A Tale of Two Cities: Reflections on the Beach
THE HAUNT PROJECT IS PRESENTED IN PARTNERSHIP WITH WRITERS SA, AND IS SUPPORTED BY ARTS SOUTH AUSTRALIA.
Nonfiction by Cherian Philipose
Some years ago, I moved from the Adelaide Hills, to a home near the beach. The change came as a revelation to me; I had never lived so close to the ocean before, and, the regular dips in the water, and walks on the sand, made me realise just how restful a coastal lifestyle could be. One summer evening, I went to Henley Beach to see the sunset. The sky was striking, with massed clouds and orange sunlight filtering through. I gazed below the horizon and saw boats; they were dark floating specks that moved slowly across the bay. Henley Square, was ringed with restaurants. Groups of people sat outside; I saw a little boy play with his toy car, pick it up and run happily back to his parents; they smiled, put their arms around him, held him close. At the Bacchus Bar, muscular men in singlets, sat at wooden tables with mugs of beer in front of them. A group of teenage boys walked past, eating ice cream. It was a very Australian beach scene. However, for me, it was an experience tinged with the memories of another city.
I’m from Mumbai, and I have walked its beaches and its lanes. Watching people at Henley Beach, enjoying themselves, awakened strong emotions in me. I am used to the ocean. I went to Bombay Scottish School on Mahim Bay, and grew up reacting to wind and light and spray, in a certain way. Walking on the Adelaide shore, I had a sense of being haunted by the past. The crowds, the children at play, the couples holding hands; I had seen all these scenes before, on the shores of a different sea. My response was not based on sentiment alone; I had read the histories of Mumbai and Adelaide. Both cities have a British colonial past and have played a role in the struggle for human dignity
The Old Gum Tree, is a little secret, in the suburb of Glenelg. It is a part of The Old Gum Tree Conservation Park, and one Sunday morning, I set out to see it. When I got there, I saw a number of families enjoying a sausage sizzle; I could see the bread at their table, smell the meat and the sauce. Some of their children sat with them, others, played on the grass. I went up to the Old Gum Tree. I had never seen a tree like it. The trunk is unique; it thrusts out of the ground, curves downward in a semi-circle, and enters the earth again. This tree is a symbol of Adelaide history. On 28 December 1836, the first English settlers gathered under it, and Governor Hindmarsh read out the Proclamation of the Colony of South Australia.
This document contains a striking paragraph. Hindmarsh proclaimed:
It is also, at this time especially, my duty to apprize the Colonists of my resolution, to take every lawful means for extending the same protection to the Native Population as to the rest of His Majesty’s Subjects and of my firm determination to punish with exemplary severity, all acts of violence or injustice which may in any manner be practiced or attempted against the Natives who are to be considered as much under the Safeguard of the law as the Colonists themselves, and equally entitled to the privileges of British Subjects …
Later that day, I went to the Bay Discovery Centre. This is a social history Museum in Glenelg. On the first floor, I saw a copy of the famous Letters Patent. This document, with King William’s seal on it, recognised the rights of the Aboriginals to live within the Province of South Australia. It said:
Provided Always that nothing in those our Letters Patent contained shall affect or be construed to affect the rights of any Aboriginal Natives of the said Province to the actual occupation or enjoyment in their own Persons or in the Persons of their Descendants of any Lands therein now actually occupied or enjoyed by such Natives.
The Indigenous people of the Adelaide Plains are the Kaurna, and to them, this part of Glenelg is called Patawalonga. This area was an important ceremonial ground for them. To me, however, the history of the Adelaide Plains felt like a repudiation of much of what was expressed in the Proclamation and the Letters Patent. In fact, it put me in mind of another British colonial land grab.
