Run your hands along its chiselled, tawny-hued stone walls and it's almost possible to feel the past that lingers within the Victorian Gothic church after 16 decades catering to the stuff of life.
Births, deaths and marriages, Sunday worship and milestones – the manifestation of the evolution of a community, a town, a region – each a story in its own right and over 160 years, filling countless volumes devoted to such records.
As one of the Canberra area's longest surviving ecclesiastical constructions - and routinely considered “among the most beautiful” - there's also the curiosities, quirks and even a mystery or two for good measure.
Initially without its 75-foot spire and the stained glass windows to the memory of many a prominent local citizen, Christ Church opened in service of the Queanbeyan district's Anglican faithful on October 7, 1860.
The “more than two hundred-weight” bell that pealed for the occasion had been installed four months before, even though the pointed rooftop wouldn't adorn its tower until March the following year.
It was also 1861, on October 30, a day before the pagan festival which became a religious occasion, All Hallow's Eve, that the second Bishop of Sydney, Frederic Barker, conferred consecration – that is, performed the highly specific ceremony intended to deliver it from any evil.
Sheltered within stately grounds set upon the bank of a picturesque river, Christ Church remains as impressive as when it first appeared for a host of reasons, not least its prime real estate.
A pin to mark the close to three acre site on a map shows it to be virtually the geographic heart of the once tiny “village” that's grown into a major regional centre around it.
In a modern setting, it's noted as representing “a consolidation of the city centre and of the Anglican faith in the region; this National Trust classified precinct is one of Queanbeyan's most historically significant sites”.
Back in the day, like the small town's other major infrastructure project of the period, its first bridge, Christ Church was considered "a sign of a new Queanbeyan in which the beautiful could supplant the merely useful ... predicting the growth and prosperity of the 1860s ... behind it, symbols of the primitive past, overshadowed by new splendours".
Nonetheless, while a mere block from the business district, many a tourist and resident alike remark on having stumbled across it as though some deliberately tucked away secret sanctuary.
As the third oldest Parish in the Anglican diocese ("ministrations" suggested as early as 1836 though "no need for a church"), hot on the heels of Goulburn and Yass, it's inevitably a place of numerous firsts.
The fledgling town's first doctor, a dapper chap by the lovely sounding double-barrel name of William Foxton-Hayley, had the honour of strategically placing its foundation stone on August 25, 1859.
The diligent efforts of Irish-born builder Daniel Jordan – also believed to potentially have had a hand in the design – ensuring it was open for business, if not quite in its finished state, in just over a year.
The building was the second house of God to then stand upon the Limestone Plains – the other, the similarly-styled St John's in now Canberra (1913), completed mid-1844.
It was though, the third to exist: Christ Church Mk 1 was a simple edifice of “rubble-stone walls, without buttresses”, erected on the same spot as its later replacement, in time for Christmas, 1844 - and hence its name.
Its boast was to outdo merchant Robert Campbell's St John's, constructed nearby his estate, Duntroon (1833), for the approved status of consecration. No less than the Bishop of Australia of the Church of England, William Broughton, would perform the ritual for Christ Church – as well as baptise almost a dozen citizens – on March 8, 1845. The Scottish Campbell's “kirk” would wait another four days.
NB: Prior to the existence of any church, along with services held in homes, they were also conducted in the “Bachelors' Quarters” at Jerrabomberra - it's suggested that in just five years, some 70 weddings took place there.
The Queanbeyan church grounds, initially enclosed with an unadorned wooden fence, later a more ornate iron picket one, were designated on the small grid of streets etched to indicate the original 1838 plan for a town. Six years later they'd be home to the wider area's first educational establishment (followed by Ginninderra and St John's school).
It wasn't overly unusual the European arrivals did so long without one: children were a rarity in a place so remote. In 1840, it's recorded of 72 town-dwellers, 16 were women and only six were offspring.
The quaint inaugural school – just a single room with a dirt floor and accommodating as many as 30 pupils at once - still stands on the southern boundary of the land parcel given up for holy purposes.
Continuing to serve as a Sunday School, it's now flanked by a a second classroom added in 1868 and a facilities room built from bricks from the old Burbong Bridge in the 1990s.
Some even suggest having seen peering out its windows the ghostly face of a portly, balding man. If so, it could be Dr Andrew Morton, first schoolmaster, perhaps eternally awaiting the return of his rowdy troops (although he passed away in the Mill House on the river corner of Collett and Morisset Streets).
Added at the same juncture as the school were a rudimentary parsonage and rough-hewn, whitewashed stables. The home of the horses vital to an early parson given the extraordinary area for which he was responsible, also survive.
Not so fortunate the “old” church, despite Bishop Barker declaring “once a church was consecrated, it was consecrated for eternity".
At a humble 44 feet by 24 feet - and in comparison with the solid new Catholic one of 1850, almost directly opposite on the river's eastern bank and honouring St Gregory the Great – it was deemed no longer an edifying enough testament to God in his heavens.
