While Halloween has always been more of a North American and European tradition than one observed in Australia, the holiday that isn’t really a holiday is becoming quite popular and widely-celebrated Down Under, and even for those of us who don’t partake in trick-or-treating or fancy dress, the last week of October has become a time where an interest in all things spooky and supernatural is piqued in many.
By coincidence, Brisbane is actually a pretty spooky place to live. Maybe it is its harsh convict beginnings or (initial) isolation from the majority of Australia’s population in the southeastern corner, but whatever the reason, our city is home to a raft of haunted places… if you believe in those things and the accounts of those who have claim to have seen paranormal activities.
Do you believe in the supernatural? Whether you do or don’t, there’s plenty of places to explore further for the curious… and not-faint of heart…
Just down the road from South Bank adjacent to one of the city’s latest urban renewal hotspots, the site of Brisbane’s only surviving colonial prison is one of the city’s most well-known spooky spots. Opened in 1883, the jail soon became notorious for housing some of Australia’s worst criminals, with a special wing for inmates serving life sentences. It was also one of a handful of Australian prisons to carry out executions prior to abolishment of capital punishment (including the only execution of a woman in Queensland). Noted for its poor and unsanitary conditions (most notably the lack of toilets and the subsequence use by inmates of buckets), prisoner protests and strikes became common towards the end of its tenure as a facility and in 1989 it was finally closed and prisoners relocated to more modern (and distant) centres. With such a dark past – even for a prison – it is no wonder that reports of ghosts on the grounds of the now heritage-listed site have been common as the years have gone by.
St Helena Island
With Boggo Road a hub of urban legends, it should be no surprise then that its predecessor is also noteworthy for being allegedly haunted. Sitting in the middle of Moreton Bay five kilometres from the mainland, this tiny island gained infamy quickly after its 1867 opening for being among the toughest of the tough colonial jails, with many inmates being sent there from the main prison in what is now the Petrie Terrace area for particularly serious crimes like murder and highway robbery (those committing the latter being better known in Oz as “bushrangers”). In keeping with the macabre feeling the site still exudes to this day, many of the prisoners were forced after a day’s hard labour (usually farming or stonecutting) to sleep in the hulk of the very transportation ships that had taken them there, and the sharks that to this day still swim the nearby waters made escape difficult and dangerous. Inmates and wardens alike were in agreement that it was impossible to escape from the island. Needless to say, the ghosts of a number of prisoners are said to lurk in amongst the ruins where the stone cells once stood, still trapped by the mangroves, sharks, and/or the long swim to freedom. Like its big brother on Boggo Road, you can take a ghost tour – this one at night! – with narration about the souls who are still said to be here on this small isle, serving their sentences for all time.
Most cemeteries have a reputation for being spooky places to be, and Brisbane’s oldest one is no exception. More than 120,000 people have been laid to rest at Frederick Street site since its beginnings in 1866, including Prime Minister Frank Forde, eleven Premiers of Queensland (including Henry Forgan Smith who later became the Chancellor of the University of Queensland), prolific colonial explorer Augustus Gregory, iconic author Steele Rudd, and nearly 400 military personnel killed in action. Its close proximity to the city and its sweeping hillside views make it a popular location for photography and filming, but at night it is believed by many that the souls of those buried on the grounds make themselves known. Among the most widely-told stories is that of “Spook Hill”, where the ghosts of two girls who died in a car accident will pull and push on any cars that are left idling in their corner of the cemetery, while many others persist.
A haunted house in leafy, quiet Newstead? Yes, and one of the neighbourhood’s oldest houses, according to legend. Notable pastoralist William Leslie built the house in 1846, but its most famous resident was Navy Captain John Wickham (whom Wickham Terrace is named after), who bought the house a year after it was built and through his family’s standing and social influence quickly turned it into a meeting place of the high society of the Moreton Bay Colony as well as a place visited by many local and international public officials. But as years passed, the mansion has become more noted in modern times as a site of a high level of paranormal activity. Curtains are said to have blown about on still nights, furniture and other items moved to other places, and lights flickering out and back on again without warning. It is thought that much of these strange happenings are the doing of a ghost named The Pink Lady, who may have been a maid or home help at some time during its colonial years. Luckily, many paranormalcy buffs believe The Pink Lady is a benevolent spirit that wishes no harm on any living beings – which is probably why the house is still used regularly for public events and functions despite these unsettling happenings!
