Williamstown Festival

Malcolm Butt

admin — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 01:49:56 +0000

“This is from a huge British war ship The Nelson. It’s why we’re standing on Nelson’s Place. It used to be docked here until it was dismantled. See how the anchor is bent? All anchors in Williamstown are like that. Because of the low tides. When the tide went out, the anchors would jut above the waves and tear ships in dock apart.”

Malcolm Butt is full of the curious and(take out) idiosyncrasies he thinks make Williamstown what it is. Some of his views might be disputed by more reputable historians, but no one could argue the pride and passion Malcolm has for the story of his suburb.

“I say we had 120 pubs, the historical society will say 64 because they’ve got a map they sell that’s got 64 pubs on it. But I’ve heard stories, like Dr Coots over here, in what is now Nelson’s Restaurant. Apparently you used to walk up to his back door, two knocks on the door, leave two bob and come back two hours later there’d be a bottle of grog there. We know from when they dug the road up there they found a tunnel leading from the doctor’s surgery, out toward underneath Blunt’s boat building. We were thinking ‘what was the doctor trying to get rid of? Aborted babies?’ He was smuggling rum up the tunnel!”

Malcolm runs a bus tour guide around town and his knowledge is broad-ranging and stretches deep into the town’s past. Standing in Commonwealth Reserve he is gripped regularly by history and journeys verbally back into the past.

“I would’ve liked to be here when John Batman walked through and signalled his little ship the Rebecca up the Maribyrnong, found that little creek on the right. That creek was the Yarra River. He found waterfalls where Flinders Street Station is now. The local aboriginals were only here seasonally. There’s no fresh water here. So they lived in the Maribyrnong and they’d come down here maybe for a month? Just to get the seafood along Shelly Beach. The first white people that arrived picked up all the discarded shells to make lime for their gardens.”

There’s some regret in Malcolm’s tone when he speaks of Williamstown’s failure to live up to its name.

“Our post-office used to send mail back to England, to the Mother Land. You couldn’t do that anywhere else for a long time. So all the mail arriving from Victoria in England was coming through Williamstown, the capital of Victoria originally. We got the name Williamstown because John Batman planned for us to be the city, to be the major port. So we were after the King. And Melbourne got the lesser name. From the Prime Minister. But later on when the city needed to be developed, the story goes John Batman drew the grid on a napkin. And some architects got hold of it and said that’s a good idea, and they built in Melbourne. But I suppose Williamstown was so rough with seaman at that time, and after the gold rush, working class thugs would come here. No-one else would!”

Though it never became capital, Malcolm paints a vivid picture of the town exploding during those gold-rush years.

“The buildings along Nelson Place were built in the 1850s. Banks and trading posts. Everyone wanted to come to Williamstown. 1852 gold was discovered and by 1855 there sometimes 3,500 people a day arriving. People would jump over the side of their ships out there in the bay because the jetty was so over crowded. They’d cash their cheques, buy their gear and then Digger’s Rest was a day’s ride.”

His tours are not for the faint at heart as his fierce love for the suburb sometimes runs him into trouble.

“No one in Williamstown ever liked Melbourne. There were toffs up there, all the rich people, and we were working class. It was always them and us. When I had Tourism Victoria and Destination Melbourne come and check out my tour they hated me because I shit-canned Melbourne. They got upset and there was a Council representative on the bus, but hey! That’s always how it’s been.”

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Paddy Garitty

admin — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 01:49:00 +0000

(More info coming soon)

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Angela Altair

admin — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 01:47:30 +0000

“You walk through this arbour of elms and Morton bay figs, it’s one of my favourite places in Williamstown. And I love to look at the statue of The Honourable Alfred T Clark, because it so embodies my kids growing up in Williamstown.”

Angela Altair is ebullient about Williamstown. She is irrepressible in her love for it, obvious through conversation and evidenced by her long stint in civic service. Still on and active in local council, Angela also served as Mayor. Clark’s statue is somewhat of an inspiration.

“Alfred Clark was the representative of Williamstown for a long time; from 1871-87. This was erected by his constituents! The fact that they saw fit to erect this beautiful statue, I think its a gorgeous handsome thing, it’s fantastic. It’s in one Victoria’s first public gardens. What I really like about it is the citizens were very bloody active. I mean following a petition from the citizens of Williamstown a 10 acre site was formally set aside. I can tell you, petitions and Williamstown go hand in hand.”

Coming from Malta as a child, Angela identifies her luck in settling near Williamstown. Her enthusiasm was always going to ensure she was embraced by the local community.