Enter the 27-year-old Reverend Alberto Dias Soares, son of a Portuguese knight and an English mother, a qualified artist and engineer and former resident of Paris.
Having arrived in the antipodes with grand plans to construct a railway line between Sydney and Melbourne, come 1857 Soares instead found himself as a Minister in the nether regions of a recently declared British colony.
He was the second so appointed to the Church of England Parish of Queanbeyan – the craggy-faced Rev. Edward Smith having fulfilled the duty for almost 20 years when the jurisdiction was even more vast.
Gazetted May 30, 1838, four months prior to the proclamation of the town itself, it originally stretched from Gundaroo in the south, covering all the Monaro, to the coast at Eden and into Gippsland. The later parishes of Cooma and Canberra would see its redesign.
The cosmopolitan, dark-haired Soares with his impressive sideburns – in older age progressing to a rather straggly white beard – wasted no time in looking to cast his talents to something befitting his area of influence.
With his formal qualifications as an architect apparently coming under the banner of the engineering discipline, his own church would become one of 30-odd for which he'd be acknowledged, from Burra to Bungendore, Carwoola and beyond.
Just a single one was outside the C of E denomination - Queanbeyan's St Stephen's Presbyterian (1874) - with a handful of halls and dwellings, among them, Hibernia Lodge (1863) also in Queanbeyan.
Christ Church was to be remade seemingly in the likeness of St John's with a “cross-shaped plan form” (while both are considered "Gothic", they are missing the recognised icon of Medieval-styled churches, the gargoyles intended to literally frighten people into attendance).
Although Soares hadn't been around for the Canberra endeavour, he was responsible for remediations following the urban legend its tower had been struck by lightning. More prosaic, the foundations were the problem and thus, a more impressive spire (designed by the architect responsible for Uni of Sydney, Edmund Blackett), chancel (area around altar) and nave (congregation space) took it to its current dimensions.
The instigator for Queanbeyan's bastion of faith fashioned a miniature of his design – although cardboard, standing up almost as well as its stone counterpart - and sold coloured lithographs to help raise much-needed funds.
The edifice itself came to be constructed of materials quarried some 35 kilometres distant, and similar to the first District Hospital, it opening its doors in 1861.
Internally, Soares' accomplishment was appointed “according to evangelical taste”: its vaulted ceiling criss-crossed with dark heavy beams, narrow wooden pews to seat a few hundred, brass fittings, tall, brightly coloured windows and various plaques of marble and timber both.
The last of these were presented for leading families: businessman and one-time Mayor, John Bull, deserving of a three-panelled stained glass commemoration behind the altar; and a memorial tablet for the town's first Police Magistrate, Captain Alured Faunce. Highly regarded for his tight rein on law-and-order, when barely middle-aged, he dropped down dead while playing a game of cricket in 1856.
There's others also to its passing parade of Ministers – to date, just a single female rector, the Venerable Elizabeth Dyke, historically appointed in 2014, serving the Parish for three years.
The first to hold the fort, the Rev. Smith, had his glass acknowledgement unveiled by Governor-General Viscount Dunrossil for the 1960 centenary.
Stained glass was quite the financial outlay and the fundraisers can't have been happy when, according to local author Graeme Barrow, shortly after the installation of their initial masterpieces, sourced in England, an errant cricket ball made its way through one.
The exorbitant cost might also account for a rather glaring, unfixed error noted by long-time parishioner, Wendy Smith.
The three Sunday School teacher daughters of the pious William O'Neill, local Constable, earned themselves a place in coloured panels. Unfortunately, the craftsman was less skilled at spelling (and editing): their last name is incorrectly attributed for all eternity as “Oniell”.
Inevitably, congregations fluctuated but in the Census of 1871 when Queanbeyan comprised 582 souls, almost fully half that number proclaimed themselves attached to the Church of England.
Regardless of its seeming popularity, the ability to fill the weekly plate didn't manage to hit the expected high notes. One ramification of this shortfall: for years the church would fail to be graced with a suitable organ, an old reed version having to suffice, disguised with a set of "decorative pipes".
With Soares having added to the schoolhouse in the mid-1860s, a decade later he decided a two-storey Rectory was necessary, rising closer to the river in local, high quality, hand-made red brick. Further additions were made in 1923, this time with building materials sourced from the Canberra Brickworks at Yarralumla, also in production for the construction of the 1927 version of Parliament House.
On the occasion of its 75th anniversary of consecration in 1936, Christ Church was even afforded a substantial - if not entirely accurate - historic wrap-up in the well-regarded Sydney Morning Herald.
Over its time, the church has fielded its share of scandals and blows, and managed to survive a few near-death experiences, too.
In 1875, an official complaint was laid by one parishioner against the Matron of the hospital, Mrs Barnett. The charge was that she had attempted to "interfere" with a dying patient's religion - she having given up her catholicism to become a Protestant.
