Trigger warning: the following article contains information and photos of a deceased Big Thing, that you may find distressing. But it also contains a super cute photo of a very young Bigs Bardot wearing a gorgeous pink hat, so it all balances out.
Gympie was, for a time, the most desirable tourist destination on the planet. Hollywood stars and tech billionaires bypassed Bora Bora as they made their way to this dusty regional centre, three hours north of Brisbane. And it was all because of the Big Pineapple.
Nicolas Cage and Lisa Marie Presley were married at the top and divorced by the time they reached the bottom. Steve Jobs named his company after the Pineapple (dropping the first part of the name due to memory limitations). Even The Gimp from Pulp Fiction was named after Gympie – and you’ll notice his leather tunic sports a distinctive pineapple texture.
Sadly this statuesque Queensland icon was demolished in 2008, taking with her the five-star resorts and the nightclubs that seemed as if they would never close. It also brought a crashing halt her decades-long rivalry with the nearby Woombye Pineapple.
Both were completed in 1971, both were 16 metres tall, and the bitter feud threatened to tear the Sunshine State apart. The Woombye team bragged theirs was taller, so the Gympie gang claimed theirs was wider. One side noted theirs had more realistic texturing, so the other boasted theirs had a more authentic shape.
One was cuter, the other sexier. Spikier. More eco-friendly. Yellower! Greener! Lifelong friendships ended in the shadows of these two bright-yellow Big Things. Families were torn apart. Blood, tragically, was spilled.
An apple is a pineapple
Young Bigs Bardot didn’t care about the squabbling, because I just loved both Big Pineapples so much. The day this photo was taken was one of the happiest of my life, even though I wasn’t allowed to have a grilled pineapple like the other children. Sadly, I was also abandoned at the base of the giant fruit by my adopted family after I spent too long cuddling it.
It was my fault, really.
Eight days later I was discovered, huddling in the Pineapple’s crown, surviving on half-sucked pineapple-shaped lollies and the remnants of a pineapple-flavoured snow cone. I had come to see the Gympie Pineapple as a mother figure, my protector and only friend, and it was with great trauma that I was wrenched from her supple bosom.
The community dubbed me ‘The Little Pineapple’ as they fruitlessly attempted to find me a new family. However, potential foster families found it difficult to bond with a boy who believed himself to be a sweet, tropical fruit. They would find me half-buried in the backyard, begging to be sliced into rings and placed on a hamburger. Like the icon I was named after, the locals eventually lost interest in me, and I was left to rot.
Fortunately, unlike the Big Pineapple I wasn’t knocked over by a wrecking ball, and was instead quietly removed from my care home and left to fend for myself in this cold, emotionless world. Still, I won’t allow any of that to sully my wonderful memories of the gorgeous Gympie Pineapple.
