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.

Burke and Wills: The Roaming Statue

Burke and Wills are among the most famous Melbournians, yet neither was a local.

Both Robert O'Hara Burke and William John Wills were British born and trained, the former as a policeman, the latter a surveyor. On 20 August 1860 they lead an expedition out of Melbourne to begin an attempt to cross the Australia from South to North, a previously unattained feat.

Ultimately, they were marching into history, as neither would return alive.

Melbourne would pay a number of tributes to these adopted, flawed characters, chief among them the statue erected in their honour on the corner of Swanston and Little Collins Streets. But it is interesting to note that this statue has enjoyed it's own nomadic existence, and that it's current spot is the fourth it has occupied since it's casting.

The Burke and Wills statue; current location.

News of the passing of Burke and Wills was slow to reach Melbourne. Both explorers were dead by late June 1861, the exact date of their deaths is not known, but they had gone missing in one of the remotest parts of the country, if not the world, and no word of their end was initially available . The final surviving member of the expedition, John King, was not found until late September and it was not until the first week of November that the grim news finally reached Sydney and Melbourne.

The Argus reports the news, November 5, 1861.

The anguish in the city was pronounced.

The state government quickly decided that a prominent public tribute to the lost explorers was in order, and by February 1862 some 4000  pounds had been allocated for this purpose. It was to be the first statue of a public figure erected in Melbourne.

To settle on the design, a public competition was organised, to be overseen by University of Melbourne professor William Wilson. A public announcement from Wilson later in 1862 declared the competition open:

Five entries were submitted to the lucrative contest, but the clear favourite was always the submission of Charles Sumner. 

Sumner was a British born sculptor who had moved to Melbourne in 1852, following his brothers to the goldfields. But he found more success through his art, and was well known locally for the decoration he had supplied to the interior of the Parliamentary chambers on Spring Street. He established a studio on Collins Street, where he worked mainly on busts of Melbourne's burgeoning upper class. It is thought that his connections, and some behind the scenes lobbying, helped him secure the Burke and Wills commission.

As per the competitions instructions, Sumner submitted a plaster model of the statue, now held by the Royal Society of Victoria:

After he had claimed the prize and been awarded the commission, Sumner was requested to submit a second, larger, maquette, closer to the actual statue's to be completed size. This second model, sometimes thought to be the original competition entry, is on display in the Warrnambool Art Gallery:

It would take Sumner two years of work to turn his plaster models in to bronze, full size reality.

While casting work was ongoing, the Design Commission overseeing the project had a change of heart about the monument's prospective location. Originally set to be erected outside Parliament House on Spring Street, as per Wilson's announcement, the commission decided to consider other locations after a mock up of the statue was placed there and found to be somewhat overshadowed by the surrounding buildings.

The mock up statue was trialed at various spots around the city, including; the Botanic gardens, Carlton gardens, the State Library forecourt and Batman Hill (at this time the hill was still an open, public space). Eventually, the commission settled on the high ground at the intersection of Collins and Russell Streets, opting to place the statue in the middle of the crossroads.

The statue was completed early in 1865 and unveiled on April 21 of that year, to near universal acclaim.

Two views of the statue, in its original location.

After the unveiling, Sumner continued to work on the project, completing four bronze relief panels depicting scenes from the expedition which were added to the pedestal in 1866.

The statue was a popular addition to the top of Collins Street, but it's time in the location would be relatively short. As Melbourne continued to grow as a city, electric trams were added to the CBD in 1886, necessitating the removal of statue to allow the tramway clear passage.

It was then relocated close to its originally designated spot on Spring Street, now finding a home in Gillott's Reserve opposite State Parliament.

The statue on Spring Street.

Where it would remain for nearly a hundred years.

But in the early 1970's, transport infrastructure improvements would again force the statue to move. This time it was an expansion of the city's rail network that effected the statue, as the Government sought to add additional inner city stops. As Parliament station was being created deep under Spring Street, Gillott Reserve was swallowed up and the statue was moved to the south east corner of Carlton Gardens in 1973.

The statue in Carlton gardens.

But this was considered a rather obscure spot for one of the city's best known monuments. With the removal of the Queen Victoria Buildings on Swanston Street, and the creation of City Square, an opportunity was presented to bring the statue back into the centre of the city. This was done in 1979 (although to a slightly different position to the one it currently occupies).

But all of this nomadic wandering had come at a cost. By 1988, the statue had fallen into disrepair and Melbourne City Council had it removed for restoration, which was done at the Meridian Studios in Fitzroy.

Restoration work was completed in 1993 and the statue was placed in it's current location, where it has remained to date.

Albert Dunstan

Cutting between Spring and Landsdowne Streets, Treasury Place provides an unexpectedly elegant boundary to the State Parliament precinct. With the undulating green of the Treasury Gardens on one side, and the graceful pale stone of various public service offices on the other, it is simultaneously both a secluded and open space and is a good spot for a stroll, when it's not overrun with bureaucrats.

The current layout dates from the 1950's, when the government precinct was given an overhaul.

Treasury Place in the 1950's.

And today.

Keeping vigil outside the Treasury offices are four statues, depicting four of Victoria's most famous Premiers; Albert Dunstan, Henry Bolte, Dick Hamer and John Cain jr, And while their names are probably familiar, the key achievements and personalities of these former leaders have, perhaps, become obscured by the passage of time.

These are worth considering. For among the details of the public lives of these four, very different men, you can tell much about the history of life in this state, and about the machinations of politics everywhere. Over the next few weeks, we'll have a look at the backstory on these former Premiers, starting with our very own Frank Underwood, Albert Dunstan.

