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