st johns, darlinghurst road

This evocative pic comes via a National Archives newspaper series about a 1928 celebrity wedding; a hyphenated groom and his bride I'd never heard of, but who'd attracted quite a crowd of middle-aged ladies prepared to wait in the rain outside.

Anyhoo, St Johns CofE, on the border of Darlo and Kings Cross, in a time when the former was somewhat down at heel and the latter bohemian, in the classy sense.

This picture captures one of the quintessential differences for those of us who grew up in Sydney pre-1980, and its contemporary version. The views. Great sweeping vistas of them, all over the place.

Now ...
Precisely the same spot, eighty years after, [ albeit a foot or two higher due to my stature.]

Today, trees form a universal barrier to Sydney's cornucopia of sublime panoramas and glorious history. Planted without foresight or design, council by-laws prevent any attempt to restrict their impact. They've not simply been allowed to take over, but have been actively encouraged.

Nowadays, every street has the same closed in, claustrophobic sameness, almost every window faces onto an expanse of foliaged block out. Where once the scenery gave its sense of place, when journeys were engaging passages by history, styles, and lives, they're mostly covered up now by a uniform, and usually undistinguished, hoarding of leaves and branches.

I'll be the first to say it. Urban street trees are boring, worthless, and amok.