Latest news with #StateLibraryofQueensland
Sydney Morning Herald
04-08-2025
- Entertainment
- Sydney Morning Herald
‘We brought dagwood dogs to Queensland': What it's like to grow up in a family of Ekka workers
If you're going to the Ekka and thinking of getting a dagwood dog – and why wouldn't you, they're delicious when freshly made – you'll be biting down on a deep-fried, sauce-slathered piece of Queensland history. The story goes like this. Corn dogs were invented by German immigrants to Texas in the 1920s. About 1949 they were brought to Sydney's Easter Show by Americans, and were known as pluto pups, pronto pups and ultimately dagwood dogs, after a character from the popular comic strip Blondie. Thelma Howard, a second-generation Queensland show woman, along with her brother Charlie Pink and another showman called Dickie Riley, decided they would figure out how to make their own. The ones at the Sydney show were made in a waffle iron, a slow process resulting in long queues. Howard, Pink and Riley were sure there was a better way. Howard's granddaughter, Bronwyn Bridgewater, takes up the tale. 'They put the stick in it, and they dipped it in batter, and put it in boiling water, and all the batter came off! 'They finally worked out how to make a dagwood dog in oil. My grandfather and grandmother, who were very entrepreneurial, were the first people to start using canteens [food trucks] to sell dagwood dogs, and the first major catering family for dagwood dogs.' She vividly remembers her grandfather, Bill Howard, strapping on a box filled with dagwood dogs to go in and sell to punters watching the Jimmy Sharman Boxing Show at the Ekka in the 1950s. 'And while he was doing that we were like crazy cooking more, because he'd come back and fill it up again.' Gold Coast-based Bridgewater is the State Library of Queensland's 2025 Royal Queensland Show Fellow, researching the 149-year history of the Ekka. At the age of 72, she's surprised at the turn her life has taken. She had resigned herself to never using her Masters in Creative Writing to tell her story. 'The thing is that once you retire, you feel it's all over,' she sighs. She had been working on a film script about her early life as a show kid, but had been 'feeling pretty lost' since the death of her husband, an Australian Christian Churches pastor. Last year she found out about the State Library fellowship four days before it closed, and got her application in. Then a medical issue struck: a doctor told her she had cancer of the thyroid. 'I thought, that's it. I hope I don't win it now, because I'm gonna die.' Not only did she win the fellowship, when her thyroid was removed it proved to be cancer free. 'It all worked out very well for me.' In Bridgewater, the State Library lucked upon a researcher who is also a living, breathing source of Ekka lore. Her great-grandparents, Snowy and Ethel Pink, would travel Queensland and Northern NSW in a horse and wagon as far back as 1894, running sideshows and living in tents with their seven children. Their eldest daughter, Thelma, was variously a contortionist, a snake handler, a ukulele player and a sharpshooter. 'My grandmother was a dead-eye shot. She used to shoot at a woman who would supposedly catch the bullet in her mouth, but it was really [hitting] a plate on the chest. My grandmother would be required to shoot exactly at that spot so that she didn't kill her. She would have the local farmers inspect the gun to prove it was authentic.' One day – this was the early 1930s – Thelma had an odd intuition about her assistant. 'She said, 'What's going on?' And she checked, and the plate was not there. She said, 'What are you doing?' The girl goes, 'I broke up with my boyfriend and I wanted to die!'' Bronwyn was born in 1953. As her parents had split up she was legally adopted by her grandparents and lived with her young mother, Betty Marshall, on the show circuit. The Pinks would travel from North Queensland to Brisbane, through NSW out to Dubbo, through Victoria and all the way to Mount Gambier in South Australia. 'In the show community, everyone's an auntie or an uncle,' she says. The Slim Dusty Show was an Ekka staple back then; Bronwyn would play with Dusty's daughter, Anne Kirkpatrick. Boxing legend Jimmy Sharman was her godfather. At the age of five she would wander the grounds, and take herself to the sample bag (showbag) pavilion. 'My grandmother would say, 'well, Bronwyn, if you're gonna go get a sample bag, the cops are gonna pick you up. And when they do, you've got to take them to Jimmy Sharman's boxing tent.' 'Jimmy Sharman would come out, and then the copper would get to shake his hand, and, and then Jimmy would say, 'she's not lost, she knows this showground better than me.' All the coppers wanted to shake Jimmy Sharman's hand, so they were on the lookout for me just so they could.' In those days, showgoers would clamour to prove their mettle in the ring against prize fighters. It was the age of fairground spruikers and tent shows: the Gladiator Show, the Samson the Strongman Show, the Globe of Death motorbike show, the Monkey Show. In those days the dignity of animals or humans was less of a concern. A troupe of pygmies brought out from the Congo by showman David Meekin reportedly made a very comfortable living performing on the circuit. 