I would have been 10 or 11 when I came the first time. I came a couple of times on school excursions with the Ascot State School. I was born in ’52, so was at school in the late ’50s and ’60s. We would have come in by bus—the bus route went along Anthony Street. At the bottom you could get a tram from Oriel Park.
I remember the size and grandeur of the building, and the large rooms, and the quiet. When we came it was really hot, and inside was really hot, even though the ceilings were high. I remember the display cases, and not to lean on them! It was the only place you could see a dinosaur.
I used to swim at Centenary Pool and the Spring Hill Baths, and see the beautiful old building. I would see it with its windows broken—that made me sad. I think buildings need to be loved and lived in and filled with people.
I called in today as I’m here with my husband, who’s the dairy rep on the RNA council.
A note from the editor: Mary Jensen told this story to Margie Barram at the Australian Garden History Society display at the Ekka.
My daughter Pam, who’s now 54 and lives in Melbourne, came here often with her father, and sometimes we’d all come together. I recall the big display cabinet with the African lion—Pam must have only been five or so, because the lion was bigger than her. It had presence, even though it was a bit moth eaten.
There were these rows of display cabinets, and signs “Don’t lean on the glass”. It is altogether different now—all hands on. But then it was stand back and observe. We’d talk about what we were seeing, and learn about the exhibits. Now it seems the parents are all on their phones while the children play—not something done together.
A note from the editor: Myra Collom told this story to Margie Barram at the Australian Garden History Society display at the Ekka.
I came on a school excursion from Ipswich—into the big smoke. This would have been in the early 1970s.
It was a jaw-dropping experience—the internal size of the building; the BIG dinosaur inside!
A note from the editor: John Russell told this story to Margie Barram at the Australian Garden History Society display at the Ekka.
I’m from a Brisbane family and we visited throughout the 1970s. The glass cases stand out in my memory, and also the garden. I’m here with the Ekka—it’s great the gardens survived and weren’t hacked about with all the different uses since the museum left.
A note from the editor: Elizabeth Gillespie told this story to Margie Barram at the Australian Garden History Society display at the Ekka.
I was brought up in Africa and my family moved to Brisbane in 1965. My parents took us to the museum in the first year we were here—so I would have been a 15 year old.
What I remember is the tiger—I had always pictured it as the size of a leopard, an animal I knew from Africa. But it was much bigger.
A note from the editor: Andrew Jackson told this story to Margie Barram at the Australian Garden History Society display at the Ekka.
Dad would go to his football game on Saturdays and would drop me off for the day, and pick me up at day’s end.
It was a second home to me. Loved how displays were plentiful. New museum does nothing for me…
I love writing stories, and found it a little hard to pick just one that relates to the museum.
We were always visitors to Brisbane. Each year in the humid school holidays at Xmas we would drive the long dusty highway to visit Gran.
My grandmother lived in a cottage in East Brisbane, and for some reason she would take most of us (four girls in our family and four boy cousins) to the museum for the day. Like going to the pictures, Gran would bring a large bottle of cordial, a packet of bikkies and some sandwiches.
As a small girl it always seemed such a journey—I guess there was the bus from East Brisbane to the Valley, and then another bus up the hill to the door, or maybe it was still a tram.
There were two main memories, the first was being lost in the cavernous halls full of mystery, and the second was lunch out in the elegant gardens. We had nothing like this building in Canberra.
When I returned to Brisbane with my own three children, realising that the museum had moved, I took them all eagerly to South Bank. They didn’t have any expectation, but I apologised to them on the way in. I had built this trip up to be an adventure, a museum of natural history, a place of caverns, stair wells and being lost. It was too clean, too organised. We have become used to it now, but I wish they had the opportunity to know the old museum.
(the photo was from the time, but not from the museum)
My earliest childhood memories are so very special to me and all my siblings. We grew up in the early 1950s around the Lota–Wynnum area. My dad built our house at Lota when there were only a very few people in the area. We first lived at Allister Street Lota in the small two-bedroom house that is still standing to this day. Each fortnight my dad would add a little more to the house, as money was hard to come by and building materials were very dear.
We were a poor family, but very rich in love. My mum had a large family—eventually there were 12 of us kids, three boys and nine girls, but the other two boys were the babies of the family, so our brother was third in line after two sisters and then the rest of us girls down to the twin boys, so he had a lot to contend with. We were always happy and got along just fine. Our outings were very special to us because of where we were taken and it was usually on a Sunday. A lovely train ride from Lota, or Wynnum where we lived later, to the beautiful palace that was ours. That is what we had in our hearts and minds: that the beautiful museum building in the Valley was ours alone.
What fantasies we created. It was our palace—running from floor to floor lifting the brown covers that were over a lot of the glass topped display cabinets to reveal another fascinating specimen—the wonderful skeletons and exotic collections from faraway lands—the magnificent lions and tigers at the front desk—our minds went wild with imagination—then the big lung fish out on the beautiful verandah. This was our special place—we each imagined that parts of that glorious building was our “home” and we would go and visit our brother and sisters in their part of this “palace”.
Mum would always take a packed lunch for us all and then we would sit in the beautiful gardens and imagine that we were very rich indeed to have such a wonderful home. The day would never end without the obligatory climbing all over the “Mephisto,” the old war tank at the entrance. We loved that old building, it was a complete part of our childhood. Many of us married and had children and took them to visit this special place that was so dear to us as well. Until Brisbane lost its identity and some of its history, a sad day to see the museum being moved. We have visited the new one in South Bank a few times and I am so sorry to say it has no charm. It’s clinical and uninteresting. We lost a wonderful tourist destination and a beautiful piece of history.
Please don’t ever demolish this building. It is well loved and part of Brisbane’s history. Thank you for reading.
I’m from Ashgrove—well really Oakleigh—but its not a suburb anymore. It’s near the army base at Enoggera. I went to the Oakleigh State School in the late ’40s—over a thousand kids there then. I had an uncle who was a Queensland senator.
I remember the Mephisto from a visit in the late 1950s but really the old museum building was a place I was always going past, and every so often I’d have a closer look. I recall the dusty corridors upstairs and the display cases—full of rocks!
What took me past? I played hockey for a while—that was at Victoria Park. So I’d catch the tram to it and walk back to the museum to catch the tram home. I played school football in Ballymore Park—we’d all ride our bikes there, play, and ride back. Or those who took the tram would come back to the museum to catch their tram home. In ’59—I was fourteen—I’d always be going to the Centenary Pool. It was the place to be. I’d ride my bike over. Your bike was like part of your body. It was freedom.
I was always going past, and sometimes I’d take a closer look.
Notes from the editor: Noel Milliner told this story to Margie Barram at the Australian Garden History Society display at the Ekka. The uncle Noel mentions in the story was Senator Bertie Milliner, whose sudden death in 1975 precipitated the contentious appointment of Albert Field to the senate and the constitutional crisis that followed. Noel’s nephew Glen Milliner served as a member of the Queensland parliament.
I’ve always loved the architecture of the old building. I recall the hanging dinosaur and the exhibits—snakes and lizards in jars—and the skeletons.
I was visiting in the 1970s. I lived out west—Roma—and each year we’d come to the Ekka for a few days, and then to grandma’s at Redcliffe for a few days. I’d see the beautiful old building on the corner. It was terrible to see it neglected—there were ten years of disrepair—I remember it had broken windows. It picked up when the orchestra came.
A note from the editor: Richard Kennedy told this story to Margie Barram at the Australian Garden History Society display at the Ekka.