The Olympic Torch Detour
Ever since the first human tribes decided to put a pause on their nomadic lifestyles and give village life a crack, the concept of inter town rivalry has become almost institutionalised. It is as much a part of life as complaining about dogs shitting on the nature strip; forgetting which week the recycling bins go out and moaning about the cost of public art projects, when the roads clearly need fixing.
Usually, the fiercest contention develops between the closest of neighbours. The populations may breathe the same air, drink from the same reservoirs and endure the same dysfunctional shire council, but when the whistle blows, any sense of kinship is soon ignored. There is no better example of this, than the openly hostile relationship between the townships of Largs Bluff and Riddlemere, in south western Victoria. Separated by 12 kilometres, the Flugel River and the McInnes Range, these geographical barriers are nothing compared to the heavily buttressed historical enmity forged since the town’s simultaneous gazetting in 1873.
No-one is entirely sure when and how the spiteful relationship first took root, but the first documented evidence of the aggravated relationship appeared in the Riddlemere Record on June 28th, 1892
‘… typically, the Largs Bluff competitors resorted to fisticuffs when it became clear from the judge’s comments that Riddlemere were in the ascendency. In truth, their pugilism was also second rate, and our contingent quickly turned the tables on the pitiful Largs Bluff assailants, sending them back across the Flugel River with their bloodied tail between their legs.’
That this newspaper report was extracted from a summary of the 1892 McInnes Region Brass Band Competition, goes some way to explaining the depth of the ill-feeling between the two townships.
An extract from the Largs Bluff Bugle from November 12th, 1912 adds further evidence of the long running feud.
‘… 17 of those rescued from the derailed locomotive and carriage were conveyed to the Largs Bluff Hospital, where doctors and nurses worked tirelessly through the night to ensure their speedy recovery. The 5 injured passengers, who were identified as residents of Riddlemere, were given a sniff of Epsom salts, a leech and a map showing the least hazardous path through Hatton’s Gap. How they came to be traveling in the same carriage as the Largs Bluff residents is the subject of an ongoing enquiry.’
The period from 1914 to 1945 saw a relative cessation in hostilities as the towns seemed to patch up their differences in favour of fighting the common enemy. However, the cease fire came to a violent end on December 3rd, 1947. The more impartial Lesterfield Tribune, reported on the events of that fateful day.
‘As the home side, Riddlemere were required to supply afternoon tea for the visiting Largs Bluff Midweek Mixed Fours team. However, at the break, the Largs Bay team found the afternoon tea area roped off with a ‘Riddlemere Bowlers Only’ sign displayed. The Largs Bluff team were miffed to say the very least, but decided to take it on the chin and head out to Grigor Lindberghs Morris Lancer, as he always travelled with a thermos and a packet of Marie biscuits. However, Captain Gwen Todgers was seething, and decided this slight should not go unpunished. She took matters into her own hands and was soon after seen running through the clubrooms door ‘wailing like a banshee and wildly swinging her heavy bowls bag.’ By the time the police arrived, Gwen Todgers stood over the prone figures of all 4 members of the Riddlemere mixed fours, smoking a cigar she’d purloined from the bar. As she was led away by the local constabulary, she was heard to say … ‘they need to drain the cucumbers before putting them in the club sandwiches. It was like eating a buttered flannel.’
This marked the beginning of a period of unparalleled hostility between the two communities that was at its most distilled in sporting fixtures between the towns. Such was the potential for incendiary violence, umpires began to refuse to officiate in AFL games between the Riddlemere Ravens and the Largs Bluff Larrikins; croquet players had to be frisked for possession of firearms before entering the court and badminton derbies were so vicious, the local version of the game evolved into a form of martial art called Bad Min To, that is still played in the McInnes Shire to this day.
When Riddlemere was selected ahead of Largs Bluff as the destination for a stop on the 1954 Royal Tour of Queen Elizabeth, the discord between the neighbouring towns made international headlines.
On the day of the proposed visit, the royal train pulled into Riddlemere Station and the entourage were escorted on foot through the crowd of wells wishers, who enthusiastically waved Union Jack buntings. Soon thereafter, they arrived at the Riddlemere Town Hall as the Riddlemere Brass Band broke into ‘God Save The Queen.’ Within the royal retinue, all seemed to be going to plan. However, had they been scrutinising the scene more closely, they might have noticed that the town hall sign was freshly painted, and the Brass Band patches were crudely and hastily sewn on. In reality, the royal party had been duped into alighting the train one stop early at Largs Bluff. The entire town were in on the subterfuge and went to great lengths to assist changing all the signage from the station to the town hall. Meanwhile, the real Riddlemere dignitaries stood on their train platform waiting for a royal train that would never come. As the Queen re-boarded the train an hour later, she was heard to say, ‘Now that’s how you make a cucumber club sandwich!’