'The Pygmy Show was the highlight of my life when I was little,' Bridgewater admits. She attended the local school in whichever town the show was on. 'None of the kids would talk to you. I had a girl say to me in Coonamble, 'Oh, you show people are really dirty. When you drive past the showgrounds, you can see all your washing hanging outside for everyone to see.' 'And I said, 'Well, if you didn't see our washing, you'd say we're dirty because we didn't wash!' 'I respect the showmen, because they're very philosophical about it, and they teach their children not to be defensive and angry about people treating them that way.' 'I had a girl say, 'You show people are really dirty. When you drive past the showgrounds, you can see all your washing hanging outside.'' Bronwyn Bridgewater It all came to an end when her grandmother enrolled her in a Catholic boarding school, Marist Sisters Convent, in Sydney. The nuns quickly realised she couldn't read or write. 'But I was good at maths, which all showkids are, because they're good at taking change.' She married Mark Bridgewater young, at 19, had six kids, and co-founded the Eastcoast Church in Coogee, Sydney. She never returned to the show life, although she remains close to her extended show family. Her grandfather, stepfather and uncle all served as president of the Showmen's Guild of Australasia; her cousin, Aaron Pink, is the current president. Today's sideshow alley is a very different place to what it once was, she notes. 'The tent shows stopped in the '70s. It's now become the age of the multi-million dollar rides, and the thrills and spills have to be better and bigger every year. Loading 'They have to have engineers check those rides very frequently to make sure they're safe. It's very tough for the showmen because every time there's an incident on a ride, insurance goes up.' Sideshow alley may be her special subject, but Bridgewater's fellowship has her meeting legends of other show staples like showjumpers, woodchoppers and cakemakers. As for dagwood dogs? She hasn't eaten one in decades. 'As a kid, I loved dagwood dogs. And sample bags – it's a credit to dentistry that I still have all my own teeth, because of the number of sample bags I ate growing up. 'I guess I've always been, and always will be, a showman.'
The Age
04-08-2025
- Entertainment
- The Age
‘We brought dagwood dogs to Queensland': What it's like to grow up in a family of Ekka workers
If you're going to the Ekka and thinking of getting a dagwood dog – and why wouldn't you, they're delicious when freshly made – you'll be biting down on a deep-fried, sauce-slathered piece of Queensland history. The story goes like this. Corn dogs were invented by German immigrants to Texas in the 1920s. About 1949 they were brought to Sydney's Easter Show by Americans, and were known as pluto pups, pronto pups and ultimately dagwood dogs, after a character from the popular comic strip Blondie. Thelma Howard, a second-generation Queensland show woman, along with her brother Charlie Pink and another showman called Dickie Riley, decided they would figure out how to make their own. The ones at the Sydney show were made in a waffle iron, a slow process resulting in long queues. Howard, Pink and Riley were sure there was a better way. Howard's granddaughter, Bronwyn Bridgewater, takes up the tale. 'They put the stick in it, and they dipped it in batter, and put it in boiling water, and all the batter came off! 'They finally worked out how to make a dagwood dog in oil. My grandfather and grandmother, who were very entrepreneurial, were the first people to start using canteens [food trucks] to sell dagwood dogs, and the first major catering family for dagwood dogs.' She vividly remembers her grandfather, Bill Howard, strapping on a box filled with dagwood dogs to go in and sell to punters watching the Jimmy Sharman Boxing Show at the Ekka in the 1950s. 'And while he was doing that we were like crazy cooking more, because he'd come back and fill it up again.' Gold Coast-based Bridgewater is the State Library of Queensland's 2025 Royal Queensland Show Fellow, researching the 149-year history of the Ekka. At the age of 72, she's surprised at the turn her life has taken. She had resigned herself to never using her Masters in Creative Writing to tell her story. 'The thing is that once you retire, you feel it's all over,' she sighs. She had been working on a film script about her early life as a show kid, but had been 'feeling pretty lost' since the death of her husband, an Australian Christian Churches pastor. Last year she found out about the State Library fellowship four days before it closed, and got her application in. Then a medical issue struck: a doctor told her she had cancer of the thyroid. 