But the former residence of Captain Wickham is not the only stately manor with a spooky reputation. Out by the bay at Wellington Point is another supposedly haunted address, this one built in 1889 and first home to colonial sugar magnate Gilbert Burnett and his family. Over time it also housed local politicians before becoming a hospital for many years, but the original inhabitants are believed to have never left. At various times in history, the ghost of Gilbert Burnett was claimed to have haunted the premises, while other stories circulating claim that ghost sightings are actually that of his wife or one his children, or even someone who once worked there (either during its days as a mansion or hospital). Regardless of who the ghost is – or ghosts! – the tales of spirits still residing in their old house persist to this day. To find out more about the history and haunting of this Redlands landmark (and which stories are more common or accepted as possible than others), this article here is a fascinating read.
Source; "Brisbanite" (http://brisbanite.com.au/a-brisbanite/our-spooky-city-the-haunted-haunts-of-brisbane/)
Sometimes photographs deceive. Take this one, for example. It represents John Carlos and Tommie Smith’s rebellious gesture the day they won medals for the 200 meters at the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City, and it certainly deceived me for a long time.
I always saw the photo as a powerful image of two barefoot black men, with their heads bowed, their black-gloved fists in the air while the US National Anthem, “The Star-Spangled Banner,” played. It was a strong symbolic gesture – taking a stand for African American civil rights in a year of tragedies that included the death of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy.
It’s a historic photo of two men of color. For this reason I never really paid attention to the other man, white, like me, motionless on the second step of the medal podium. I considered him as a random presence, an extra in Carlos and Smith’s moment, or a kind of intruder. Actually, I even thought that that guy – who seemed to be just a simpering Englishman – represented, in his icy immobility, the will to resist the change that Smith and Carlos were invoking in their silent protest. But I was wrong.
Thanks to an old article by Gianni Mura, today I discovered the truth: that white man in the photo is, perhaps, the third hero of that night in 1968. His name was Peter Norman, he was an Australian that arrived in the 200 meters finals after having ran an amazing 20.22 in the semi finals. Only the two Americans, Tommie “The Jet” Smith and John Carlos had done better: 20.14 and 20.12, respectively.
It seemed as if the victory would be decided between the two Americans. Norman was an unknown sprinter, who seemed to just be having a good couple of heats. John Carlos, years later, said that he was asked what happened to the small white guy – standing at 5’6”tall, and running as fast as him and Smith, both taller than 6’2”.
The time for the finals arrives, and the outsider Peter Norman runs the race of a lifetime, improving on his time yet again. He finishes the race at 20.06, his best performance ever, an Australian record that still stands today, 47 years later.
But that record wasn’t enough, because Tommie Smith was really “The Jet,” and he responded to Norman’s Australian record with a world record. In short, it was a great race.
Yet that race will never be as memorable as what followed at the award ceremony.
It didn’t take long after the race to realize that something big, unprecedented, was about to take place on the medal podium. Smith and Carlos decided they wanted to show the entire world what their fight for human rights looked like, and word spread among the athletes.
Norman was a white man from Australia, a country that had strict apartheid laws, almost as strict as South Africa. There was tension and protests in the streets of Australia following heavy restrictions on non-white immigration and discriminatory laws against aboriginal people, some of which consisted of forced adoptions of native children to white families.
The two Americans had asked Norman if he believed in human rights. Norman said he did. They asked him if he believed in God, and he, who had been in the Salvation Army, said he believed strongly in God. “We knew that what we were going to do was far greater than any athletic feat, and he said “I’ll stand with you” – remembers John Carlos – “I expected to see fear in Norman’s eyes, but instead we saw love.”
Smith and Carlos had decided to get up on the stadium wearing the Olympic Project for Human Rights badge, a movement of athletes in support of the battle for equality.
They would receive their medals barefoot, representing the poverty facing people of color. They would wear the famous black gloves, a symbol of the Black Panthers’ cause. But before going up on the podium they realized they only had one pair of black gloves. “Take one each”, Norman suggested. Smith and Carlos took his advice.
But then Norman did something else. “I believe in what you believe. Do you have another one of those for me ?” he asked pointing to the Olympic Project for Human Rights badge on the others’ chests. “That way I can show my support in your cause.” Smith admitted to being astonished, ruminating: “Who is this white Australian guy? He won his silver medal, can’t he just take it and that be enough!”.
