Visited 6 October, 2012 and 16 November, 2022
You are reading correctly. We traversed this busy precinct a decade ago, but at the time my scratchy notes failed to coalesce into a blog; and recently, when about to turf those notes (and notes referencing several other breakfast excursions that have faded into irrelevance), we decided that Sandringham might repay another visit.
This time breakfast was at Port of Call in Bay Road, a very acceptable eatery, with quality Bircher – and of such sufficiency that a take-away box was scrounged for a later snack. This was not the place where we’d eaten previously - and to our surprise we later rediscovered the Limoncello Café in nearby Station Street. It was surprise enough that the place still existed a decade on, but the real surprise was that the décor had changed not a whit. We didn’t sit down for another breakfast, but we did order takeaway coffees, and this enabled us to have a good squiz. Here is my note from ten years ago: “Drab interior and décor belied the splendid food and coffee. Dark brown vinyl bench seat with high back along one entire wall. Wooden ceiling, cinnamon colour. Bagged brick walls, painted beige - so no splash of colour or relief from drab.” My ten-year-old description of today’s décor was creepily accurate – which makes me regret that we hadn’t eaten there this morning, and partaken from the fare - also, hopefully, locked in its time warp: “Bircher excellent. Porridge possibly the best ever, very loose with milk folded through. Both dishes served with small dish of stewed apple/rhubarb compote.”
So much for the breakfast. Do the environs of the Sandringham station precinct offer something of greater moment and diversion? For starters, I needed to follow up an incomplete note from ten years ago: “Query war memorial in the foreshore park. Odd design.”
Odd design indeed. It is not a war memorial, it’s a bandstand. Trawl the internet and you will discover numerous pictures of bandstands – ornate, always round, elevated a little, frequently having seen better days – but you will find no other like the Sandringham Bandstand.
You can see what I mean – to my imagination, shaped more like one of the invading Martian machines from War of the Worlds.
The upper level is where the band assembles, and plays; but the lower level is of no function except to provide shelter….although, as if to incorporate a bonus utilitarian feature, a drinking fountain has been installed in that underneath space. And, while the underneath might provide shelter (although giving no view of the band above), the recital space itself most certainly would not provide shelter on a wet and windy day. The roof, even with its generous overhang, is so far above the performing deck that the elements would beat in, unimpeded - although, on reflection, that must be a feature of bandstands everywhere!
The unconventional design of the Sandringham Bandstand triggers echoes of the architectural debate about “form” and “function”. The late nineteenth century Chicago architect, Louis Sullivan, was one of the early proponents of the design principle that "form should follow function" – rather than the other way around. Once the intended function of the structure is established the form that the building takes should serve that intended function. Office blocks and apartment buildings are examples of function first. And so are power stations and chemical plants. A not so happy example of the opposite is Jorn Utzon’s Sydney Opera House, where the form of the structure came first, and its function as an opera house and concert hall had to be integrated as best as possible into that form. Only now, after two generations, is the interior (function) being rejigged better to fit within the building’s spectacular external form. This is not to denigrate the work of art that is the Opera House, merely to illustrate the architectural maxim……..and to query the relevance of that maxim to the Sandringham Bandstand. Hard to tell. Clearly the structure has every feature required for a functioning performance space, and these features could have been provided in a more conventional structure; but, at the same time, the form of the building has a difference, a modernity, a 1926 bling that in no way detracts from its function as a bandstand. Best of both worlds; and who cares what came first in the mind of the architect?
From the Sandringham & District Historical Society website: “The Sandringham Band Rotunda……was erected in 1926 to replace the original Rotunda on the same site built in 1908. The present Rotunda contains a drinking fountain that was a gift to the people of Sandringham from Dr. Thomas Garnet Leary…….The Rotunda was designed by Sandringham’s first City Engineer, who pioneered the use of reinforced concrete for all types of construction. It was a big project in 1926 and, when completed, band recitals became a popular feature on Sunday afternoons during the summer months. The 46th Battalion Brass Band and the Sandringham Boys’ Band were regular performers.”
I don’t know whether the 46th Battalion Brass Band was in existence from the inception of the 46th Battalion itself (a.k.a. The Brighton Rifles) but the band is long gone, and I suppose it didn’t outlast the Battalion. The 46th Battalion was raised as an infantry unit in 1916, served on the Western Front, and was disbanded in 1919. Revived in 1921 as a unit in the Citizen Forces it became part of the Militia in 1929. In the early stages of the Second World War the 46th Battalion was deployed for defensive duties, and for training; and in 1942 was amalgamated with the 29th Battalion. The combined Battalion served in New Guinea and in New Britain, but was disbanded in 1946. If the Battalion Brass Band had survived throughout the War it most certainly would not have survived the disbanding of the Battalion. I can find no reference to the Band on the Australian War Memorial website.
Nearby to the Bandstand is an information board with more to say: “Built in 1926 the Sandringham Band Rotunda could accommodate 25 musicians on the upper level……Throughout the late 1920s and 1930s, brass bands would play regularly on Sunday afternoons, drawing large crowds. By the early 1980s, Council became concerned with the deterioration of the Rotunda and considered demolition. At this point, the then Mayor argued that every city had its icon: Paris had the Eiffel Tower, and Sandringham had the Rotunda, which should be repaired and remain on the cliff top. The State Government contributed $2500, while Council and others worked to raise several thousand dollars toward the cost of refurbishment.” Although no doubt helpful as a record of the Bandstand’s history the inclusion on the information board of the Mayor's comparison between the Rotunda and the Eiffel Tower is an absurdity.
Despite the 1980s refurbishment, the Bandstand today seems to have no function other than to host yoga and meditation groups, and to provide drinking water for the tired and oppressed, and their dogs.
And what of the Sandringham Boys’ Band, which on the evidence of today’s written record may as well never have existed? The omniscient World Wide Web is silent – except for one passing reference…….and, by way of postscript, I’m happy to share the story that popped up when I was searching for information about the Band. It is a sobering report from the 31 May 1926 edition of the Melbourne Argus, headed Brave Bank Teller: “In memory of Mr William Charles Almeida, the young teller [aged 22] in charge of the Hampton branch of the Commercial Bank of Australia, who was mortally wounded by bank robbers on November 28, 1924, an elaborate granite drinking fountain has been erected at Hampton by the Bank Officials Association. The memorial……bears the following inscription – ‘In memory of William Charles Almeida…….who nobly gave his life in defence of his trust…….’. There was a large attendance and the Sandringham Boys’ Band played……..Mr. Gullett [MHR, later Sir Henry] said that Mr Almeida’s act was one of supreme personal courage. No memorial was needed to perpetuate his memory, but it was fitting that tradition should be followed…….members of the public in all parts of Australia had contributed….and two scholarships were endowed…….Mr Almeida was foully and wantonly shot down, it was one of the most brutal, deliberate murders in the history of Australian crime [by two members of the notorious Squizzy Taylor gang]. After he had been fatally wounded he seized a revolver, chased one of the robbers, captured him, and handed him over to custody before he collapsed into unconsciousness [and died the next day]…….. Mr Almeida had bequeathed a splendid example to Australian manhood – so long as there were men like him Australia would be safe. The gathering that day met to honour his memory in sorrow, but with deep pride. Mr Almeida was a gallant citizen.” A solemn occasion for all but, in particular, for the young members of the Sandringham Boys' Band.
Gary Andrews
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