ALBERT DUNSTAN

Short, stocky and pugnacious, Albert Dunstan may have seemed like an odd fit for a top level politician. But his forthright, direct manner and everyman persona made him an effective operator.

Born into a farming family in rural Victoria, Dunstan initially seemed set to continue the family line, working on the land first in Queensland and then locally, near Swan Hill. But in 1916, he joined the Victorian Farmer's Union, a move that would eventually lead him to a seat in the State Parliament as the member for Eaglehawk. Dunstan quickly established himself as one of the VFU's most outspoken parliamentary members, and also soon displayed a talent for Machiavellian political chicanery.

In 1921 Dunstan fell out with the VFU's Parliamentary leader, John Allan, and began to undermine his authority. The VFU had traditionally voted with the leading conservative party of the day, the Nationalists, but Dunstan lead a breakaway faction that voted with the Labor Party on certain key issues.

John Allen; nemesis

Allen correctly interpreted this as Dunstan's attempt to destabilise his leadership and paid him back by stymieing his career. Despite his effectiveness in Parliament, Dunstan was deliberately excluded from cabinet when the VFU formed a coalition government with the Nationalists in 1924. Allan became deputy Premier and seemed to have thwarted his feisty rival.

But Dunstan was far from finished.

In 1926, he formed his own party, the Country Progressive Party, and sat in Parliament as its sole member, ostensibly as an independent. Dunstan's talents on the stump and in the community were now unencumbered and in the 1927 election, the CPP increased it's representation to 5, solely at the expense of the VFU.

Worried about how successful Dunstan may become, Allan and the VFU sought peace. In 1930, Allan convinced Dunstan to rejoin the fold, and they merged their two parties into the United Country Party. Allan remained as leader but, to his undoubted chagrin, Dunstan demanded the deputy leadership as part of the deal.

And the agreement bore fruit. In 1932, the UCP formed a coalition government with the conservative United Australia Party, with Allen again as deputy Premier and Dunstan now becoming Minister of Works. Dunstan was to prove a diligent and hard working Minister, but his ambitions went much further than this.

Dunstan in 1932.

The election of 1935 was close, but the UAP Government, headed by Stanley Argyle, was returned. Allan had lost the UCP leadership by this stage, largely due to poor health, and had been replaced by Murray Bourchier.

Bourchier, however, had proved an ineffective leader. Dunstan had spent the previous three years shoring up his support within the party and, shortly after the election, successfully challenged Bourchier for the leadership, which also brought the Deputy Premier's office with it.

He was now just one short step away from achieving his ultimate goal.

Dunstan campaigning in 1935. His ease with
regular folks was much remarked upon.

The relationship between the UAP and the UCP had always been strained, and Labor leader Thomas Tunnecliffe now sought to widen this divide. He had intermediaries reach out to Dunstan and advise that if Dunstan were to move a no-confidence motion in the government, Labor would support a new government headed by Dunstan himself. While an act of outrageous political treachery, this offer would prove too much of a temptation.

Dunstan had his party withdraw from the coalition on March 19, 1935 and a no confidence motion was put to Parliament nine days later. This passed and Dunstan formed a new government, and became Premier, on April 2.

The local press reports the story, April 2, 1935.

He would remain at the head of Victoria's Government for the following eight years. Although the methods he employed to retain power were every bit as cynical as the means he had used to claim office.

Even a united country party would only ever be a minor player in a state like Victoria, so Dunstan quickly moved to stack the deck in his favour. Using a form of gerrymandering that would resurface during Joh Bjelke-Peterson's long reign in Queensland in the 70's and 80's, Dunstan used electoral redistribution legislation to redraw the electoral boundaries for country electorates. In simple terms, country electorates then contained dramatically fewer people than their city equivalents, meaning a political party like Dunstan's could claim more seats with fewer votes.

Such a tactic could not work without additional political support, and Dunstan found that his Labor Party allies were willing to back his scheme in exchange for a few policy concessions. Although their support was controversial and threatened to split the party at times, they remained behind Dunstan for seven years, enabling his Premiership.

John Cain sr.

Finally, in 1943 Labor withdrew their support and voted in favour of electoral equalisation legislation. When Dunstan lost this vote, he immediately resigned as Premier, seemingly seeing the closure of his route to power. He was replaced by John Cain sr, but Cain's interim Labor government would last only 5 days.

With Labor unable to command a working majority in Parliament, Dunstan returned to the Premier's office to see out the remaining two years of his term.  But the farce had nearly concluded; John Cain lead Labor to a convincing victory at the election of 1945.

But this was a period of great instability in Victorian politics, and the ALP government was replaced in 1947 by a conservative coalition; consisting of the newly created Liberal Party, and Country Party. Dunstan, while no longer a viable option as Country Party leader, still managed to claim the key post of Health Minister.  But Premier Thomas Hollway was suspicious of Dunstan, and quietly had him removed from  Cabinet a year after the election.

Towards the end; Dunstan as health minister in 1947.

As his eventful career in politics was finally winding down, Dunstan also received the highest civilian honour available at the time; in 1948 he was knighted.

His final two years in state parliament passed quietly as an independent private member. In 1950, shortly after a tour of his own electorate, Dunstan died of heart disease at the family home in Camberwell. His decade at the top makes him Victoria's second longest serving Premier, but his political methods and manipulation of the system make him one of the most controversial figures state politics has produced.

At the very least, he is an unusual choice for the subject of a statue outside the state Parliament. Also of interest is the way the statue has been arranged to make it look as if Dunstan is in conversation with former Liberal Premier Henry Bolte. Bolte's loathing of Dunstan was well known and he publicly described the UCP as 'political prostitutes' for their ousting of Stanley Argyle.