By Mick Le Moignan
THE first glimpse of the Sydney Harbour Bridge is a moment that sears itself on your memory. It is bigger and grander than you imagined, brighter, more solid and three-dimensional than all the postcards and screen images from which it already seems so familiar.
It is not unique in that regard. The Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty and the Egyptian Pyramids have a similar effect. They are icons of human aspiration. They become an indelible part of your experience and will always remind you of arriving in their city, however travel-weary you were.
When I encountered the Harbour Bridge for the first time, I knew exactly what to expect, but it is so much more real and imposing when it is in front of you. It is no longer an image, but a busy thoroughfare, being crossed 24/7 by walkers, cyclists, motorists, buses, trucks and even railways. A million vehicles and 3,500 trains traverse it each week. It is Sydney’s main artery, linking the north and south sides of the harbour.
Aged 25, after a six-month journey over land from London, I boarded the SS Patris in Singapore and, two weeks later, sailed at dawn into the most fabulous natural harbour in the world. There was the bridge, at first looking tiny, a faraway speck, then growing until it towered over the ship, asserting its dominance and putting us in our place.
In the years that followed, I have driven over the bridge, or travelled under it on ferries, hundreds of times, and I’ve always been struck by its majesty, even when distracted by chatting, wrestling with a Sudoku or making phone calls en route. It is one of the wonders of the modern world. Sydneysiders don’t take it for granted, but they call it ‘the Coathanger’ – just so it doesn’t get too big for its boots.
It symbolises the determination of the new nation, soon after Federation in 1900, to overcome all challenges and create an identity. From being the vital link in Sydney’s transport system, it came to represent the city.
Jersey’s iconic castles, Mont Orgeuil and Elizabeth, have been conjuring up the Island in the same way for several centuries. Well, Sydney’s much-loved bridge isn’t that old, but it celebrates its 90th birthday this year and its equally iconic companion, the Opera House, will be 50 next year.
Local media repeated stories and photos from the years leading up to the opening in March 1932, extraordinary images of vast, steel latticeworks stretching out from both banks, with a ‘creeper crane’ on top of each structure. They seemed to defy gravity. Their meeting in the middle was a perfect miracle of engineering.
The bridge is 503 metres long and 49 metres wide. The granite-faced pylons rise 89 metres above the water and the top of the arch is 134 metres high. Built during the Great Depression, it was a welcome source of employment, with 1,500 people working on its construction, which started in 1923. Of those workers, 16 died in the process. The bridge still has a permanent staff of 120.
The arch consists of 53,000 tonnes of steel, not welded but pinned together by six million hand-driven, red-hot rivets, each weighing up to 3.5kg. The first three coats of paint used 272,000 litres. Painting it has been a continuous activity ever since, to fend off rust in the highly corrosive atmosphere, suspended above saltwater. The most famous rigger – before his acting career took off – was Paul Hogan.
Apart from its vital transport function, the bridge is a great source of entertainment. Runners, walkers and cyclists exercise on it. Visitors go on supervised climbs over the arches, secured by running safety wires. It’s an expensive treat, but a breath-taking, unforgettable experience, especially with the sun setting over the Blue Mountains in the far distance.
The bridge has also become immensely popular as a background for events on and around the harbour, from wedding photos to the annual ferryboat race, which finishes under the arch. The famous New Year’s Eve fireworks attract crowds of a million and many millions more watch the display on television.
An open-air film festival takes place in the adjacent Royal Botanic Gardens in summer, with the opera house and the bridge as backdrop to a giant screen. And, every autumn since 2012, thanks to the generosity of Japanese philanthropist Dr Haruhisa Handa, Opera Australia has mounted a spectacular annual production on a huge stage, built out over the water, in the same location.
Classic operas have included La Traviata and Carmen (twice each), Aida, Madame Butterfly, Turandot and La Bohème. The company ventured into popular musical theatre to present West Side Story in 2019 and Phantom of the Opera this year.
Sydney has had monsoonal rain for the past six to eight weeks and I had booked seats for Thursday evening. Patrons are warned that the Handa Opera on the harbour is ‘an open-air and all-weather experience’ and the performers ‘will carry on singing and dancing in the rain’.
The rain was relentless, all through the day. We set off in ski gear (which we’d never worn in Sydney before) with waterproof ponchos, resigned to a drenching. Most of the audience were similarly attired.
Surprisingly, the rain stopped. The performance was captivating and enchanting. Every so often, I’d take a look to the right of the stage, at the bridge and the opera house, and reflect that those hardy construction workers, 90-plus years ago, were building the foundations of something beyond their wildest dreams. Thanks, guys. It was worth all your efforts.