'I thought, that's it. I hope I don't win it now, because I'm gonna die.' Not only did she win the fellowship, when her thyroid was removed it proved to be cancer free. 'It all worked out very well for me.' In Bridgewater, the State Library lucked upon a researcher who is also a living, breathing source of Ekka lore. Her great-grandparents, Snowy and Ethel Pink, would travel Queensland and Northern NSW in a horse and wagon as far back as 1894, running sideshows and living in tents with their seven children. Their eldest daughter, Thelma, was variously a contortionist, a snake handler, a ukulele player and a sharpshooter. 'My grandmother was a dead-eye shot. She used to shoot at a woman who would supposedly catch the bullet in her mouth, but it was really [hitting] a plate on the chest. My grandmother would be required to shoot exactly at that spot so that she didn't kill her. She would have the local farmers inspect the gun to prove it was authentic.' One day – this was the early 1930s – Thelma had an odd intuition about her assistant. 'She said, 'What's going on?' And she checked, and the plate was not there. She said, 'What are you doing?' The girl goes, 'I broke up with my boyfriend and I wanted to die!'' Bronwyn was born in 1953. As her parents had split up she was legally adopted by her grandparents and lived with her young mother, Betty Marshall, on the show circuit. The Pinks would travel from North Queensland to Brisbane, through NSW out to Dubbo, through Victoria and all the way to Mount Gambier in South Australia. 'In the show community, everyone's an auntie or an uncle,' she says. The Slim Dusty Show was an Ekka staple back then; Bronwyn would play with Dusty's daughter, Anne Kirkpatrick. Boxing legend Jimmy Sharman was her godfather. At the age of five she would wander the grounds, and take herself to the sample bag (showbag) pavilion. 'My grandmother would say, 'well, Bronwyn, if you're gonna go get a sample bag, the cops are gonna pick you up. And when they do, you've got to take them to Jimmy Sharman's boxing tent.' 'Jimmy Sharman would come out, and then the copper would get to shake his hand, and, and then Jimmy would say, 'she's not lost, she knows this showground better than me.' All the coppers wanted to shake Jimmy Sharman's hand, so they were on the lookout for me just so they could.' In those days, showgoers would clamour to prove their mettle in the ring against prize fighters. It was the age of fairground spruikers and tent shows: the Gladiator Show, the Samson the Strongman Show, the Globe of Death motorbike show, the Monkey Show. In those days the dignity of animals or humans was less of a concern. A troupe of pygmies brought out from the Congo by showman David Meekin reportedly made a very comfortable living performing on the circuit. 'The Pygmy Show was the highlight of my life when I was little,' Bridgewater admits. She attended the local school in whichever town the show was on. 'None of the kids would talk to you. I had a girl say to me in Coonamble, 'Oh, you show people are really dirty. When you drive past the showgrounds, you can see all your washing hanging outside for everyone to see.' 'And I said, 'Well, if you didn't see our washing, you'd say we're dirty because we didn't wash!' 'I respect the showmen, because they're very philosophical about it, and they teach their children not to be defensive and angry about people treating them that way.' 'I had a girl say, 'You show people are really dirty. When you drive past the showgrounds, you can see all your washing hanging outside.'' Bronwyn Bridgewater It all came to an end when her grandmother enrolled her in a Catholic boarding school, Marist Sisters Convent, in Sydney. The nuns quickly realised she couldn't read or write. 'But I was good at maths, which all showkids are, because they're good at taking change.' She married Mark Bridgewater young, at 19, had six kids, and co-founded the Eastcoast Church in Coogee, Sydney. She never returned to the show life, although she remains close to her extended show family. Her grandfather, stepfather and uncle all served as president of the Showmen's Guild of Australasia; her cousin, Aaron Pink, is the current president. Today's sideshow alley is a very different place to what it once was, she notes. 'The tent shows stopped in the '70s. It's now become the age of the multi-million dollar rides, and the thrills and spills have to be better and bigger every year. Loading 'They have to have engineers check those rides very frequently to make sure they're safe. It's very tough for the showmen because every time there's an incident on a ride, insurance goes up.' Sideshow alley may be her special subject, but Bridgewater's fellowship has her meeting legends of other show staples like showjumpers, woodchoppers and cakemakers. As for dagwood dogs? She hasn't eaten one in decades. 'As a kid, I loved dagwood dogs. And sample bags – it's a credit to dentistry that I still have all my own teeth, because of the number of sample bags I ate growing up. 'I guess I've always been, and always will be, a showman.'