Smith responded that he didn’t, also because he would not be denied his badge. There happened to be a white American rower with them, Paul Hoffman, an activist with the Olympic Project for Human Rights. After hearing everything he thought “if a white Australian is going to ask me for an Olympic Project for Human Rights badge, then by God he would have one!” Hoffman didn’t hesitate: “I gave him the only one I had: mine”.
The three went out on the field and got up on the podium: the rest is history, preserved in the power of the photo. “I couldn’t see what was happening,” Norman recounts, “[but] I had known they had gone through with their plans when a voice in the crowd sang the American anthem but then faded to nothing. The stadium went quiet.”
The head of the American delegation vowed that these athletes would pay the price their entire lives for that gesture, a gesture he thought had nothing to do with the sport. Smith and Carlos were immediately suspended from the American Olympic team and expelled from the Olympic Village, while the rower Hoffman was accused of conspiracy.
Once home the two fastest men in the world faced heavy repercussions and death threats.
But time, in the end, proved that they had been right and they became champions in the fight for human rights. With their image restored they collaborated with the American team of Athletics, and a statue of them was erected at the San Jose State University. Peter Norman is absent from this statue. His absence from the podium step seems an epitaph of a hero that no one ever noticed. A forgotten athlete, deleted from history, even in Australia, his own country.
Four years later at the 1972 Summer Olympics that took place in Munich, Germany, Norman wasn’t part of the Australian sprinters team, despite having run qualifying times for the 200 meters thirteen times and the 100 meters five times.
Norman left competitive athletics behind after this disappointment, continuing to run at the amatuer level.
Back in the change-resisting, whitewashed Australia he was treated like an outsider, his family outcasted, and work impossible to find. For a time he worked as a gym teacher, continuing to struggle against inequalities as a trade unionist and occasionally working in a butcher shop. An injury caused Norman to contract gangrene which led to issues with depression and alcoholism.
As John Carlos said, “If we were getting beat up, Peter was facing an entire country and suffering alone.” For years Norman had only one chance to save himself: he was invited to condemn his co-athletes, John Carlos and Tommie Smith’s gesture in exchange for a pardon from the system that ostracized him.
A pardon that would have allowed him to find a stable job through the Australian Olympic Committee and be part of the organization of the 2000 Sydney Olympic Games. Norman never gave in and never condemned the choice of the two Americans.
He was the greatest Australian sprinter in history and the holder of the 200 meter record, yet he wasn’t even invited to the Olympics in Sydney. It was the American Olympic Committee, that once they learned of this news asked him to join their group and invited him to Olympic champion Michael Johnson’s birthday party, for whom Peter Norman was a role model and a hero.
Norman died suddenly from a heart attack in 2006, without his country ever having apologized for their treatment of him. At his funeral Tommie Smith and John Carlos, Norman’s friends since that moment in 1968, were his pallbearers, sending him off as a hero.
“Peter was a lone soldier. He consciously chose to be a sacrificial lamb in the name of human rights. There’s no one more than him that Australia should honor, recognize and appreciate” John Carlos said.
“He paid the price with his choice,” explained Tommie Smith, “It wasn’t just a simple gesture to help us, it was HIS fight. He was a white man, a white Australian man among two men of color, standing up in the moment of victory, all in the name of the same thing”.
Only in 2012 did the Australian Parliament approve a motion to formally apologize to Peter Norman and rewrite him into history with this statement:
This House “recognises the extraordinary athletic achievements of the late Peter Norman, who won the silver medal in the 200 meters sprint running event at the 1968 Mexico City Olympics, in a time of 20.06 seconds, which still stands as the Australian record”.
“Acknowledges the bravery of Peter Norman in donning an Olympic Project for Human Rights badge on the podium, in solidarity with African-American athletes Tommie Smith and John Carlos, who gave the ‘black power’ salute”.
“Apologises to Peter Norman for the wrong done by Australia in failing to send him to the 1972 Munich Olympics, despite repeatedly qualifying; and belatedly recognises the powerful role that Peter Norman played in furthering racial equality”.
However, perhaps, the words that remind us best of Peter Norman are simply his own words when describing the reasons for his gesture, in the documentary film “Salute,” written, directed and produced by his nephew Matt.
