A Dunedin Dolorosa

By David Kitchingman in Articles

reflections on monuments on a walk around Dunedin

A Dunedin Dolorosa

This Sunday is Easter 6. The wooden cross for the interchurch Good Friday procession is well and truly packed away for another year, together with the white face marks used by the Mornington Youth Group to dramatise Peter's denial.

Anzac Day is also over. The poppies have been blown away from the base of the cenotaph. Donald Phillipps has carefully delineated the grim statistics and unheeded lessons of war (Connections 29 April).

But should we now get into cruise mode for another year? Is there any sorrow like unto his sorrow, any sorrows like unto theirs? Take a walk, and stumble across some examples of Dunedin's own Via Dolorosa, over a wide range of human pain, sorrow and loss. I often do, and could start close to home at:

Fraser's Gully - 'Trees for Babies'. A memorial opportunity extending, as far as I know, to miscarriages. Surely one of the most hidden sorrows and one of the hardest for others to fully comprehend? By contrast, climb the steps across the valley to one of the most notable losses of our civilization:

Corner Falcon and Oates Streets - Scott and Oates memorial plaque. One hundred years on from Robert Falcon Scott's 'brave endurance and heroic fortitude' (differentiate the two qualities if you can). It also marks Captain Oates' 'supreme act of self sacrifice'. Receiving a copy of Scott's Last Expedition as a young boy was good for my soul, I'm sure. It was a tragedy not diminished by more recent revelations of planning and leadership inadequacies. Down the hill to:

Arthur Street cemetery. Early settlers' monument. Dedicated not only to the memory of a number of early settlers whose remains were interred there but also those children who died at sea and their grieving parents. A quote from an onboard diary says it all. 'And in a moment the gentle form that had so often been fondly clasped in the mother's and the father's bosom was plunged beneath the waves.' And so to:

Rattray Street. Kavanagh College Administration entrance. Crucifixion. A strikingly simple silhouette torched through sheet steel depicting the Crucifixion. This is but one testimony on a number of blocks of prime Dunedin real estate, including St Joseph's Cathedral, to the worldwide impact of the Passion narratives. For the same phenomenon, but by stark contrast, descend to:

Lower Rattray Street. Graffiti. Just ' ' scribbled on a wall in one of the seedier parts of town. Who wrote it, when and why? A cheap memorial or a message? Even if only as a curse it speaks volumes for the universal influence of the Jesus story. Often innocuous, but often too a cry for help of some kind. As the Cello Choir so beautifully reminded us at its concert last month, 'Nobody knows the trouble I've seen, Nobody knows but Jesus.' Then along to:

Edge of Queens Gardens. Queen Victoria monument. Austerely labelled 'Victoria R & I 1827-1901'. R & I = Regina and Imperatrix = Queen and Empress. Times were when most of our pakeha grandparents or great grandparents spoke of her with pride. They were at ease with 'the Colony' in reference to our country and nation. Yet 'Colonialism', colonized' and 'colonization' can now carry painful pejorative associations for many peoples round the globe. Across the grass to:

Queens Gardens. Victoria Cross monument. Again, one can see how sensitivities keep developing in the course of history. Even this modern monument begins with the words: 'The Maori War 1864', yet ends with 'Afghanistan - Cpl W. H. Apiata 2007'. And nearby:

Queens Gardens. Celtic Cross. This 2001 memorial is a much more nuanced attempt to signify the intertwining and interactions of our history. It incorporates 'the Christian origins of Dunedin' and 'the Koha from local Maori to newly arriving settlers'. Next stop:

Corner Cumberland and Rattray Streets. The Dunedin Chinese Garden (Lan Yuan). 380,000 terracotta roof and floor tiles and 970 tonnes of lake rock transported from China. Why? Not specifically as a memorial - more as a gift. No mention of The Chinese Immigrants Act 1881 or the poll tax. A tangible thing those of European descent can do to show sensitivity and appreciation is to join the Friends of the Chinese Garden. Thence a long walk
(past some molar sculptures reminding you of 'weeping and wailing...') takes you to another weighty rock:

Corner Portsmouth Drive and Portobello Road. Rock Rongo. The rock, named after the god of peace and cultivation, came from Taranaki and sits upon a plinth with a number of commemorative plaques. It memorializes the Taranaki Maori prisoners of the late 19th century, many of whom died here and have no known place of burial. It alludes to the aspirations of the Parihaka movement and the prophets Te Whiti o Rongomai and Tohu Kakahi. As a Taranakian whose grandparents farmed close to Parihaka, I am bound to pause quietly at Rock Rongo to think about 'the struggle and the tears'. But next it's off to:

Princes Street South. The Market Reserve Workers' Memorial. A memorial service is held at this site every year on International Workers Memorial Day, April 28th. A wreath is laid (this year's is probably still there) to commemorate those workers in Otago who lost their lives as a result of unnecessary work-related accidents. A black balloon is released to signify the death of each worker. Then there is one more stop on the way back home at:

Corner Galloway and Whitby Streets. Mornington Methodist Church. The church has its own marble war memorial on the wall of the Hall, reading 'The Great War: 1914-1919: Roll of Honour'. The names of 37 personnel are inscribed, of whom nine were killed. There is no equivalent for the 1939-1945 War that I have noticed. What may be the reasons for that? There is, however, one other memorial that is very recent. A small granite stone outside reads: 'In Memory of Joan Robertson: 1939-2011'. It sits beside the kowhai Peace Tree planted last year and behind the notice board where Joan's works of art were so much in evidence.

Even in the last several weeks one of Joan's posters was used again. It read: 'Lent to Easter'. Might our imaginations have been stirred if we could have now had another one from her, reading 'Easter to Lent'? Enough time after the landmark days of church and national remembrances to ponder on manifold sadness and the fact that 'some there be which have no memorial' (Ecclesiasticus 44:9). The biggies in the yearly calendar may really serve limited purpose if they don't alert us to the often hidden and humdrum angst of the human condition.

David Kitchingman