“A great thing about Williamstown that a lot people don’t realise is a lot of immigrants, particularly from the 1950s on, worked here on the dockyards, including many Maltese, including my uncles. So when I was growing up in Sunshine, Williamstown was this relatively isolated and obscure place. If we were lucky on a Sunday we’d come to see the boats. I remember driving down what was very bumpy North Rd and seeing the ferry. A romantic thing is my very first footfall on Australian soil was at Williamstown. I touched the pier in South Melbourne but came straight across on the ferry. I’m a typical, first generation immigrant. So this place has lots of strands in my life.”

Some strands have taken on live of their own. Angela has three children and a grand-child. She remembers her son attacking Mr Clark as a child.

“I defy anyone of the younger generation not to know about this statue. Kids have tried to climb it, someone knocked off his finger, it cost the Council a fortune to replace! It was defaced, it was covered in graffiti. I know this sounds ridiculously subversive but I even like the fact that it was defaced and climbed all over like play-equipment. Now my grandson comes here and says ‘Hello Mr Clark!’ There’s a lovely continuity about it.”

Other strands are less obvious. Her time in council has left Williamstown changed, though far be it from Angela to trumpet the notion.

“I think raising three kids is enough to be proud of but one very modest legacy, and I wasn’t the only contributor, is seeing the reconstruction of the library. I think that’s really exciting. Finally after 10 years and lots lobbying and campaigning by people far more worthy then myself, we got it done.”

Angela is also the founder and president of the Williamstown Literary Festival, which even after 9 years she still sees as growing.

“It could be added to. I think one of the under-represented aspect of Williamstown is its strong artistic legacy and literary history.”

Her strongest impressions though are ultimately the simplest ones.

“Williamstown is a wonderful place. Its isolation means it’s relatively safe and there’s relatively less traffic. And the sea! It’s all around, it’s everywhere you look. There’s very few places in South Williamstown you can step outside and not see the sea.”

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Greg Blunt

admin — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 01:44:29 +0000

“I really shouldn’t be here, I should be still on holidays. I came back early to play around with this little dingy. Just catching up from what we didn’t do last year.”

Greg Blunt’s family have been in Williamstown for 5 generations. That’s as near as original residents as you’re like to get and his family have an original profession to go with it. Greg is a boat builder and restorer. His time on the waterfront has left him with a healthy nostalgia for the suburb.

“It keeps disappearing Williamstown, but it’s still great. We’ve lost a lot of sounds and we’ve lost a lot of smells. The sounds we’ve lost, and some of it’s a good thing actually, like the dredge in the Yarra used scream and moan. We’ve lost the foghorn. We’ve lost the ferry, ker-lunk ker-lunk ker-lunk, that used to go over the river.”

His workshop is busy, filled with old noises and smells. He seems settled into it, like the ships hulking around.

“If we go to smells, we’ve lost Al Mera Mussels on Nelson Place, that used to stink to high heaven. We’ve lost the wool mills, which had a smell all of its own. We’ve lost the smell of the power-station and the beautiful soot that used to come across. We’ve lost the smell of the meat-works that used to be at the bottom of Champion Rd. Another sound we’ve lost that a lot of people forget is the sound of bullets, flying in the rifle range.”

He’s old school and makes no bones about it. He celebrates Williamstown’s rougher heritage with an easy humour.

“There were 18 pubs when I was 18; I could name them all. We used to go down to the old Pier Hotel for lunch. Or not for lunch. There was a mother and daughter strip act. You couldn’t tell the difference in the age, it was incredible. And the Oriental, when the Oriental was open; you could gamble on the bar.”

He sees the sanitation of the suburb and can see both sides of it. He feel the changes in the suburb keenly, but he is a pragmatist.

“Change comes. And you can’t fight it. So you grab your spot and hang on to it I guess. There’s no way we could leave Williamstown the move back into Williamstown. And we bought into Willi before it was fashionable! We bought in 1975, before the West Gate. No one wanted to live here then; my wife went home in tears!”

With children grown up in the suburb he ponders Williamstown through their lenses, a concerned parent.

“If you ask the younger folk like my son, he’s 30 now, all the places they used to swim, they can’t swim now. Reed St Pier, off Gem Pier, all off-limits. So they swim down at the back beach now. You try and live the best place you can. That’s part of the three big decisions in your life: what you do for work, who your partner is and where you live. If you get any of those wrong… you’re going to struggle.”

For now, Greg feels like he’s made the right choices.

“It’s still a great peninsula, in a lot of ways it’s better now. Some will say worse, I say better. Though you have lost the characters. Old Marksy’s junk shop, that’s gone. But it’s still a great place to live.”

