Flavours of Melbourne

A Right Royal Debauchery

The opportunity to relax and eat outdoors for a large part of the year was considered one of the great benefits of colonial life. To celebrate the visit of Prince Alfred to Melbourne in November 1867, it was decided to stage a great outdoor public feast, and the Free Public Banquet Committee was formed. Despite the anticipation of a large crowd, the committee expected the ‘public could be relied upon to exhibit their love of order’. The feast was to begin with the Prince filling a golden goblet with wine from an ornamental fountain and proposing a toast. The fountain, a symbol of the  abundance of gold and natural resources in Victoria, was to be propelled by an elevated butt of wine on the roof of a nearby cottage. After performing this ceremonial duty, the Prince was then to be conducted to the banquet tables and thereafter mingle with the common people. The banquet was to be held at the Zoological Gardens (which were located on the banks of the Yarra near where the Melbourne Cricket Ground stands today). A crowd of anywhere between 10,000 to 20,000 people was expected.

As reported in the Argus, on the day of the banquet 50 cooks toiled, using some 500 loaves of bread, 730 tonnes of potatoes, 1200 pounds of meat, 5000 pies, 4500 pounds of plum pudding, plus commensurate quantities of fish, tarts, cakes, confectionery, buns and fruit. Sunbury winegrowers had donated 600 gallons of claret and Collingwood brewers gave 360 gallons of beer. Nearly two miles of tables were laid out. All was set for a magnificent spread.

Unfortunately, the organisers had grossly underestimated the public interest in the event; reports as to the actual number of people who arrived vary from 60,000 to 100,000, but it was generally agreed it was the biggest gathering of people ever seen in Melbourne to that time. The huge crowd waited patiently for the Prince to arrive - and went on waiting until well after the appointed time of his arrival. It was a hot, dry day and there was no water to be had – those waiting started growing restless. Eventually it was revealed that the organisers had become anxious at the size of the assembled crowd and, according the Argus’s report the following day, ‘some chicken-hearted meddler’ had told the Prince it was not safe for him to attend. As soon as the news broke out of the Prince’s defection there was bedlam – the previously dignified and patient masses broke into an indecorous scrum. People rushed forth to the picnic tables to help themselves to the free fare; the serving staff tried to ward off the charge by throwing bread. Within minutes the tables had been cleared of all the food and everything that had been laid out on them, including the plates and cutlery. People madly grabbed all the bottles of drink and showered each other with wine from the fountain. In the grapple, a good measure of the wine was spilt on the ground and men were reported rolling around in it in a drunken state.

Melbourne’s attempt at an orderly picnic had turned into a farce. In his book Tucker Track (2005), Warren Fahey included this biting ditty, set to the tune of ‘Four and Twenty Blackbirds’, that was written to commemorate the banquet:

Sixty thousand loafers, all jammed together,
At the monster banquet, in very hot weather
Sixty thousand hungry brutes, gnashing their teeth
Eager to drink and gorge the roast beef.
Sixty thousand sausages, dirty and greasy
Dr Louis Lawrence Smith, clean and uneasy
Sixty thousand drunken louts, roaring out ‘Wine!’
A squadron of troopers drawn up in line.
Hundreds of pretty girls, amidst these wretches huddled,
Sixty thousand Christians stupid and fuddled.
Wasn’t this a picture to make the doctor wince,
Wasn’t this a dainty dish to set before the Prince?

Some months later, in March 1868, a similar picnic was held for the Prince in Sydney. His Highness deigned to appear before the people this time, and a member of the crowd took a pot shot at him, resulting in a superficial wound. As the Prince was rushed off for medical treatment, the crowd descended on the free food and beverages in a similar fashion to their  Victorian counterparts. Melburnians must have felt somewhat relieved of their embarrassment when they read of Sydneysiders making even more of a bungle of it. This was not the end of it though; the Sydney-based news papers later tried to lay the blame for the assassination attempt on their southern cousins, focusing on the unfortunate fact that the aspiring killer was a Catholic from Melbourne.

Extract published courtesy of Wakefield Press
© Charmaine O’Brien