements, Wickham made a living performing stunts  and tricks at swimming carnivals and other public events.

Alick Wickham had become a well known, and quite exotic, local identity.

John Wren

Born in Collingwood in 1871, John Wren endured a rugged start in life. Son of a knockabout Irish labourer, Wren left school at 12 and took a number of menial jobs, ending in a manual position in a local lumber yard. A keen amateur sportsman, proficient at cricket and footy, Wren supplemented his modest wages by working as an independent bookie, taking bets on the local sporting comps that he followed avidly.

And so the story goes: in 1890 Wren bet his life savings on Carbine in the Melbourne Cup and, when the Kiwi horse got up, found himself with enough dough to go into business for himself. Wren opened a licensed betting agency on Johnston Street, near where he grew up, which quickly proved lucrative enough to expand into a chain of shopfronts.

As the money poured in, Wren's notoriety grew. 

He maintained links with Melbourne's criminal underground, running illegal totes alongside his legitimate ones, and employed a number of ex-cons in his businesses (Squizzy Taylor was rumoured to be a friend). He was also accused of fixing races and flouting Victoria's gambling laws, but each time charges were laid against him, he was able to beat the case. 

Wren also gave money generously to charities, and the Catholic Church, and fashioned himself as the champion of the underdog. His support for local sporting teams, Collingwood chief among them, and outspoken patriotism meant that he remained popular, as well as infamous.

John Wren had become a colourful, and quite exotic, local identity.

Deep Rock Swimming Club

Among Wren's many sporting interests was the Deep Rock Swimming Club. 

Nestled on a gentle bend in the Yarra, near Wren's house in Kew, Deep Rock was a popular swimming hole for inner city residents. After Wren assumed the Presidency of the club he expanded its activities; overseeing the construction of a concrete swimming pool for kids, instigating lifesaving lessons, and arranging carnivals and competitive swim meets.

After the outbreak of World War I, Wren decided to use the swimming club for a show of patriotic support. He conceived a swimming carnival, capped with a world record high dive into the Yarra from the cliffs opposite the club, with all proceeds going to the Returned Soldiers Fund.

This remarkable event was set for March 23, 1918.

The dive tower, March 23, 1918.

Alick Wickham had performed in Melbourne a number of times during his swimming career, so undoubtedly was well known to a sports fanatic like Wren. But, by 1918, his days as a national sporting champion were over. Perhaps this is what motivated him to accept the dangerous proposal Wren put forward; one final turn in the spotlight for an athlete who's prime was now past. Or maybe he was simply motivated by the thought of helping the war effort; Wickham's younger brother Ted had been killed on duty in France. 

Whatever the reason, Wickham agreed to a one-off high dive into the Yarra from an elevated platform. To add an extra element of spice, he also agreed to be billed as 'Prince Wikyama,' a visiting member of the Solomon Islands Royal family. The local press lapped up this exotic angle and this, along with the patriotic theme of the day. meant a big crowd was a certainty.

In the end, an estimated 60 000 people would cram into the surrounding park to watch the death defying feat, paying 6 shillings each and raising a considerable sum.

The first part of the carnival proceeded without incident; the swim meet was competitive, with the feature 100 yard race being won by a local swimmer ahead of Wickham (who had provided a sporting head start). The crowd built during the day, and by the time of the dive they were spread along both sides of the river, and even climbed trees to get a clearer view.

Around 5pm, Wickham was rowed across the river in a canoe, and then walked up a dirt track to the clifftop. He then mounted several flights of stairs, to the top of the wooden platform that had been erected there. The mood of the crowd was tense, nervous, solemn. As for the diver...

Wickham climbed back down the platform again. He spoke to officials. The crowd waited anxiously, a number now convinced that if he dived he would be killed, or seriously injured.

But after a few minutes he climbed up again, and took position on the edge of the diving platform. A bugler on loan from the local barracks played one long note, which silenced the crowd.

Wickham survived his jump, more or less unscathed, and was rewarded by a gesture of 100 pounds from Wren, who viewed the day as a great success. Wickham's feat was celebrated by the press across Australia, and the successful jumper found himself a minor celebrity again.

Wren also claimed that Wickham had broken a world record, in that the platform was 205 feet (62 metres) above the water. This almost immediately came in for considerable skepticism, as many eyewitnesses felt that the tower had been much lower than this.

But Wren was able to produce Sgt F. Smith of the Melbourne War Council, who had erected the platform for the event. Sgt Smith swore that the height of the tower was 205ft, 9inch, which seemed to set the matter firmly in the record.

Alick Wickham, Prince Wikyama, had set a new world's record.

The local press report the jump.

After the war, Wren's eventful life continued much as it had beforehand. 