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Terry Bracks

admin — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 07:02:47 +0000

“I’ve chosen the golden elm in the botanical gardens and I’ve chosen it because when the kids were little and Steve was away we’d often take a picnic on a Saturday night with friends and play bocce.”

As someone who moved to Williamstown, the swift opportunity to become enmeshed in local life charmed Terry immediately.

“It’s got sporting clubs. If you’re coming into Williamstown, its very easy, very quickly, to get a good network of people, particularly with young children.”

Terry remembers well the first weekend she strolled through Williamstown’s commercial district with her young children, having just moved to the area. The Williamstown Seagulls had just won the VFL flag.

“On the Monday, going down the street with the kids in the pram it was like being back in a country town. The shop windows were painted in the club colours, little side streets were blocked off, everyone having BBQs.”

Always actively involved in politics, she describes the difference in Steve running in North Ballarat, where they met and lived, compared to Williamstown, where they have built their home.

“Williamstown is a winnable seat!”

Despite its charms, Terry still identifies possible improvements for the seaside community.

“I’d like to see a continuation of that boulevard around along the seaside, in front of Tennix, around to meet Commonwealth Reserve.”

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Steve Bracks

admin — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 06:38:36 +0000

“No great shock and surprise I’ve gone for the Steve Bracks Boulevard, adjacent to the Point Gellibrand Park. I played a massive role in saving that.”

It’s clear that Steve stills feel passionately about Williamstown’s relationship with its public spaces and the continued need for civic involvement. He knows the struggles he and other locals have already been through to retain Williamstown’s provincial feel.

“There’s going to be a lot of pressure on suburbs like Williamstown, as industrial areas close down and are replaced by higher density residential. I’d like to see it retain the inherent heritage values. I like the fact this is not a dormitory suburb, but a working suburb. You can live and work in the same area: factories; petrochemicals; ship building.”

Having been in the area for more than 20 years Steve, a former state Premier, describes himself as part of the furniture.

“If I’m down the street having coffee, or visiting the parks or gardens its seen as just part of it, because I’ve been here a while and our kids have all grown up here. It’s ordinary.”

He describes his home town as the envy of the state.

“I think the continuation of community values is enormously important. You look at the teachers at the local primary school, overall the majority of teacher’s live locally. That doesn’t happen in most suburbs. That means they have a commitment to the area and a commitment to the families. People in various places around Victoria would kill to have what Williamstown has. We’re lucky to have it, we don’t want to lose it and keep our community spaces and the ownership we have of them.”

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Billy Green

admin — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 12:58:06 +0000

Billy Green has worked at Williamstown Primary School for over 20 years, serving as principal for more than half of those. He’s a champion of junior sport, encouraging his students to play in and outside of school.

“Football clubs play the same roles as schools. A place where people congregate and they bring together a lot of people from different backgrounds and interests. Say the team I was involved with this year, we’d have kids who have a high level of intellectual capacities and interests and kids at the other level of the spectrum but they’re all on the same footy team.”

Families, particularly growing ones, are central to Williamstown and Bill has been constantly in the thick of local society as a result of his role at the school. A social analyst, he talks with wry humour about Williamstown’s continuing traditions.

“It still has a real local feel. Locals tend to congregate in certain places away from the tourists. I don’t think of locals as one particular group. Let’s be honest, it’s white culture. It’s Aussie in the sense that it’s sporty and active. It’s kind of self-righteous. It’s a place that’s got a sense of itself and therefore it finds change and having a broader view a bit of a challenge.”

In truth there’s enormous warmth in Bill’s views on Williamstown, and he’s saddened to soon be moving away from what’s been his home for a quarter century.

“You actually know the person who’s selling you your groceries and families go to the same schools. I will miss the contact with the people. It’s important to see them and share one or two minute conversations. I think those regular contacts can be undervalued. I don’t know what it’ll be like where I move, but I don’t think I’ll be able to go shopping and see kids that I’ve taught and their parents.”

And though he roughly identifies it, he’s secretly enamoured with Williamstown’s proud colloquialism.

“There was actually a unit of work at the school when I first arrived called ‘Williamstown: Not an Island’. There was a push to expand the town’s horizons, and I remember thinking it was interesting because the very thing that attracted me to Williamstown was the thought that it was like an island.”

He sees the suburb’s future as one where it knows itself even better.

“I’d like to see Williamstown become more clearly defined, in the way that suburbs like Fitzroy, Yarraville and Prahran are. Not the same, but be distinctly Williamstown. And Williamstown is families and clubs, and walking, strip shopping, those sorts of things.”