Fairlie, aka Alison from Feet on Foreign Lands is a very interesting lady. I love the way she story tells on her blog and her quirky views on things. Anyway she is having an Instagram Challenge this month called #feetonmyhometown. I’ve not been About Townsville for the first ten days of the month, but now that I’ve returned for a week, I am going to try and post an Instagram photo in the challenge every day, today’s theme being Religion.
Now this is an unfortunate day to commence, because I am not at all religious, but then I thought of all the churches I visited in Italy during our 10 Weeks in Europe 2015 and thought to hell with it, I’ll find an interesting church in my own home town.
One of these vessels adorns either side of the front doors of the church. I’m thinking they are for holy water.
Then I remembered a little timber church in the Townsville suburb of Stuart, that I always liked the look of as a child. I shocked the hell out of my mother as a ten year old by telling her I wanted to be married in it. You see she was of Methodist persuasion and this was a Roman Catholic church… but my dream was not about religion. Luckily we ended up getting married in our own back yard so no issues of denomination arose on the day. I wonder if my Mother was relieved by our choice of venue, or if she had forgotten the conversation entirely – I must ask her.
I was shocked to see the state of the furthest reaches of the Suburb. Even though it was viewed as a bit of an outpost fifty years ago, the yards of the houses were more or less cared for then, with a splash of green grass and a flowering shrub or two to brighten the canvas. Now with two highways running through it and an industrial area on the other side of the rail track that has grown, the highway bound houses are forlorn and ghetto’ish (apologies in advance to any residents).
We turned into the backstreets to find a way to the church in question, only because we weren’t sure access from the highway was still possible and I was relieved to see the homes and gardens were more loved back there. It was as if the highway frontages were forfeited to the devil so that real life could flourish out of sight. Anyways, we found a way to the church which had a sleeping beauty aura about it. The grounds of the church were dry, brown and crisp, with a comprehensive scattering of kangaroo poo. Obviously the ‘roos congregate here when the grass is greener and leave their pellets by way of donation. When the rains arrive the transformation should be heavenly.
It would be a gorgeous little church to be married in, not that I could see within today. To the rear of the church sat an out of place sun lounge and some Vincas – flowers that would surely flourish on Mars. I’m not sure if services are held at the Church any more, but if you want to be married there you’d better water the grass first or else ask for divine intervention. The priory next door (is that what they’re called) – a high faded fibro house with a brutalist looking cross nailed to the front of it – looked abandoned.[pinit]
To the side front of the Church was the most gorgeous diminutive (although from this angle it doesn’t look so) tower whose bell I refrained from ringing.
You can follow About Townsville on Facebook or using the hashtag #AboutTownsville. Anyone can follow Feet On Foreign Lands on Instagram and partake of the challenge too.
I’ve linked to Corinne’s Weekend Travel Inspiration at Reflections Enroute.