His business interests were wide and varied enough that he survived a number of reversals, and he would remain a wealthy man for the rest of his life. As he grew older, he became steadily more involved in the Victorian Labor Party, and he was soon recognised as one of the state's most influential political operators.

Wren was the subject of Frank Hardy's classic local novel 'Power Without Glory,' (under the character name of John West), where he was depicted as a thoroughly amoral individual, corrupted by his thirst for power. Wren sued Hardy for libel but the court, almost certainly swayed by Wren's seedy reputation, dismissed the case.

A sports fanatic to the end, Wren suffered a heart attack while trying to get behind the goals in the final moments of Collingwood's grand final win of 1953. He died a few days later, on the 26th October 1953.

Alick Wickham's fate was more melancholy.

Too old for competitive swimming, Wickham's fortunes took a turn for the worse, and he was reduced to driving a cab in Sydney to make ends meet. In the 1920's he returned to the Soloman Islands to live, where he was married unhappily three times, and worked a variety of odd jobs. 

The cliff Wickham jumped from, present day.

Meanwhile, debate had continued about the height Wickham had jumped from on that remarkable day in 1918. 

To settle the argument, in 1965 the Yarra Bend Park Trust had the Yarra cliffs surveyed. This established their height as 106 feet and this, combined with an estimated tower height of about 30 feet, meant that Wickham's jump was more like 135 feet overall. Still considerable, and still an Australian record for that time, but not the world mark that had been claimed.

Record books that previously carried the story of Wickham's jump now swiftly removed it. 

Wickham himself passed away, penniless, of natural causes on August 10, 1967.

Deep Rock momnument, Yarra Bend park.

The Deep Rock Swimming Club continued to thrive after World War I, but fate seemed to conspire against it.

A flood in 1934 washed away the pedestrian bridge that provided easy access to the club grounds, and the clubhouse itself burned down the following year. And most of the remaining club members enlisted during World War II, many set never to return. New members never materialised, to take their place

By the 1950s the Deep Rock section of the river had gained a seedy reputation, as it was used as a discrete drinking and partying spot after hours. Finally, as pollution of the Yarra increased during the 20th century, people simply began finding alternate places to swim.

The club was finally abandoned at the end of the 1950s. A metal plaque, and stone memorial, are all that remain in the park today, small reminders of a fomer local institution, that once laid claim to an astonishing world record.

Melbourne's Pink Lake

Sitting directly below the Westgate Bridge, Westgate Park is a pleasant stretch of undulating grassland wedged between Port Melbourne and Fisherman's Bend, a short walk form the city.

The site has an interesting history.

In the 1930s it was owned by the Federal Government, and was home to the Department of Aircraft Production. The extensive facilities were used to design and build new aircraft designs, which were then tested on the site's own runway.

An aerial photo of the Westgate runway.

But the development of jet aircraft after World War II meant the runway became inadequate, and the department was moved to a larger property near Lara.

The vacant site was then used for a variety of public and private activities, including; motor racing, sand mining and waste disposal. The nature of these activities had a negative impact on the land, which became environmentally degraded.

The park under construction.

In the 1980s, the State Government decided to clean up the site, and set aside 54 hectares as a public park. It was opened in 1984, and dedicated as part of Victoria's 150th anniversary celebrations.

And the park is a welcome addition to a largely industrial part of the city. It sports a number of gentle walks, is home to a variety of bird life and even has a pedestrian punt, that crosses the Yarra on the weekends.

It also has three man made lakes, one of which turns bright pink in the summer time.

The striking colour is caused by a simple, but still quite rare, chemical reaction.

This is the park's salt water lake (the other major one is filled with fresh water) and the higher temperatures in summer cause some of the lake's water to evaporate, increasing the salt concentration. This then reacts with a single cell alga that exists in the lake, which produces the red pigment.

This interaction is only found in a small number of lakes around the world.

The Lost Cemetery

Sprawling both sides of the Yarra, and the Eastern Freeway, Yarra Bend Park is one of Melbourne's biggest open green spaces. The seemingly endless parkland encompasses grassy plains, gravel hills, a sheltered river valley, native bushland, two public boathouses, a public golf course, a giant flying fox colony colony, a fish ladder, sports ovals and kilometres of walking and cycling tracks.

It was also once home to Melbourne's first insane asylum and is still home to an unknown number of lost graves...

Yarra Bend Park today.

As Melbourne began to expand from it's modest beginnings in the 1830's and 40's, the local authorities faced enormous challenges in delivering services to its population. One area that soon needed to be addressed was mental health. People suffering form mental illness were initially incarcerated in the city jail, but when this proved inadequate the Government began to take steps towards a more permanent solution.

In 1843, Governor Gipps sanctioned a mental hospital for the city and surveyor general Robert Hoddle selected an area north of the city, up the Yarra near Dight's Falls.

Approximate location of the Asylum.

