Westlake: Canberra's Ghost Suburb

Westlake's ghostly gums

This week, I have been thinking a lot about the past. On Monday morning, I had the opportunity to hear Scottish archaeologist, Neil Oliver, open the History Teachers Association of Australia annual conference. In his lovely lilting Scottish accent, he encouraged teachers to help their students make personal connections to the past, to encourage them to view past events as being part of their own lives, things that echo through the generations. [You can listen to his public lecture at the National Library here.]

As this week also marked the 98th commemoration of the landing at Gallipoli, with it's documentaries and live broadcasts, it wasn't difficult to remember that the past is always shadowing the present.

On ANZAC Day, we decided to go for a walk into Canberra's past, in the forgotten suburb of Westlake. I've lived in this city for 30 years now and until a couple of weeks ago, I couldn't have told you where Westlake was. A chance taxi ride gave me the opportunity to spot a sign on a bend in Empire Circuit and my colleague, Fiona, mentioned that a stroll through Westlake was interesting.

The roadside sign for Westlake

Westlake was a campsite that grew into a suburb as a result of the growth of Canberra. Workers came and set up their tents, some built cottages for their families, all probably dreaming of creating new lives for themselves in this still to be imagined city. And it turns out to be a fitting place to spend ANZAC Day. Paul Daley, in his book Canberra (New South Books, 2012), notes that many of the workers who came to help build the city were veterans of the First World War. There must have been times when, in the dry, dusty summers and the freezing Canberra winters, they wondered what on earth they had been fighting for.

Today, almost nothing remains of the suburb's physical inhabitants, although the 'children of Westlake' have erected small bronze plaques to commemorate their childhoods. It's a loving attempt to remind the city's current and future residents that the place now called Stirling Park was once home to 700 people. There's a small display of faded photographs as you enter the suburb and if you look around you as you walk, you can spot plaques noting the location of cottages and humpies and reminding us of the names of people who lived there: Bell, Belchamber, Ghiradello, Haines, Austin, Campbell, Day, O'Rourke.

The plaques at the entrance to Westlake

Daley notes that by the 1960s all of the buildings in Westlake had been demolished and half the suburb was submerged when Lake Burley Griffin was finally filled. Today, the only building left on the site is the sewer tower, a pungent reminder of the suburb's previous occupants.

Westlake's sewer tower

When I moved in 1982 from Sydney to Canberra, my teenage self railed against my new city's newness. Where were the historic buildings, the remnants of the colonial past? I soon discovered Blundell's Cottage, Lanyon and eventually Calthorpe's House, all three historic buildings turned into museums. But I was missing, I think, the living past - the streets of downtrodden terrace houses, the Rocks alive with history and commerce, the suburbs celebrating their colonial roots (Parramatta, Windsor). All I could see were smart new suburbs.

I'm not sure that in the intervening years Canberra has become any better at honouring it's heritage, black or white, even in this centenary year. We are good at layering the new on top of the no-longer-needed - who now remembers where Monaro Mall or the old Canberra Hotel used to stand? But in reading around to write this post, I've unearthed a number of people who are trying to remember the past and to share the stories of this city.

If you'd like to know more about Westlake, you can go for a stroll, read Paul Daley's Canberra, or explore some of the online histories, such as Dave's ACT and Hidden Canberra.

Feeling the Serenity - Canberra's Corks

Canberra's wood of Cork Oaks on Good Friday, 2013

I've known about Canberra's wood of cork oaks for years. I've driven past it many times as I've turned west off the Tuggeranong Parkway and headed to Belconnen. I know people who have camped overnight on the edge of the wood. But until Good Friday, I'd never actually taken been there myself. I couldn't quite work out how to get there. With the National Arboretum now making the cork oak wood very accessible, there is no excuse not to explore.

So on Good Friday, we went for a beautiful, gentle walk amongst the cork oaks and had a small history lesson in the process. The wood is more of a glade, with the trees well spaced and the sun glinting through the canopy. The ground underfoot is soft, covered with lots of layers of leaves, and relatively flat. It's easy walking but you do have to watch out for the odd well-hidden branch and be prepared to climb a stile to get in and out of the wood. The walking path is well signposted and there are occasional park benches for resting and enjoying the view (including the occasional car whipping along William Slim Drive).

