Still Victorian

Old Vic:  I am still suffering from the sticker shock of trying to find a jacket in the CBD and the disorientation of unsuccessfully trying to find a second-hand store in North Melbourne.  So, this morning I headed to Old Vic.  That’s what locals call the Queen Victoria Market, which dates from 1878.  The main market shed, the old meat market, looks just as I remembered it from my last trip.  Today, though, it seems to be really a part of the city.  My recollection of the 1980s is that Old Vic seemed a bit farther out.  Perhaps because the huge skyscrapers that line the nearby horizon did not exist then.  Or, perhaps it is because I stayed in North Melbourne then and had to walk past the market into the CBD.  No matter, this market is where Melbourne’s spirit of place resides.  Save for the fish market, Sydney has none, and Adelaide has only one.  Melbourne has three.  Now, however, the grocery chains are closing in, but as busy as it was today, I would say the three markets have no worries, yet.   Indeed, the prices at Old Vic certainly can’t be beat in the CBD.  I prowled around and found some jackets and pullovers for $15 or $20.  Perfect, thought I.  I bought one.  I wonder if it will make it home with me. 

Old Welsh:  I planned my day around a 3 pm service at the old Welsh Church on LaTrobe Street in Melbourne.  Twice a month, the sign said, they had services in Welsh.  This was the last Sunday of June, so I expected the church to be open if not packed.  I really couldn’t imagine there being much of a demand for a Welsh-language service.  Mid-afternoon arrived, but nothing was stirring, not even a mouse, a rare bit of bad luck for me.  Fortunately, either the Welsh dragon or St. David must have had my best interest at heart, because the sign assured me that every Sunday there was an English-language service at 5:30 pm.  Instead of pouting, I pounded the pavement and prayed that by sundown, the doors of the Welsh church would be open unto me.  They were, though it was an unusual Sunday for these non-conformists (in a theological sense).  Indeed, the morning service had been cancelled, too, because the entire congregation was in Ballarat helping their sister congregation celebrate their 150^th anniversary.  At 5:30, there were only a few of us in attendance for what amounted to a short prayer service.  The congregation must be bigger, though, because the church has two ministers, one of whom speaks fluent Welsh (he grew up with it).  The other is learning it.  Shall I add that “The Scots Church” (the first Presbyterian church in Melbourne) is about two blocks in one direction, and the Church of England about the same distance in another.  The folks who founded Melbourne didn’t leave the old country behind; they brought it with them.  But, that’s just the way migration works. 

Geographically yours,

D.J.Z.