St Matthew’s

Whispers of “Terrible Billy” echo within the hallowed halls of St Matthew’s in Prahran. Here at St Matthew’s, the lines between saintly and scandalous blur. This Anglican church, standing proudly on High Street, has witnessed more drama than a Shakespearean play. Established in 1877, with its foundation stone laid by Bishop James Moorehouse, St Matthew’s quickly became a cornerstone of the community. Its architects, Terry & Oakden, designed a magnificent structure, built by Purves and Rankine, intended to hold 800 souls. The church officially opened its doors in June 1878, a beacon of faith in the bustling city. But the story doesn’t end there. A devastating fire ripped through the nave in 1982, leaving a gaping hole in the heart of St Matthew’s. Instead of a faithful restoration, the church embraced the change. The burnt-out section was transformed into an open courtyard, a testament to resilience and adaptation. The front of the church was repurposed into office spaces, while the original chancel remains a sanctuary for worship. Now, glass walls separate the old and the new, a visible reminder of the church’s tumultuous journey. Look closely at the stained glass. While many windows were lost to the flames, some original Ferguson & Urie pieces survived, including the magnificent five-light west window facing High Street. You can also find works by Christian Waller, her “Penitence, Pardon, & Peace” window a beacon of hope amidst the scars of the fire. And then there’s the curious case of William Harrison, the church’s clerk of works. His triple light memorial window, also by Ferguson & Urie, features a mysterious figure holding a bible and a “Geophysical Governator,” an instrument used to regulate steam engines. Was it a saint? An engineer? The inscription below reads “ORA ET LABORA,” Latin for “Pray and Work,” the Rule of St. Benedict. Harrison, nicknamed “Terrible Billy,” was a prominent local councilor known for his fiery temperament and, sadly, his struggles with alcoholism. His story took a tragic turn after an electoral defeat, ending in obscurity and an unmarked grave. His window remains, a poignant reminder of a life both celebrated and lost. St Matthew’s stands as a symbol of transformation. From ashes to adaptation, it continues to serve its community, its walls whispering tales of triumph and tragedy, faith and folly.