The stile leading into and out of the wood

The cork oaks are a living link to the very earliest days of the establishment of the city. The acorns for many of these trees were imported from Spain in 1917 by Walter Burley Griffin. Griffin's imagining of the city that we live in included a vision of its sustainability. He thought a plantation of cork oaks would be of real commercial value to the city. The plantation now includes over 4500 trees, although it didn't feel like that many when we were walking amongst them. We hunted for a few acorns of our own and this weekend we'll plant them and see what happens.

Hunting for acorns amongst the fallen leaves

The cork is harvested by ACT Forests so I guess the trees are contributing to the realisation of Griffin's vision. Harvesting commenced way back in 1948 in a small part of the plantation and you can tell which trees have had their outer layer of bark removed by their black lower trunks.

The cork oaks are heritage listed and are, I think, one of Canberra's secrets. If you'd like to 'feel the serenity' without going too far out of the city or the suburbs, the National Arboretum and it's glade of cork oaks is a good place to go. And if you'd like to find out more about the trees, the National Arboretum has published an informative essay by Susan Parsons on its website.

Serendipities

Small discoveries - online, off the page and elsewhere

The Fat Man in Canberra

On the Staircase by Keld Moseholm

Noticed in Civic a week ago. This sculpture is called On the Staircase. It was created by Keld Moseholm, a Danish sculptor, in 2005. The ACT Government installed it in Petrie Plaza near David Jones in 2009 - but it seems to have lost two of it's men. You can see how the sculpture originally looked here.

I'm not sure what these fat fellows say about the benefits of reading. The caption says the artwork reflects the effect of reading on the spirit, 'the more I read the smaller I feel'. I don't agree with the sentiment. Reading enlarges my mind and my spirit and my understanding of the world ... but I love anyone who can read walking up stairs.

They also remind me of one of my favourite collections of short stories, Peter Carey's The Fat Man in History and Other Stories. It was his first book and I have never forgotten it. Might be time to read it again.

Daniel Day Lewis at the Oscars

I'm an Oscar tragic so, even though I knew who had won the major awards, I sat in front of the television watching the replay of the ceremony until 1am last Tuesday morning. At first, I convinced myself I would only watch until the 'In Memoriam' section, which is probably my favourite part of the Oscar ceremony. But having come so far, it seemed crazy not to watch to the end. And it was worth it to see Daniel Day Lewis accept his third Oscar. Read what he said - and imagine him saying it in his gentle English voice. What a great speech!

Paper and Salt

Want to know how to combine a love of literature with a love of food? Visit Paper and Salt, where New Yorker Nicole blogs literary recipes. Last week, she wrote about Jane Austen and food, and featured a recipe for Brown Butter Bread Pudding Tarts. I loved her post on Virginia Woolf and breadmaking too.

Bill Gekas and his Daughter

Maid It by Bill Gekas

Take a look at these glorious images by Australian photographer, Bill Gekas. I discovered them via Flavorwire and then, having worked my way back to Gekas's website, also discovered he lives in Melbourne. He has recently won the Gold Award at the International Loupe Awards. The images Gekas took of his five-year-old daughter, an homage to works of the Old Masters, seem to be working their way around the ether at the moment. I hope you like them too.

Magic Roundabouts

Yesterday, before the rain came, we wandered in Civic, hoping to spend Miles' pocket-money. It's been a while since I walked through Garema Place or down City Walk and things have changed. Including the merry-go-round.

Canberra's carousel has been on City Walk since 1974, although it dates back to an earlier time, first appearing on St Kilda Pier in Melbourne in 1914. Yesterday, it was looking slightly grim and industrial, it's metal grates down on all but one side, it's paintwork looking faded. Perhaps it was just reflecting the gray of the sky. But it still has the power to take me back to my 16-year-old  self, experiencing the glory of increasing independence without the burden of adult responsibility. Summer evenings riding the carousel with friends, before going to a movie at the Electric Shadows Cinema. So sophisticated!