A substantial 620 acres was set aside for the asylum and grounds, but the original buildings were modest. A single wing was built out of bluestone, with 7 cells and 2 wards for men, and 3 cells and 1 ward for women. Costing around 3000 pounds, Yarra Bend Asylum was opened late in 1848. Initially, there was some confusion as to how new patients were to be referred:

From the 'Melbourne Argus', 10 October 1848.

But the asylum was shortly in full operation and the number of inmates increased quickly. After 12 months, and with 43 people interred, the Government was forced to commission the expansion of the site into a second wing. Additional supplementary buildings and staff were also added.

A landscape by George Washington Wilson, probably from the 1850's,
showing Yarra Bend Asylum with Melbourne city in the background.

The Asylum's imposing entry gate and guardhouse.

In 1852, reports of abnormal care and patient abuse surfaced at the asylum. A Parliamentary enquiry was held and shocking stories of conditions inside the hospital were aired. Among the charges; physical and sexual abuse of patients, dirty and unhygienic facilities, misappropriation of funds, corruption and patients frequently reported as intoxicated. Head of the asylum, retired military Captain George Watson, was described in the enquiry's report as 'grossly negligent and extremely culpable.' After the report's tabling, Captain Watson was replaced by the asylum's first chief administrator with medical experience, Superintendent Dr Robert Bowie.

Meanwhile, demand for the asylum's services continued to grow rapidly. As Melbourne's population exploded on the back of the gold rush, the number of inmates increased dramatically; there were 251 by 1855 and 450 by 1858. In order to accommodate these numbers, additional wards were added (now constructed more cheaply out of wood) and the grounds were redeveloped to allow extensive gardening and farming. The inmates were put to work growing vegetables and crops as part of their treatment; supplying a good proportion of their own food and allowing any surplus to be sold to local produce markets to generate much needed revenue.

By the 1860's, Yarra Bend Asylum had become an elaborate, diverse, crowded compound.

A depiction of the Asylum and grounds from 1862.

Among the challenges for the asylum's administrators as numbers swelled, was what to do with inmates who passed away.  From early in the asylum's history, many of these unfortunates were buried  in a dedicated cemetery on asylum grounds, a short distance from the main buildings on the riverbank. Missing, or poorly kept, records mean that the exact number of burials in this cemetery are unknown, but some estimates put the figure as high as 1 200.

A map of asylum grounds from the late 1800's,
showing the location of the cemetery (centre).

By 1870, Yarra Bend had ballooned to more than a 1000 inmates.

Again facing chronic overcrowding and reports of inhumane conditions, the State Government began to examine moves to close and replace the asylum. A new mental hospital at Kew had been proposed as far back as 1856, but plans for its construction had stalled in Parliament. They were now revisited and the Kew Asylum opened in 1871, initially operating as a ward of Yarra Bend. Around this time, new institutions were also opened at Royal Park and, in rural areas, Ararat and Beechworth. All were significantly smaller than Yarra Bend however, and so served to ease the strain on the main asylum more than replacing it outright.

Another public commission in the years 1884 - 1886 (The Zox Commission) formally recommended the closure of Yarra Bend and subsequent sale of the - now very valuable - land it sat on. Successive State Government's used this report as justification to reduce or withhold funding from the facility, with the result that its already antiquated buildings fell further into disrepair. But the authorities still balked at closing the hospital altogether.

Shortly after the turn of the twentieth century, with public scrutiny of Yarra Bend mounting, the Victorian Government finally set about funding a proper replacement. Mont Park Psychiatric Hospital was built on 185 acres near present day Bundoora and accepted its first patients in 1910.

Patients quarters, Mont Park hospital.

Despite this, Yarra Bend would continue to operate for another 15 years. Lack of Government funds to facilitate the closure were to blame. It was not until 1924 that Yarra Bend stopped accepting new patients and the asylum was finally closed the following year, the remaining patients transferred to Mont Park. Inspector General for the Insane, Dr Ernest Jones, provides a grim epitaph for the place he helped to close down:

Some efforts were also made to relocate the cemetery. Where next of kin were identifiable, and had the means, they were offered the option of having the body moved to a cemetery of their choosing at their own expense. Where this was not an option, bodies were exhumed and buried in common graves at Melbourne General Cemetery. It is not known precisely how many bodies were moved and, as accurate records had not been kept, how many therefore remained. Even the precise location of the cemetery has been lost to history (the images above and below provide an approximation only, based on historical data). But it is assumed that an unknown number of corpses remain on the site, below the present day location of a practice fairway of the Studley Park golf course.

Of Yarra Bend Asylum, once the state's largest, almost no physical traces remain at all. An original gate post stands to the side of the park road near the Eastern Freeway, a solitary reminder of the many thousands who lived and died on the site.