Each morning as I begin my walk to the Shorncliffe pier, I pass a large sign which marks the beginning of the pathway from the former Sandgate Baptist to my intended destination. It’s impossible to miss it and says simply “Lovers’ Walk”.
Initially I was intrigued as to why this part of the path had been given a romantic name and then a second sign, closer to the Pier, provided me with the answer.
This pathway beneath the escarpment has long been a popular promenade for generations of seaside visitors and local residents seeking the benefits of the fresh seaside air. The walk along the foreshore from the Pier to the Baptist Church was originally called Dovers’ Walk after a Sandgate Town Council Engineer.
In the 1910s an English company produced postcards from scenes around Brisbane – including Dovers’ Walk. According to legend, the young men printing the cards covered part of the “D” up to make it an “L” as a joke, and the cards came out from England as “Lovers’ Walk”. The name captured the people’s imaginations, and since then the path has been affectionately known as “Lovers’ Walk”.
People have walked along this path on Moreton Bay’s foreshore for a very long time. Although the first European settlers did not arrive until the mid-1800s, First Nations people were here for thousands of years before that. I think that there must be many fascinating stories waiting to be told about those who have walked along this path and that the Sandgate Museum probably holds quite a few of these tales.
Musing about the past, I arrived at the Pier where I was greeted by Jules, who was keen to offer me some of her home-made date loaf. Each morning she brings a container of this with her as she and her husband Logan are usually at the pier for quite a few hours, Logan being a very keen fisherman.
Jules once told me that one of the Chinese fishermen, who she thinks is a butcher by trade, had brought her a pork bun which he had made himself and that she had given him some of her date loaf in return. It’s what you might call a fair, and even a sweet, exchange.
It seems that this sharing of food has really caught on among the pier-dwellers. When Logan catches bream, which he does not eat himself, he gives them to one of the walkers, Brian, who happily takes them home and uses them to make a fish curry. Brian is Sri Lankan and his close friend and walking companion, Viv, comes from Mumbai, which was formerly known as Bombay. Brian loves to make and eat curries and to share them with his friends and fellow walkers. I’m pleased to be able to confirm that his curries are delicious.
The name “Bombay” made me think back to a period in my other life, some 68 years ago. It was in 1955 and I was a steward on an old cargo ship, the Kota Gede, on its way from Kuwait, in the Persian Gulf, to Bombay, in India. It was already 3 months since we had sailed from Rotterdam and we had visited 11 ports in 9 different countries when we arrived in Bombay on 5 September 1955.
I was 19 years old when we arrived in India. Many other ships were already waiting to unload, so we went for anchor in the harbour and unloaded our cargo with our own winches onto the barges that had been pulled alongside by tugboats. To go ashore, we had to use small boats which crisscrossed the harbor to and from Bombay’s main landing place, which was quite a distance away.
I remember that the first thing I noticed, after getting off the small ferry, was the “Gateway of India”, a very large and imposing entrance gate to the city. The second thing, and this startled me, was the kaleidoscope of people, noises, smells and colours in this Indian city. It felt so very different compared to the deserted and sparsely populated places we had been to in the Middle East.
As soon as we walked through the Gateway of India, people crowded around us and tried to engage with us by asking us questions. Most of them were trying to sell souvenirs or offering to show us around. Some wanted to take our photographs. There were many poor people sitting on the side of the road and there were others following us, begging us to give them money. Groups of children were dancing around, wanting to sell us small trinkets and postcards. I had never experienced anything quite like this before. It was overwhelming!
My first ship, the Kota Gede
We stayed in Bombay for 9 days. The Anglo-Indian cargo-superintendent offered to take me to Bandra, a suburb of Bombay, to show me the sights. I think he was actually a Christian himself, but I did not discover that until later. Once in Bandra, we walked up the long steep roads, right to the top of a hill and on the way we entered some Hindu temples.
On the day of our visit, there was a festival for Ganesha, one of India’s best-known Hindu gods. Statues were displayed everywhere, easily recognisable because Ganesha has the head of an elephant. There were huge crowds all around us and processions with music everywhere, and, once again, I felt as if I was being swept away by the strangeness of it all. Needless to say, Bombay made a big impression on me and therefore it’s no wonder that I remember so much!
Back to the present and to my story about sharing food. Some time ago, Molly, another regular walker, told me that Brian had brought him a small container with home-made curry as well. Molly, Brian and Viv sometimes walk together and they got to know each other quite well. Viv often carries a small plastic bag filled with pieces of bread, rolled into small balls. He feeds these to the turkeys which hide in the bushes or which venture out to walk near the path. When Viv whistles they come running towards him. It’s amazing to see how many there are and how fast they can run!
I had to smile when I noticed Viv and Brian walking back from the pier a few days ago with some fish, given to Viv by Logan and carried in the same little plastic bag that he had used for the bread for the turkeys.
It’s probably not just the exercise that motivates me to get up and walk each morning. I know that I have a strong feeling that it is doing me some good, both physically and mentally, but also that this is helped by the pleasure of recognising people and being able to exchange simple greetings.
Yes, I think we can all agree that walking is very good for us but, as this story shows, let’s also not forget about the listening and the talking and the sharing. It’s important! It makes us want to come back for more.
Next week my story will be about Blue Swimmers.
O.P.
It must have been so surreal to explore such distant lands in the 1950’s. You will likely have had a much more authentic experience of India and many other countries than my generation is able to experience today. I have to say I am a bit jealous! Looking forward to the next one Opa!