And now, it also takes me back to Paris - remember? Miles and I were going to find every merry-go-round in the city. If you google 'Paris carousels', you'll be offered a number of articles, many claiming Paris is the 'City of Carousels'. One of the best articles I've read is by Susan Hack, an American writer living in Paris who has discovered many of the city's carousels in the company of her daughter, Sophie.

I don't think Miles, Jim and I found all of them but we managed to find a few. Not surprisingly, our first Parisian merry-go-round was on the edge of the Seine, in the shadow of the Tour Eiffel. It was a dazzling two-storey carousel that Miles was excited to ride and I was excited to photograph.

Our first carousel, in the shadow of the Tour Eiffel

This was the first time in both our lives that we'd seen a two-storey carousel but they are, if not commonplace, then not unusual in Paris. At Christmas, one appeared with the ice-skating rink in front of Hotel de Ville.

The Christmas carousel at Hotel de Ville

We discovered others at the foot of the stairs to Sacre Couer, near the funicular that can save you climbing all those steps. And across the Iena Bridge, opposite the Tour Eiffel's carousel, is another two-storey beauty, not far from Trocadero.

The carousel near the funicular, Montmartre 

Ponte d'Iena's carousel dressed for Christmas

Not all the carousels of Paris are elaborately decorated fantasies. Some are simpler, 'flying horse' models, where the horses hang from the roof of the merry-go-round and spin out as the ride speeds up. On some of these, children sitting on the outer rim of horses are given sticks with which they try to collect hoops, harking back to medieval jousting. This was the kind of merry-go-round we discovered in Jardins du Luxembourg and near the Peripherique behind the old and secondhand book market at Porte de Vanves.

The merry-go-round at Jardins du Luxembourg

The most fantastical carousels we discovered, however, weren't in Paris. An hour from the city, almost in a world of it's own, is Paris Disneyland, with it's Disney perfect Carousel du Lancelot. The carousel, which sits before you as you walk out of Sleeping Beauty's castle, is a Disney cartoon come to life. And if you have to queue for your ride, that's a small inconvenience.

Disney's Carousel du Lancelot

But just when we were becoming blase about merry-go-rounds and perhaps a little tired of their saccharine sweetness, Brussels offered the perfect antidote. A carousel so bizarre, so grotesque, so post-apocalyptic, it looked like it had stepped out of the pages of a Jules Verne novel or Mad Max. A Steampunk Carousel full of flying horses, cockroaches, iguanas, and flying cars. A carousel that might terrify small children but was perfect for a slightly jaded 8-year-old on the first night of the new year.

The Steampunk Carousel, Brussels, New Year's Day  2013

Serendipities

Small discoveries - online, off the page, and elsewhere

Sunflowers

I can't resist a bouquet of sunflowers. These I found on a street garden near Gorman House Markets a couple of weeks ago. If I went back today, they would probably be a bit bedraggled, screwing up their lovely open faces and getting ready to drop their seeds - that's if the cockatoos hadn't eaten them for breakfast. On the day I took the photo, the bed was full of sunflowers, the promise of a crop of pumpkins and sage.

Louis IV, the Sun King

Sunflowers always, always remind me of France's Louis IV, known to history as the 'Sun King'. He built the Palace of Versailles, some say because he hated Paris, he didn't feel safe there. This is all the excuse I need to scroll through the photos of our travels and revisit our visit to Versailles. Here are the palace gates - looking very golden even on a gray winter's day.

The gates of Versailles, December 2012

You can find out all sorts of things about the Palace of Versailles here. But here is my traveller's tip: don't just visit for the day. The palace is incredible (and really needs more than a day to fully explore the grounds) but the town that has grown up around the palace is worth some time of it's own. With more time, you could, for example, visit the King's Kitchen Garden or the Antique Dealers' District.

The Dangers of Literary Lectures

Have you heard what Hilary Mantel said about the Duchess of Cambridge? Well, Twitter lead me to this terrific essay on the dangers of literary lectures and being reported out of context, which has been published in The New Yorker. Even if you're not interested in all the bookish examples, scroll to the end to read Mantel's comparison of the Royal family to pandas - it tells you a lot about the context in which her comments were originally delivered and it may make you smile.