I have taken many walks on Dadar Beach, in Mumbai. Whenever I walked there, I have seen married couples walking on the sand, their children frolicking around them. My hometown used to be a British colony too. In the 16th century, European explorers started to probe the Indian coast. The Portuguese arrived first, in 1508. In 1534, they signed the Treaty of Bassein, with the Sultan of Gujarat, and took charge of Mumbai. The settlers built luxurious villas for themselves and preached the Gospel of Christ. Then, in 1661, Charles the Second of England, married the Portuguese princess Catherine, and Mumbai went to him as his dowry. The British arrived, took over the place. No Proclamation was read out, no promise of equality given.
Glenelg beach, these days, is dedicated to the good life. I walked down to the sand to watch a game of volleyball. Young people, with good muscle tone, played the game to a high standard. Looking out over the water, I saw a white catamaran glide across the bay. A bar on the sand, called The Moseley Beach Club, was full of beautiful people, reclining on white cabanas, sipping cocktails. It is quite easy to visit Glenelg, these days, and be unaware of its colonial history. There is a Memorial Pillar, near the sand to honour the achievements of the ‘pioneers.’ All the ‘pioneers’ depicted on the pillar are English; so are nearly all the street names in the area. Glenelg called to mind what the Mumbai coast used to be like, when all the names were English. In fact, when I was a child, a large number, perhaps a majority of street names, were English. The city shore is very different now; the street names are all Indian, and the old Imperial statues are nowhere to be seen. India became Independent in 1947, and, over the last few decades, the city has had a chance to Indianise itself again. The Kala Ghoda precinct used to have a statue of King Edward on a black horse. One night, in 1965, some Indian nationalists had an idea. They decided that the king would look better without his head. Accordingly, the next morning, the city woke up to see a headless monarch. The authorities later transported the remains of the statue to the museum. It is not on display.
At Dadar Beach, I have visited Chaitya Bhoomi, the site where Dr. Bhimrao Ambedkar is buried. The mausoleum is a white dome; the entrance has a Buddhist gateway, or torana, with carvings of elephants and lions. Dr. Ambedkar was a great legal scholar. However, he was from the Mahar caste, a so called ‘low caste’ that at one time, was considered ‘untouchable.’ Despite the bigotry Ambedkar faced, he went on to study at Columbia and the London School of Economics. When India became independent, he was picked to chair the Indian Constituent Assembly, the body of scholars who framed the constitution for the new Indian republic. The new constitution had quotas for low castes in education and government. With this achievement, Dr. Ambedkar changed the whole nature of Indian society.
One morning, I visited Lipson St in Port Adelaide. When I got there, I saw people enjoying their coffee and cake outdoors; I could hear their soft voices, and the clink of their cups on saucers. In the 19th century, miller John Dunn had a Steam Flour Mill on this street. One day, in 1867, he suddenly reduced the wages. The workers went on strike and the mill remained idle for months. A fire broke out in the mill, and one of Mr. Dunn's officials ran to the wharf and requested help. ‘No, Let the bloody Mill burn,’ responded one of the workers, ‘he knocked down the wages.’ The fire gutted the mill. A month later, another fire destroyed the mill completely. There were rumours of arson, but nothing was ever proved.
The Workers Memorial in Port Adelaide, on the corner of Commercial and St. Vincent road, is a statue of an angelic woman in a long dress; carrying the scales of justice in her left hand, and a sword in her right. Port Adelaide, has been important in the battle for worker’s rights, and the statue cherishes the dignity of the working person. Nile Street used to be one of the centres of the Worker’s Movement. I walked there to see the famed Waterside Workers Memorial building. This building is now used by a feminist theatre group called Vitalstatistix, and its presence here, testifies to rich working class culture of the place. Before cranes were invented, the loading and unloading of freight was done by men; these were the waterside workers or wharfies. Competition for dock work was fierce, and employers often brought in workers from outside. To combat this, the wharfies organised themselves into a Union; the Port Adelaide Working Men's Association. The workers who were not in the Union were called ‘scabs.’ At the Port, anyone even seen speaking to a ‘scab’ was abused. Often, European immigrants, with little English, found it difficult to understand why so much venom was directed against them, simply because they took up a job. Sometimes, when a ship was full of non-union workers, a posse of men would clamber aboard and attack them. These men were the ‘scab hunters.’ The non-union workers were often forced to jump into the sea to save themselves. On many occasions, however, they fought back and both sides inflicted shocking injuries on each other with their baling hooks.