The Guardian
21-05-2025
- Politics
- The Guardian
First Nations writer stripped of $15,000 State Library of Queensland award over Gaza tweet
The State Library of Queensland has suspended its national Indigenous fellowships and withdrawn the award to one of this year's recipients over a social media post about Gaza. The First Nations writer Karen Wyld, who now writes under the name K A Ren Wyld, was stripped of her Creative Australia-funded $15,000 black&write! fellowship, less than five hours before it was to have been awarded to her, over comments she made on social media in October about the conflict in Gaza. The entire ceremony, due to take place in Brisbane on Tuesday afternoon, was cancelled without notice. The future of other First Nations awards and fellowships is now also under a cloud, including the David Unaipon award for an emerging Aboriginal and/or Torres Strait Islander writer, as the library launches 'an independent review of the suite of awards and fellowships we administer'. Speaking to Guardian Australia, Wyld said she would not be silenced by authorities intent on 'bullying nobodies like me' over their stance on the Gaza war. The Indigenous Adelaide writer had been awarded the fellowship for her 110,000-word manuscript documenting seven generations of stolen Indigenous children. But just after arriving at the State Library of Queensland on Tuesday afternoon she was surprised to receive an email from a News Corp journalist asking for comment on the decision to rescind her fellowship. Sign up for Guardian Australia's breaking news email Ten minutes later, she said, she was ushered into a private room, where the library's chief executive, Vicki McDonald, informed her that the contract for her fellowship, which had previously been signed by the writer and the library's board, had been cancelled. 'She wouldn't tell me why or who was doing it … whether it was from the minister or the board [of the library],' Wyld said. 'She just said it didn't come from her.' Wyld said she told McDonald the withdrawal of the fellowship would add to an increasingly divisive public debate over the right of artists to speak out about Gaza. McDonald said it had been decided that was a risk worth taking, Wyld claimed. A spokesperson for McDonald said the decision to rescind Wyld's fellowship had been 'respectfully communicated to the writer at that time'. When asked if the fellowship had been withdrawn at the request of the Queensland government, the spokesperson said in a statement the decision had been made after the arts minister, John-Paul Langbroek, told parliament he had 'taken the decision that this award should not be presented' at the state library. 'Based on that decision, State Library of Queensland yesterday postponed the black&write! ceremony,' the statement said. A story published in The Australian on Tuesday afternoon said the grant had been withdrawn after Langbroek and the Queensland premier, David Crisafulli, wrote to McDonald and the library's chair, Debbie Best, voicing concerns about social media posts made by Wyld. Wyld said at their meeting McDonald referred to a tweet Wyld had posted about the death of the Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar in October, which referred to him as a martyr. Wyld deleted the tweet shortly after posting it. 'I probably could have worded it less emotional,' Wyld told the Guardian. 'It was mostly me being really devastated at the Albanese government's approach to the whole [Gaza] situation.' Wyld said the tweet bore no relevance to her hefty manuscript on the Stolen Generations, funded to the tune of about $40,000 from Creative Australia, for which she was awarded the fellowship. 'I wrote it to highlight that the Bringing Them Home report is 28 years old next week, and only 6% of the recommendations have been actioned,' she said. 'I wrote it to bring awareness to the stories of the Stolen Generations, to propose some positive features, because it ends in the future, and to talk about justice. It has nothing to do with anything else.' A statement posted on the State Library's website on Tuesday said the black&write! fellowships, 'awarded solely on the literary merit of submitted manuscripts', were designed to encourage and support First Nations writers in fiction and poetry genres and facilitate publication. 'Regrettably, media coverage and commentary today in relation to the personal views of the recommended recipient has overshadowed the intent of the awards,' the statement said. Sign up to Breaking News Australia Get the most important news as it breaks after newsletter promotion 'This has significantly impacted the individual artists and people involved.' The statement did not name Wyld or state that her fellowship had been withdrawn. The library's statement said it would undertake an independent review of the awards and fellowships it administered. 'It will have specific focus on how we balance our strong commitment to freedom of expression and our role as a state government funded cultural institution,' the statement said. Crisafulli's office did not respond to a request for comment. A spokesperson for Langbroek referred the Guardian to his speech delivered to the legislative assembly on Tuesday, less than two hours before the ceremony was due to begin, confirming the Queensland government had intervened. Langbroek told parliament it was incumbent on the State Library's board to ensure that the activities and associations of the library reflected community standards and upheld the integrity of the institution. 'Whilst I support the principles of free expression and creative diversity, any perception that taxpayer-funded awards being granted to individuals who justify terrorism undermines public trust, both in our institutions and in the cultural sector more broadly' Langbroek said. 'Whilst individuals are free to hold and express their views, we must ensure that publicly funded arts programs and venues are held to the highest standards, promoting artistic excellence and fostering social cohesion … Words matter, and that's why we've taken the decision that we have said to this board that this award should not be presented at the State Library.' The federal arts minister, Tony Burke, said in a statement on Wednesday the decision was a matter for Creative Australia. 'On support for artists, I never interfere with the decisions of Creative Australia,' he said. 'We brought back arm's-length decision-making in the arts. 'The moment you start [interfering], you become George Brandis,' he said, referring to a previous Liberal government decision on arts funding that redirected $104.7m from Creative Australia – then called the Australia Council – to a separate kitty, to be dispensed at the discretion of the then arts minister, Brandis. However, Creative Australia told the Guardian it was not consulted about the decision to withdraw Wyld's fellowship. 'Decisions about recipients are made independently by the library,' its statement said. 'Creative Australia provides funding to the State Library of Queensland's black&write! program, but plays no role in selecting, approving, or rescinding individual fellowships.' The national black&write! fellowships have furthered the careers of more than a dozen First Nations writers since Creative Australia began funding them in 2014. The fellowships also come with a publishing contract, which this year was to have been signed with University of Queensland Press. The Guardian has sought comment from UQP.