Famous Resolutions

The fabulous Brain Pickings continues to bring me serendipitous moments of joy. I haven't made any new year's resolutions yet - the year is still young. But if you've ever wondered about the resolutions Marilyn Monroe and Jonathan Swift made, take a peak here. My favourites today come from Woody Guthrie:

Stay glad ... Dream good ... Dance better.

Top of the World

Before we returned to the everyday world of work, school and home, we attended a family wedding at Mount Buffalo. It was a hair-raising drive up the mountain and once we reached 'the spot', Lake Catani, we were CAMPING. For only the second time in my life, I was sleeping in a tent. Fortunately, our campsite had access to toilets and hot showers and even a laundry. Hardly camping at all.

Home sweet home - our tent

Now, those who know me know that I am not a camper. I'm not even a caravaner. So I was a little concerned about how I would go sleeping on an airbed in a national park. The beauty of the location, the company and the reason for being there all made it worthwhile. When I looked up at the sky through the eucalypts, it did feel like we were on top of the world.

The path to our campsite

Mount Buffalo is 200 kilometres north of Melbourne, not far from historic Beechworth. The little town of Bright is nestled in its shadow. The mountain is part of one of Australia's oldest national parks. According to Wikipedia, explorers Hume and Hovell named the mountain in 1824 and the national park was created in 1898. The chalet opened in 1910 (it's currently closed). I don't know how anyone got up the mountain to the chalet one hundred years ago - it's difficult enough today driving up the narrow windy road, trying not to look down the sheer drops into the gorge, and the road is closed during the winter.

The views, though, are incredible. I was too chicken to contemplate going to the Horn at the top of the mountain but here is the view from the lookout where the wedding took place (I've discovered that taking photos is a pretty good way of managing my vertigo - it almost worked for me on the Eiffel Tower and it almost worked again standing at the lookout).

The wedding breakfast (try explaining why an evening meal at a wedding is called a 'breakfast') was held back at camp, on the edge of Lake Catani, where we had swum and paddled along with the ducks the day before.

The jetty at Lake Catani

The family consensus was that we would camp again, even without the excuse of a lovely wedding to attend. So I've made a list of tips to help make the experience even better next time.

Tips for Novice Campers (Us)

• Take good torches. The little torch you read by at 3am in the morning isn't the torch you need to get you to the toilet block in the middle of the night.
• Test everything before you go. Put up the tent (check), make sure the gas bottle has gas in it (check) and that the gas bottle connects to the stove (check) and that the tube that connects them isn't blocked (oops!), test the air pump fits into your mattress (oops again!).
• Camp with a large group of people who can help you if you forget to do the above.
• Over cater. It's amazing how many snacks small people need when they are running around in the bush all day.
• Give up trying to be clean - but enjoy the hot showers anyway.
• Always take a lovely bottle of wine and a big block (or three) of chocolate with you.

In Virginia's and Leonard's Garden

I was looking for an excuse to share one of the highlights of our trip - a visit to Monk's House, the home of Virginia and Leonard Woolf. The anniversary of Virginia's birth on 25 January seems to me to be the perfect opportunity.

I came to a love of the writing of Virginia Woolf slowly. When I read To the Lighthouse at university, I wasn't sure if I loved it or even if I liked it. In fact, I remember telling my tutor that I 'hated' it - but that may have been an exaggeration to generate some discussion. Our tutes were always slow to get off the ground.

Then, about 22 years ago, I discovered Virginia's diaries in Belconnen Library. Hardback first editions, never borrowed by anyone. (To my knowledge, only I and one other person every borrowed them. They aren't available any more.) I was hooked. Since then, I have read the diaries, the biographies, some of the letters and essays and novels. In fact, To the Lighthouse has become one of the books I am likely to read every year or two. Single volumes of the diaries have been packed in my hospital bags and, to celebrate the end of my chemotherapy, I bought myself a first edition set of the diaries. Hardback. Beautiful. There is still a huge volume of work I haven't read but I will, there's time.

Visiting Monk's House in Rodmell in East Sussex has been something I've long wanted to do. On this most recent trip, Jim and Miles humoured me and we spent about three hours wandering in the garden and looking at the little house. It is a little house. When Virginia first saw it, she commented on how tiny it was. There was no toilet,  no bathroom. There were many reasons why she and Leonard shouldn't buy it, not least of which was that they had already bought another house in nearby Lewes.