On McLaren Parade, in Port Adelaide, there is a spare, yellow-brown building with ‘Muecke and Co.’ written on it. Dr. Carl Muecke arrived in Port Adelaide, from Germany, in 1849. In 1858, his son Hugo started working for John Newman and Sons on McLaren wharf. Later, he took over that company and built a business empire. He also became a director of several other companies, and, was even appointed Imperial German Consul to South Australia. However, in 1914, when the First World War broke out, Hugo Muecke was interned as an ‘enemy alien.’ It was only after vigorous protests from his colleagues, and after he declared his loyalty in public, that he was released.
The manner in which Hugo Muecke was treated reminds me of race relations on the Mumbai coast. I have walked down Colaba Causeway many times. It leads straight to the ocean, and is a very cosmopolitan part of Mumbai. Western sailors and backpackers frequent it’s bars and cafes. Arabs stay in the hotels and walk down the road, browsing at the stalls that sell jewellery and electronics. Near the shore, close to the Gateway of India, is the Royal Bombay Yacht Club. In the days of the Empire, this used to be a Whites Only establishment. There is a tale told, about a wealthy Indian man, with an English wife, who once donated an expensive billiards table to the club. He was still never permitted to enter. Watson’s, in the Fort area, used to be the most prestigious hotel in Mumbai. The building is dilapidated today, but, in the 1870’s, it was where the elite gathered. The owner, John Watson, tried to make the experience of staying at his hotel as English as possible. It was ‘Whites Only,’ and he even imported English waitresses. It is said that the Indian businessman, Jamsetji Tata, was once refused entry there. Tata went on to build the grand Taj Mahal hotel on the Colaba shore. When it opened in 1901, the hotel welcomed people of all races; both the Indian and the English upper-class flocked there. Watson’s could not keep up, and slowly went into decline.
August Kranti Maidan, is a field in the Fort area of Mumbai, that is now used as a playground. Whenever I have walked there, I have seen boys playing cricket and heard the sound of willow on leather. On August 8, 1942, however, there was a very different battle fought on this field. A huge crowd had gathered to listen to Mahatma Gandhi speak. Both the Indian Independence Movement and the Second World War were in full flow and India faced the threat of a Japanese invasion.
Here is an extract from that speech:
Then, there is the question of your attitude towards the British. I have noticed that there is hatred towards the British among the people. The people say they are disgusted with their behaviour. The people make no distinction between British imperialism and the British people. To them, the two are one. This hatred would even make them welcome the Japanese. It is most dangerous. It means that they will exchange one slavery for another. We must get rid of this feeling …
We must, therefore, purge ourselves of hatred. Speaking for myself, I can say that I have never felt any hatred. As a matter of fact, I feel myself to be a greater friend of the British now than ever before …
Even after being imprisoned by the British, Gandhi had managed to find within himself, the spirit of reconciliation.
The Port Adelaide heritage precinct has a rich cluster of colonial buildings with plaques on them, that tell the story of the place; the locals have made their history come alive. Fortunately, it is not a place that celebrates just a colonial past. The Mudlangga to Yertabulti Track tells us about the deep connection that the Kaurna have with the land. This Track goes through the Port Adelaide region, through Largs North, Osborne, North Haven and Outer Harbour, and connects us to the rich Aboriginal history of the coast. There are signs along the way that tell us various stories of Kaurna life.
Some of the quotes describe the way the Kaurna used to live a few decades back. On the sign outside the Port Adelaide Visitor Information Centre, there is a quote from Tauto Sainsbury. ‘When we moved off the missions, a lot of people came to the Port because the trade unions treated people fairly and Aboriginal people got employment. The great thing about those days is that there was work galore for everybody down here.’