“I couldn’t see why a black man couldn’t drink the same water from a water fountain, take the same bus or go to the same school as a white man.
There was a social injustice that I couldn’t do anything for from where I was, but I certainly hated it.
It has been said that sharing my silver medal with that incident on the victory dais detracted from my performance.
On the contrary.
I have to confess, I was rather proud to be part of it”.
Source: "Films For Action" "http://www.filmsforaction.org/articles/the-white-man-in-that-photo/"
The rebellious sister venue to loveable Lefty's Old Time Music Hall, Sonny's is fashioned after the infamous dive bars of LA, set in a perfectly divey basement in Rowes Lane.
Not only a cracking live music venue for Blues, Rock & Roll, Jazz and Ska fans alike (basically anyone on the look out for the makings of a great night, then?), Sonny's is the ultimate late-night bar to indulge in some classic dive bar type fare— a meat loaf sanga anyone? Expect a tequila-heavy drinks list, classic '80s cocktails, and frozen margaritas, then let the good times roll!
- Source: http://www.theurbanlist.com
There are people in this world who believe that ice cream is a summer-only food. A delicacy only to be enjoyed on a steaming hot day, and certainly not a treat to be devoured on a cold winter’s night when the only feasible way of staying warm is to wear an outfit unacceptable to be showcased in public (namely, a onesie and ugg boots). These people are wrong. They are weak. They are the kind of people who might bypass a dessert menu altogether, and need to be either steered clear of or knocked some sense into. Luckily, armed with this list of Brisbane’s best ice-cream sundaes, you just might have a chance. Remember: Sundays may be bad, but sundaes are very, very good.
Kwan BrothersFortitude Valley
The peanut brittle sundae over at Kwan Brothers is a dessert connoisseur’s dream. Dive in to clouds of fluffy peanut butter ice-cream covered with gooey marshmallows, drizzled with salted caramel and topped with crunchy peanut brittle, but make sure you ask for two spoons because devouring this monster might require some help.
Chur BurgerFortitude Valley
If you’re the kind of guy or gal who likes a bit of patriotism with your dessert, then the sundae offering over at Chur Burger might be just what you’ve been looking for. If you’ve still got room left after devouring your burgers (and, let’s face it, we all have a second stomach for dessert so you WILL), then try the delectable pavlova ice-cream sundae with strawberries. Aussie, Aussie, Aussie. Nom, nom, nom.
If you thought ice-cream sundaes were confined to dessert well, boy, do I have news for you. The evil geniuses over at Cowch in Southbank have dreamt up the Canadienne Breakfast Waffle Bowl – scoops of bacon ice-cream smothered in maple syrup topped with a rasher of bacon and served in an edible (!!!) waffle cone bowl.
Honey Puff Kings Hamilton
Paniyiri might be over for another year, but Honey Puff Kings delivers the goods all year round! Marrying two of the world’s greatest inventions, this Eat Street stall offers honeypuff sundaes stacked with (among other things) ice-cream, honeycomb and melted Nutella. Opa!
World Famous Funnel Cakes Hamilton
Next-door neighbours at the Eat Street Markets is World Famous Funnel Cakes which, as all good neighbours should do, serves up out-of-this-world dessert combinations. Equal parts sundae, donut, waffle, churro and GENIUS, these funnel cakes come in tantalising flavours such as the Swinging Sticky Date (funnel cake topped with vanilla ice-cream, sticky date sauce and caramel walnut brittle) and Rocky Road Cabaret (funnel cake topped with vanilla ice-cream, hot chocolate fudge, fresh strawberry puree, peanuts and rocky road chunks).
If you’re one of the more health conscious among us, then get on over to PawPaw Café and try their Cocowhip sundaes. With swirls of delicious vegan coconut soft serve topped with anything from passionfruit to raw choc-mint slices, these sundaes taste so delicious you’ll hardly notice they’re good for you!
If you’re an avid protestor against the collaboration of sweet and savoury, look away. The masterminds behind Brisbane food truck Chip Tease have pulled out all the stops with their dessert chips. Try the Nutella Signature Sundae—sugar coated sweet potato chips, drizzled with Nutella and topped with Chantilly crème. Can’t decide between sides or dessert? Why don’t we have both?!
Source; The Urban List (http://www.theurbanlist.com/brisbane/a-list/brisbanes-best-ice-cream-sundaes)