Was She Really A Pushover?
The Sunday Age
Sunday August 13, 2006
IN Edinburgh Gardens, in the middle of a wide circular garden bed, stands a white stone pedestal with nothing at its peak. The pedestal is big, easily two metres tall and at least 1.5 metres square at its base: whatever it was designed to support must have been huge. But now, without its statue, the pedestal looks naked. It stands amid avenues of elm trees that, at this time of year, look equally apocalyptical and denuded. The garden bed from which the pedestal rises is barren of plants but for a single, ratty palm. On the pedestal's front is a stone plaque, its letters made shallow by time. Presented to the citizens of Fitzroy by the Honourable George Godfrey, MLC, 1901. One hundred and five years the pedestal has stood here. It's amazing.
Nearby is a second plaque, erected by the council. Its wording adopts a jocular tone. It recounts the fact that, following Queen Victoria's death, Mr Godfrey presented to Fitzroy a gigantic statue of her majesty, which was mounted on the base and set in a garden of roses and cabbage palms. At some moment, by means fair or foul, the statue toppled from its perch, disappeared, and was never replaced. "Would Queen Victoria," the plaque asks, "have been amused?" There is no explanation as to who Mr Godfrey was, or why he felt compelled to foist a gigantic queen upon the people. More annoyingly, there's no information about the statue itself, except that it was made of timber and depicted Victoria carrying a sceptre and orb. I don't know why I want to know things about her, but I do. Her absence makes her mysterious and interesting. After her disappearance, was a search mounted for her? Was there a public outcry, was she ever seen again? Was she solid like a chocolate frog, or hollow like an Easter egg? Who carved her - was it Mr Godfrey? Probably not, but I like the idea. An artist's vanity would nicely explain this gift to the people of Fitzroy who, in 1901, could doubtlessly have thought of better ways to spend a fortune. If Mr Godfrey wanted to give them something, there were lots of useful things the locals might have welcomed. Fresh fruit, clean water, effective sanitation. Decent housing, better streets, sturdy boots, firewood. I wonder if that word, firewood, is a clue. How tempting the wooden lady must have looked, up there on her pedestal. How ripe for the axe. How combustible. Pleasingly, the council's plaque comes complete with a photograph. The statue is immense and monstrous. The queen stands surrounded by plants. She is as tall as the base upon which she stands, and almost as broad. She is spectacularly ugly, with an oversized head bearing a face like a surly butcher's. The drape of her robe hints at the legs underneath, which seem a touch too short in the calves. I can imagine turn-of-the-century citizens staring in shock and awe. If Victoria were standing today, she'd have a view towards the Clifton Hill shops. Between the elm trees she would see the twin beige housing-commission monoliths. In the evenings she would watch kids practise football on the quagmire of an oval before her, and hear boys on skateboards ride the ramps behind her. From the corner of her eye she would see the paddock where the dog walkers gather while their animals cavort off-leash. There are some fancy hounds in the pack, but I don't know if Victoria was a dog lover. I know she loved Albert, that's all. I bet somebody pushed her off, rolled her home, and warmed their hands in front of her for weeks. The queen might not have been amused, but at least, off her pedestal and in a fireplace, she'd have been serving her people.
© 2006 The Sunday Age
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