Another sign on the Track, just outside the Waterside Worker’s Federation building has a quote from Georgina Wilkins, who says ‘By the time I was 17, I was in the Communist Party. When I was 19 I married my husband who was a seaman on the boats. The Communist Party helped us get jobs and to set up our own things.’
Moving around the Mudlanga to Yertabulti Track, hearing these voices from the past, I felt I was enjoying a special relationship with the Kaurna. They were coming up to me and whispering secrets from their past in my ear.
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Colaba beach: Mumbai, 18 February 1946.
On this day, sailors in the Royal Indian Navy, fed up of the supercilious attitude of their British officers, refused to take orders. It started on a ship called HMIS Talwar. The sailors took over this ship and threw their officers out. Then, they went from ship to ship on the harbour, and convinced the other sailors to join them. Soon, Bombay harbour was in the hands of the mutineers. The hunger for Independence was strong, and sailors at ports all over India, and other parts of the Empire, joined the uprising. Even though the rebellion was eventually suppressed, the quickly British realised that the Indians would not take orders anymore, and, the very next year, they left India in a hurry.
At Semaphore beach, when I went there, the sea was a very deep blue. There were thickets of plants on the dunes, and I saw the bright berries of the Seaberry Saltbush. I walked past the beach bar of the Palais Hotel; this is an enclosed area on the sand, where people sit in the sun and drink and luxuriate. Semaphore, like Glenelg, has the mood of a resort. The Grange and Henley Beach have that spirit too; indeed, the whole Adelaide coastline, seems to have been set aside for gaiety and hedonism. The atmosphere reminds me, in some ways, of beaches like Dadar and Juhu, in Mumbai. All over the world, people flock to the coast for the similiar reasons; to get away from the realm of concrete and stone, and to absorb the salty air and spray.
The Adelaide coast is a genteel place now. However, it is worth remembering what things were like, when the colony started. One of the laws on the statute books, in 1837, was the Masters and Servants Act. According to piece of legislation, if a worker neglected his duty, employer could have him chained to trees in the parklands for up to three weeks! We have indeed, come a long way. The beaches of Adelaide and Mumbai have seen great struggles. The wharfies of Port Adelaide fought for better conditions; their sacrifices have helped make millions of workers safer. The campaigns fought on the shores of Mumbai, helped set all of India ablaze, and, the call for Independence was heard right across the land. Finally, on the 15th of August 1947, at the stroke of the midnight hour, India became free; the first country to break away from the British Empire and an inspiration to the colonised world.
I visit the Adelaide coast often. I come here to rejuvenate; the dunes and spray, seaweed and cormorants, help me to do the essential task of forgetting all the anxieties of the day. However, I also come to the coast to remember; to learn what the ocean has to teach me, and to hear again the echoes of those battles of long ago, that helped shape us all.
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Works Cited
✷ John Couper-Smartt, Port Adelaide: The History of a ‘Commodious Harbour (Wakefield Press, 2021).
✷ Sharada Dwivedi and Rahul Mehrotra, Bombay: The Cities Within, (India Book House, 1995).
✷ Gillian Tindall, City of Gold: The Biography of Bombay, (Penguin Books India, 1992).
✷ Shanta Gokhale,Shivaji Park: Dadar 28: History, Places, People, (Speaking Tiger Books, 2020).
✷ Shabnam Minwalla, Colaba: The Diamond at the Tip of Mumbai, (Speaking Tiger Books, 2020).
✷ Note—In addition to the above printed sources, use has been made of resources found at the Bay Discovery Centre and the History Trust of South Australia website.
Cherian Philipose is an Indian-Australian writer. He has a B.A in English Literature from St. Xavier’s College, University of Mumbai, a B.Ed, in Teaching from Flinders University and a Graduate Diploma in Creative Writing from the University of Adelaide. He works in Adelaide in the Public Service.
