At last the great day arrived, the wife of South Australia’s governor wrote home to her mother in England. Thursday 9 May 1901—the inauguration of the Commonwealth Parliament—and it was a howler. It pelted with rain while Iwas dressing, Lady Audrey Tennyson’s letter continued, but soon cleared again with a bitter wind.1 After the nation’s birthday celebrations in Sydney five months ago, it was now Melbourne’s turn to bring out the bunting. Twelve thousand people battled the bitter wind of a typical Melbourne autumn to attend.
It was still hard to believe that Queen Victoria—a good woman, a good wife and mother2—had been dead since 22 January, a grief that cast a pall over this year of festivities. But there would still be royalty to usher in the parliament of the world’s newest nation: the Duke and Duchess of Cornwall and York.3 The new King Edward VII’s son and his wife, Mary of Teck, had made the journey out. Federation had not, after all, cut the painter.4 Those uber-patriots who had advocated for a republic were minnows in a raging sea of imperial fervour.
Lady Tennyson was pleased to find that she and his lordship had very good seats in the Royal Exhibition Building, the only venue large enough to shelter the crowds. They were in the front row at the back of the dais, next to Lord and Lady Lamington. Tom Roberts’ Big Picture of the occasion captures her there, head bowed, reading her prayer book. From this vantage point, she could discreetly observe the duchess, who cut a beautiful figure in mourning black, gussied up with a very long necklace chain hanging below her waist of large single diamonds, a sort of muff chain, very magnificent. It was quite apparent to Lady Tennyson that even though the duchess has not much to talk about, she was better at saying little things than the duke and thoroughly enjoys it all much more than he does.
From her superior position on the stage, Lady Tennyson could see the little cluster of parliamentarians’ wives and daughters standing in front of the solemn duke. The strikingly tall, elegant Pattie Deakin with one of her three daughters, proud that Alfred was now Attorney-General of the Commonwealth.5 Lady Barton, founding member of the Women’s Federal League, now wife of the new prime minster. Queensland Labor MP Andrew Fisher’s sweetheart, Margaret, was out there somewhere too, with her mother. They had made a special trip down from Gympie for the occasion, though not yet being married to Andrew she couldn’t possibly stand at the front with the other MPs’ wives. Lady Tennyson’s ally, the Hon. Sir Frederick Holder was there, in his new role as Speaker of the House of Representatives. When Lady Tennyson had recently stepped out of her vice-regal capacity and petitioned Holder on behalf of the ill-paid and worse-treated sempstresses of Adelaide, he established a tribunal to improve their pay and conditions. No doubt Julia had a hand in that too.
If Lady Tennyson lifted her gaze from her prayer book, she could see the marvellous painting on the ceiling porticos of the Exhibition Building. Above the real women in the crowd, the allegorical women circled them like a halo. Britannia—regal, helmeted—at the apex of the arc, surrounded by her daughters, the former colonies, with their crested shields and downcast eyes. Lady Tennyson’s illuminated invitation to this tremendously important moment for Australasia used the same chorus of idealised women to symbolise the idealised nation. Drawing on Kipling’s verse for the Commonwealth inauguration day, the Old Queen and the Young Queen beckoned: Daughter Australia, astride a white horse, her head bowed, approaching Mother Britannia as a grateful supplicant.
Lady Tennyson shifted her focus to the duke’s closing proclamation—everyone was surprised at the strong voice coming from such a little man—and finally came the only act performed by an actual woman.6 Amid a profound silence, before thousands of awed spectators from around the country, the duchess touched an electric button to announce it all over the world. The first parliament of the Commonwealth of Australia was declared open.
All in all, it had been a memorable occasion, very dignified, reverent and quiet. The only blot on the ceremony, as far as Lady Tennyson was concerned, was the music; the orchestra played the Hallelujah Chorus without voices. That and the weather. It had been such a bitterly cold day. By the time all the formalities were over she came back shivering.