I know it’s a bit unfashionable to say it, but I love Radelaide. It’s easily navigable, there’s really good beaches and parks, year round festivals, great buildings, it’s close to wine country, the roads are wide enough to land a plane on, and Rundle Mall’s got balls. What's not to love about all that?
We enjoyed the gig (remember, there was a reason we were here), AND sleeping in an actual house AND not being woken pre-dawn by squawking birds. The morning after the gig suggested a little lie-in and a lazy breakfast, followed by a drive out to Victor Harbor and its environs for a day of sun, exercise and culture.
We went primarily because Flashie wanted to find a bridge. Not any old bridge mind you; a particular bridge. A bridge which was about the only means of crossing the Hindmarsh River on the journey from Adders to Victor back in the day. It was situated on the land of one of her ancestors, and it’s named after him (isn’t that nice?). Flash might have been an engineer in a past life but she’s directionally challenged, so I plotted a course and we motored off to Hindmarsh Valley in search of Wardle Bridge. After the excitement of finding the bridge died down, we set about finding lunch in Victor which yielded the delicious surprise of a really good coffee and the world’s smallest Scotch Finger biscuit.
Suitably sustained, we wandered through the Victor Harbor Station Master’s Residence (he wasn’t in) to peruse the museum’s collection (see? culture), found further reference to Clan Wardle in the little history library, and had a perve at an old dunny.
After an hour of being indoorsy, we ventured off to be outdoorsy and began the trek over the causeway to Granite Island. No horse drawn carriage for these princesses, oh no! For the next hour and a half we wandered around the island, checking out the public art, photographing stuff, avoiding tourists and generally being idiots, before heading back to the mainland. By the time we got back to the car, my Fitbit(ch) was about ready to explode with all the ‘exercise’ data being thrown at it, and suggested I consider a good lie down before I carked it.
No time for snoozing though as we were due back in Radelaide for dinner, cooked lovingly by my Nigella-esq sister, who prefers one to be on time for a meal. We finished the day by having a quick look around at Rosetta Bluff and Petrel Cove before hightailing it home for two helpings of dinner, some desert and a food coma.
Oh.....I’d like to point out that the Nigella reference is in relation to my sister’s wicked cooking ability, and does not infer in any way that she’s prone to the odd spliff!
The following day we visited Adelaide Gaol because it was there, we were interested and there were no other cars in the car park, which is usually a sign that a place is either just empty of tourists, or a bit shit. We willed it to be the former and were rewarded with the ability to wander leisurely for nearly 2 hours, almost completely unencumbered by people. I love being a tourist on a week day!
This was the first permanent gaol in South Australia, and operated for almost 150 years before closing in 1988. Before it was constructed, someone had the bright idea that Adelaide free settlers weren’t likely to get up to any shenanigans, so a gaol wouldn’t be needed. Those decision makers obviously hadn’t reckoned on the abundance of rum and the absence of decent nightlife, and it wasn’t long before the first prisoners were shackled to ships, logs, small wooden huts and dragons. Not necessarily in that order, and I may have made up the bit about dragons. So, up went a gaol and in went the naughty folk. The gaol housed male and female prisoners, provided entertainment by way of public hangings, had an onsite bakery and provided daily morning tea from that bakery to staff of the Supreme Court. I wonder how many fruit scones contained raisins that looked suspiciously like dead flies?? Oh wait...all raisins are just dead flies...
Right. So, that's a lot of pictures to take in. I should give you a rest for a few weeks but it seems I'm on a roll, so suffer!
Before I go, I'll leave you with this: In 1873, Elizabeth Woolcock was imprisoned and subsequently hanged at the gaol, apparently for poisoning her husband with mercury. It appears he was a bit of a drinker and got his kicks by knocking Lizzie about a bit and making her life a complete misery. The theory is that after practising by poisoning the family dog, she started feeding him mercury in order to bump him off.
Why let facts get in the way of a good hanging, eh? It took a jury 20 minutes to decide she was guilty, and the 25 year old was hung and subsequently buried at the gaol. I wonder what she'd think of the #MeToo movement? Seems we really haven't come very far.
Oh yeah...the dog had ringworm and had been treated with a body powder that contained mercury. Dogs like to errr.... lick themselves, so I think we can deduce what happened there.