The Grub Train and the Emu Hunt That Never Was.

Prince Alfred visits Queensland.

We bowed and scraped to Prince Alfred. We inflicted upon him massacred anthems and a series of mismanaged receptions. The children of St Mary’s at Ipswich made a banner that got his name wrong –Welcome Alfreda? We might have bored him, and almost certainly irritated him, but at least we didn’t try to assassinate him. That would come later, in the more civilised environs of Sydney.

The Queensland visit of His Royal Highness, Prince Alfred Ernest Albert, Duke of Edinburgh and second son of Queen Victoria, was our first royal visit and a very big deal. But every part of the short tour was fraught with miscommunication and misunderstandings, and blame fell squarely on the Government.

At one point, the residents of Toowoomba were so incensed by the perceived insult, “willful, deliberate and intentional,” to their Mayor that they resolved to burn in effigy the Premier Sir Robert Ramsay Mackenzie and Sir Arthur Hunter Palmer. So serious were they about this that a penny subscription was taken up. To defray the costs of assembling and burning the effigies, presumably.

Ipswich at a Clip.

The contemporary reports of His Royal Highness’s ill-starred jaunt through the emerging colony make hilarious reading. After capering gamely through a couple of dances at his Brisbane reception, the Prince departed early the next morning for Ipswich, a locality that he passed through at considerable speed, nodding and raising his hat a couple of times before vanishing into the Railway Station.

The brevity of the Prince’s appearance may have been due a desire on the part of his handlers to avoid subjecting their charge to the “assassination” of the national anthem by thronged schoolchildren, and the interminable obsequious bleating of local officials. The local worthies were miffed at being told to merely hand over the written speeches for HRH to peruse later. Thanks. There was a ruckus in the children’s parade, and the honour guard of four hundred local horsemen riding as an escort to the Prince became “an irregular scamper.”

Ipswich was rather embarrassed by the kerfuffle but found the Prince somewhat wanting too. “We failed to see in the demeanour of our visitor the faintest indication of a desire to ingratiate himself with the citizens, or to gratify the subjects of his mother by his courtesy and condescension,” fumed the Ipswich correspondent for the Courier.

Perhaps a jaunt deeper into the Downs might be a success. Let’s say, the tiny township of Jondaryan, which had lately been favoured with a railway station. A Royal dinner there, and some shooting the next day. What could go wrong?

“Now, damn it, put the tucker on the table.”

Jondaryan Homestead, 1870s

A letter to the Editor of the Courier from a local who called himself “Yankee,” provides a wondrous account of the Royal visit to Jondaryan.

“Having seen a great deal lately in the papers about the Royal Duke, I, in common with many others, thought it as well to spend a day (and a few “bob” at the same time) to get a peep at a real live Prince, so off we started, from Dalby to Jondaryan (as the Duke could not come to us, we, as a matter of course, went to him).

On arriving at Jondaryan, the first remarkable thing that met the eye (after “Snow’s” public house) was, what I at first imagined to be a coffin of Brobdingnagian dimensions, then I thought it a wild beast show, but where the wild beasts? At any rate upon asking a well-dressed individual (who turned out to be a railway porter), he condescended to inform me, that it was built “for the Prince to doine in.” After about an hour, more or less (we take no note of time up here) it was announced by a sedate young man, in a solemn tone of voice that the “grub” train was about to arrive.

It did arrive certainly, but unfortunately, for some of us, there was a very limited supply of creature comforts, so that those who only received outside tickets (i.e., permission to take a view of the bonfires some three miles distant) stood an excellent chance of not going supperless to bed even, hut of walking about for twelve or fourteen hours on empty stomachs by way of recreation.

In the course of an hour or two it was intimated by the aforesaid sedate young person, that Prince Alfred’s train was coming: it arrived safe, I am happy to say, but something like two hours behind time, which could not be helped of course, as in spite of all the decorations about her, and under the superior management (perhaps) of the two best enginemen the Government line, the engine refused to “make steam.”

On the arrival of the Prince (who was loudly cheered) it was found the dinner was not placed on the tables, so a rather stout middle aged gentleman (with a powerful voice) matched majestically into the pavilion, and said “Now, d–n it, put the tucker on the table,” which put the waiters into such a state of confusion that they forthwith made frantic rushes in all directions, mistaking, I have no doubt, the gent with the voice, for H.R.H. At last, it was announced “the dinner waits.” H.R.H. and party had to run slight risks of getting capsized, as the gangway of planks which they had to traverse to reach the pavilion was not very brilliantly illuminated, being lighted by two or three small lamps and the above-mentioned bonfires.

During the evening a damper was presented to the Royal Duke, which he graciously received. The gentleman who presented it made a speech, but all I could hear was something about hems of garments, and that sort of thing. I saw no guard of honour, if you except one solitary volunteer, with a sword about four feet long, assisted by some half-dozen melancholy policemen (by the bye, all policemen are melancholy the “job” suits their complaint), who had a very woe begone expression of countenance, and looked as though they were doing duty as mutes to the big coffin.

It being rather cold outside I did not remain near the pavilion long enough to witness the breaking up of the party , but after putting myself outside some P.B., I put myself inside a railway carriage, and slept till morning, and then returned to Dalby.

Now Mr Editor, if you think the above worthy of insertion, insert it, if not, send it the way of all wastepaper.”

And the spot of shooting? Oh dear.

“It was intended to have got up an emu hunt over the Downs, and it was reported that horses for that purpose were to be provided by the proprietors of the run, but through some misunderstanding they were not forthcoming when required.” Sigh. “A parcel of schoolboys would have arranged the matter in a more satisfactory manner.” I doubt that H.R.H. would have disagreed.

The departure from Brisbane shortly afterwards caused a visible lift in the Prince’s spirits, as he returned the ovations of the crowds with genuine enthusiasm. A cheerful ceremony attended the Prince’s departure from the Bay, and the ordeal was over. The Prince expressed himself “much pleased” with his visit here. It was brief, after all.

And what was the man himself like? One correspondent for the Darling Downs Gazette actually saw the Prince briefly as he left for the aborted emu hunt. “He was dressed in plain clothes, with the small round hat peculiar to the new chum. He is apparently twenty-four years of age, stands about 5 feet 7 or 8 inches in height, and has a frank and pleasing countenance. His manner is unassuming and quiet.” Indeed, Alfred seems to have escaped that pop-eyed, chinless look of some of Victoria’s offspring.

Upon his arrival in Sydney, his staff requested a lighter schedule of events, probably flabbergasted by the hectic jaunt through the subtropics. H.R.H. decided that a picnic at Clontarf, to raise funds for a sailor’s home would be just the ticket, and duly partook of the festivities. On a post-luncheon stroll with Sir William Manning, the Prince was shot in the back at close range by a Henry James O’Farrell, who may have been a Fenian separatist, and who was probably mentally ill. Fortunately, the shot did not do serious damage, and an operation was successful. Mr O’Farrell was quickly tried, convicted and executed, and His Royal Highness returned to duties as soon as his health permitted.

The Attempted Assassination of H.R.H. The Duke of Edinburgh at Clontarf, N.S.W., Samuel Calvert.

Prince Alfred made two informal visits to the Australian colonies in the following years. In 1874, he married the Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna of Russia, became the Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha in 1893, before passing away in 1900. And he never did get to hunt emus.