Having had their royal visit usurped, the folk of Riddlemere were convinced that this wrong would be righted when the time came to anoint local town for the 1956 Olympic torch relay. When they discovered they weren’t on the route, they were livid, but took solace when they learned that Largs Bluff had also been left off the itinerary.
As the time for the relay crept closer, the communities decided to call an inter town meeting. There was an initial stand-off , as neither town would relent and allow the other to host the gathering. A compromise was finally reached, and the leaders of each community met on a barge on a dam on Jack Gorman’s Hereford Stud. This location was measured to be exactly 7.8 miles from the respective post offices in each town.
When they analysed the map of the relay route, it was apparent that a bulbous detour had been added, causing the relay to avoid their district altogether. At the meeting it was unanimously agreed that the bypassing of both towns was a deliberate act, and that they perceived that the authorities were punishing them for their past imbroglios. A plan was hatched. Unfortunately, the minutes of the meeting did not survive, as the barge capsized when the delegates decided to conclude the formalities with a spontaneous bout of Bad Min To.
When the Olympic Torch came through the McInnes Range on November 19th, 1956, the man selected to run that fateful leg was itinerant shearer, Glenn Ashe. With no connection to either town, he could never have known what was about to unfold. He reflects on the events of that day in his autobiography ‘Click Go the Tears.’
‘I saw the turn off to Lesterfield and I took a left. I was only supposed to run a mile, but there was no sign of the coot that I was supposed to hand over to, so I just kept running. Next thing I know I’m running through the main street of Largs Bluff and the crowd were going berserk. I saw this woman in bowls gear, smoking a cigar, so I asked her if I’m going the right way. She nodded her head towards a sign pointing to Lesterfield. It’s in the direction I’m running, so I thought no worries. She then held out a platter of cucumber club sandwiches, so I grabbed a handful. Shit, they were good. They gave me a second wind. Anyway, I headed out of town, but there was still no sign of the beggar who was supposed to take over from me. By the stage, I could barely get one leg in front of the other. I was delirious by the time I saw what I thought were the Lesterfield Silos. Then I remembered that Lesterfield don’t have silos. I’d bloody run all the way to Riddlemere. As I staggered into town, the crowd went off like a bag of forgotten mangoes in the boot of Holden. I got offered more sandwiches by another bowls club sheila, but I could tell just by lookin’ at ‘em, that they hadn’t drained the cucumber, so I passed. The flame on the torch was almost out by this stage, so some cove tops it up with petrol. I lost my eye lashes, eyebrows and fringe. I was still reeling from that, when all of sudden people start whacking shuttlecocks at me. The next morning the cops found me unconscious in a ditch by the main highway wearing one shoe. It wasn’t even my shoe. It was a clown shoe.’
Glenn Ashe made a full statement to the police, but as the media and general public outside of Riddlemere and Largs Bluff were largely unaware of what had transpired, it was decided that the incident would be swept under the carpet. Besides, they could hardly lay charges against the entire population of each township. The next day the Olympic Torch simply resumed the journey from the point where the unplanned detour had occurred. The runners, now with a police escort, carried on the relay to Melbourne, as if nothing had happened.
While the controversy largely went unnoticed by the rest of the country, and indeed the world, the successful hijacking of the Olympic Torch Relay was a source of celebration by the combined townships, who had united in their bitterness and deception.
To this day, annually on November 19th, the towns coalesce to celebrate, by re-enacting the detour taken in 1956. A large papier mache effigy of Glenn Ashe, controlled by puppeteers from each town, retraces the journey from Largs Bluff to Riddlemere. People line the 12 kilometre route pelting the giant dummy with cucumber sandwiches, shuttlecocks and clown shoes. That night the effigy is burnt using the Olympic torch that was stolen in 1956.
For the other 364 days of the year, the antagonism returns to the same level of vitriol.
The mindless contempt was perhaps best illustrated when former Riddlemere local, and now internationally renowned concert pianist, Quentin Royce appeared on an episode of SBS Television’s highly successful ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ Months after the show aired, he was on ABC Radio Conversations with Richard Fidler, where he reflected on the bombshell news that the series producers had uncovered.
‘I loved my Nan to bits. One of the kindest humans to ever grace the earth. Her only foible was that she was a monarchist through and through. She used to bang on about how she had nearly met the Queen when she was child, but if you pressed her for details she’d close up. Now I know why. She’d been living a lie. She was on the Riddlemere train platform in 1954 when the Queen never showed up. Her parents were killed in a car accident when she was 4 and she was adopted out to a family from Largs Bluff, who had no idea that she was originally from Riddlemere. She took that secret to her grave. She has since been disinterred from our family plot, but the damage is done. I have Riddlemere in my blood and I can never go back home. I wish I’d never gone on that show.’