But all her objections were nothing when she looked at the garden. The garden is still the most glorious part of the property. It falls into four sections - the walled area behind the house, the orchard that leads to Virginia's writing lodge, a large lawn that looks across to the chalk cliffs of the downs, and the kitchen garden. Today, the garden is looked after by a team of volunteers - they do a magnificent job.

The path through the formal walled garden to the house.

Looking through the orchard to the writing lodge.

A wintry vege patch and the neighbouring church.

The east lawn - you can see chalk cliffs in the distance.

The National Trust manages the property and now you can even rent rooms for a few days (and don't think that hasn't gone on my 'to do' list). They have thoughtfully left tennis racquets and lawn bowls in old tin boxes for visitors to use. Miles and I played tennis and bowls on east lawn, just like Virginia and Leonard once did. There's a small shop in what was once Leonard's garage and, before that, was the village forge. And apples from the orchard are still harvested and are contributed to the village's apple festival.

Visiting Monk's House offered a glimpse into another world - a writer's world but also a world that has long past. It's a miracle, really, that the gardens were preserved and that the land wasn't divided up and parcelled off. It's a miracle that we could explore the garden, walk through the rooms and enjoy the magic of the landscape. Just like it's a miracle that we still have some many of Virginia's wonderful words. In this little corner of England, time has stood still.

PS I have updated my blog list with some of the interesting blogs and sites I've discovered while we've been away. If you would like to read Virginia Woolf's thoughts on diaries, follow the link to Brain Pickings to read a terrific post.

Brussels is not Paris

I know.  I'm stating the bleedin' obvious. But when we arrived in Brussels over a week ago, Miles and I rivalled each other for the prize of 'most ignorant about Brussels'. At least I was clear that Brussels was not in France!

Europa and the Euro, European Parliament, Brussels

Brussels, it seems to me, suffers from Canberra's fate. As home of the European Parliament, it has been constantly in the news while we have been travelling. Just as 'Canberra' is media-shorthand for the Federal Parliament, the word 'Brussels' is journalese for 'European Union' and much has been made in the press of the perceived failures of the EU and the Euro. There has also been ongoing debate about whether the United Kingdom will withdraw from the EU altogether. And with the EU dominating the headlines, and Gerard Depardieu threatening to leave France for Belgium, there seems little chance for Brussels to sell it's more interesting side to the world.

But let's be clear - Brussels is not Paris. And here are my reasons why.

Brussels has footpaths you can actually walk on. In Paris, once you leave the main boulevards and avenues, the sidewalks shrink to scrawny, narrow paths that barely accommodate two people, let alone two people, a couple of umbrellas, a rubbish bin and some bollards. In Brussels, the footpaths are broad, although beware the pavements and cobblestones. And in Brussels, cars stop for pedestrians. In Paris, cars didn't stop for pedestrians unless they were forced too.

Brussels has no boulangeries. Okay, I'm exaggerating. There were three at Merode but that was at least a 20 minute walk from our apartment and their quality wasn't great. We were used to nipping out to the bakery across the road or down the street and being back in a jiffy. In our area of Brussels, there were chemists, hairdressers and florists aplenty but boulangeries? No. Can't complain, though. Even the chocolate you buy in the supermarket is Belgian and delicious.

Brussels is multi-lingual. In Paris, everything is in French with very few concessions made to the city's vast population of tourists. Brussels is officially bi-lingual with all signage appearing in Dutch and French and often in English as well.

Tintin welcomes the tourist, Brussels-Midi train station

Paris has the Louvre, the Musee d'Orsay, the Pompidou. Brussels has ... comic art. This was really why we came to Brussels, so we could immerse ourselves in the world of Tintin but we discovered Brussels has a great tradition of comic artists that it reveres. Comic artists are celebrated in the museums (visits to Musee Herge, the Museum of Original Figurines and the Belgian Comic Strip Centre are a must) and on the streets.

A giant Smurf near the Museum of Original Figurines, Brussels

Finally, Paris has the Eiffel Tower but Brussels has Mini-Europe. See, if you visit Brussels, you don't actually need to go anywhere else!

The Champs Elysee at Mini-Europe