Father McAuliffe of the local Catholic church defended Mrs Barnett. He declared it was he who had admonished his former parishioner for "leaving her Catholic faith", Mrs Barnett having done no more than witnessed the interaction, not breaching her duties by being involved. With confirmation from the patient that Mrs Barnett had not acted improperly, the Matron was fully exonerated.
Even less lofty, in1978, there was a deliberately lit fire that did some damage to the church, while in the same year there was an ill-conceived Council proposition to knock down the old school to make way for a hall. A timely preservation order put paid to such short-sightedness.
In outward appearances, the home of the spiritual has essentially remained unchanged, though there's been a few modifications with the passing of the years.
Trees, some of which were plantings taken from Duntroon and the Sydney Botanic Gardens have grown, withered and been reborn.
The building was graced with a galvanised iron roof to replace the original shingles, and in the year of Federation, 1901, was fitted with a new bell.
The lamp posts which overlooked the main entrance were moved further inside. And perhaps most significantly, there's the stories of its entryways.
It's been noted the dimensions of Christ Church are somewhat skewed: it might be that it was something of a “practice run” for Soares - or could it be otherwise?
In more superstitious times, doors were sometimes intentionally misaligned in order to deter spirits entering, based on a belief such entities could only move in a straight line. Such an idea also manifested in funeral attendees leaving a gravesite by a different path in order that they wouldn't be followed home by the deceased's spirit.
And this leads us to a few more of the church's apparent anomalies, including the absence of a graveyard (that term officially applies when the final resting place of the dead is the neighbour of a church).
While it was declared St John's adjacent burial ground “was to be the resting place of all Christians”, it took some effort to access in those earlier days, let alone having to cart along a body as well.
Given that until 1846 Queanbeyan only had an unconsecrated, unspecified area in Oaks Estate – where there's still said to be up to 44 bodies buried in unmarked graves – the lack of such a nearby opportunity remains surprising.
Today when coffins make their final journey from Christ Church, they pass beneath the “lych” gate at the main entrance.
Like something out of a Jane Austin novel, they're traditionally found in English churches at the end of what were known as “corpse roads”. These were paths along which bodies were carried for burial; the term “lych” comes from the Saxon word for corpse (and church bells were rung to scare off evil manifestations).
Another superstition attached to them was that it was believed that the spirit of the last person buried in a church graveyard remained at the gate guarding over it, earning the title of “Resurrection Gates”.
The Christ Church entryway was remodelled in 1947 as a memorial to parishioners who lost their lives in the two World Wars.
Among these are the two Mayo brothers – John and Ernest – both killed on the Western Front in 1917.
Not killed in action, the Rev. Robert Elliott did die during wartime.
He'd served as the official chaplain for the Men From Snowy River Recruiting March and would lose two sons of his own to the conflict. Appointed to Queanbeyan in 1917, only a year later, he was making to attend a sick call late at night and in the act of starting his car - the old-fashioned way when it required cranking by hand - it ran over him, crushing his chest, leading to his death.
There have been other tragedies within the vicinity as well.
While the town did have a "Lazarus" - Mr Moses Lazarus - coffin-maker, later mayor and ancestor of footballer turned politician Glenn, it wasn't the fellow who in 1872 apparently rose from the dead.
Believed by the populace to have passed away after they heard the church bell toll for him, shutters and blinds were drawn as a mark of respect. However, there was quite the double-take when shortly after the man was seen standing outside his house – seemingly having collapsed but recovered!
Town patriarch, John Gale - creator of The Queanbeyan Age, coroner, politician and "Father of Canberra" - lost his teenage son Bennie, when he drowned in 1877 in a popular swimming hole overlooked by the Rectory.
There's also the sad coincidence that both of the first pastors, Smith and Soares, had infants who passed away in the old parsonage.
Just beyond where that building stood, off to the side of the main drive that encircles the church, there's a pair of faded, rust-riddled wrought-iron gates.
Flanking them are two sturdy timber posts, painted white, their peaked tops each covered with a little tin roof. They're firmly secured with a heavy, weathered chain and padlock - despite the fact that they stand attached to nothing, keeping neither anything in, nor out.
These were those that were front and centre of the grounds from 1884.
Literally, Gates to Nowhere. Or perhaps it's the past they open to us, a rich and fascinating view down a lane of memory to a time when an unassuming structure with a panoramic view of a pretty watercourse nestled in a valley protected by surrounding outcrops arose to serve both the community and the Lord.
ADDITIONAL SOURCES:
Scarlett, Errol Lea - Queanbeyan District & its People.
Barrow, Graeme - God's Architect.
Gillespie, Lyall - Canberra 1850-1913.
Cross, Rex - Bygone Queanbeyan.
Schumack, Samuel - Canberra Legends.
Gale, John - Canberra Myths & Legends.
Trove
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