Freemasons Jordan Gorman and Howard Mackinder were gracious in answering my very awkward questions. Photo: Briony Winchester.
I kind of wasn’t ready for the top floor of Queanbeyan’s Masonic Temple.
I’d expected a church hall-like space with a simple stage, a few rows of seats and maybe a pile of books on the history of Freemasonry.
What I got was the love child of the Game of Thrones and Twin Peaks sets.
The centrepiece of the room is a huge black-and-white checkerboard floor. Ancient symbols adorn the walls. Two hulking wooden thrones sit at either end of the checkerboard. The windows are painted over for secrecy.
And then there are the titles of the ‘office bearers’ for the traditional – and exceptionally formal – meetings held in the temple every month: Worshipful Master, Senior Warden, Junior Warden, to name a few.
“What in the Charles Manson is happening here?” I ask.
The men I’m interviewing – Freemasons Howard Mackinder and Jordan Gorman from the Queanbeyan St Andrews Masonic Lodge – don’t even flinch.
“That doesn’t offend us,” Howard laughs. “Because you don’t know what it’s about yet.”
Jordan Gorman sits in the Oriental Chair of King Solomon. It sits on a raised platform in the East and is the seat occupied by the Worshipful Master, the presiding officer of the Lodge. Photo: Briony Winchester.
For the next two hours, the men patiently answer every awkward question I’ve ever wanted to ask about Freemasons and the historic Masonic Temple — built in 1924 — on Crawford Street.
Do Freemasons worship the devil?
“No.”
Do you secretly run the world?
“No.”
Will you teach me the secret handshake before I leave?
“Actually … yes.”
That last answer catches me off guard.
“But we don’t need to. The sign, token and word – you can Google them,” Howard says.
“Disgruntled Masons put them online years ago.”
Wait … what?
It turns out Freemasonry’s biggest secrets have been on YouTube for years.
If that’s the case, what exactly is still secret about Freemasonry? What even is a Freemason, and how does such a long-standing tradition survive until 2026?
From cathedrals to Queanbeyan
According to Howard, Freemasonry “grew from the guilds of medieval stonemasons” – ie, the highly skilled craftsmen responsible for building the castles, cathedrals and abbeys of Europe in the 1500s and 1600s.
Back then, being a stonemason was dangerous, highly specialised work. Men travelled from town to town chasing building projects that took generations to complete.
“We’re talking about the blokes who built Notre Dame,” Howard tells me. “That took 130 years.”
This device is a Lewis or Lewis Bolt, a traditional masonic tool used to lift heavy stone blocks. In Freemasonry, the Lewis symbolises strength, acting as a double symbol for the device itself and the son of a mason. Photo: Briony Winchester.
Because stonemasons were constantly moving between jobs, they had to develop universal methods of proving their qualifications. A handshake. A password. A sign.
“Turn up at a cathedral construction site in medieval France claiming to be a master mason and you’d be expected to prove it before you could collect a master’s wage,” Howard says.
“If you didn’t know the sign, token and word, you weren’t paid as a master mason. Simple as that.”
The stonemasons would form a ‘Lodge’ at every work site for companionship. But as the great cathedrals were completed and the working stonemasons moved on, something unexpected happened.
The local men they’d befriended – think merchants, tradesmen and townsfolk who enjoyed the camaraderie of the Lodge – kept meeting anyway.
The list of Queanbeyan Masonic Lodge Worshipful Masters starts in 1902 with the city’s founding father, John Gale.
By the early 1700s, Freemasonry had evolved from an organisation for working stonemasons into one for “free and accepted” Masons: ordinary men interested in fellowship, symbolism and self-improvement rather than cutting sandstone for a living.
The first Freemason Grand Lodge was formed in London in 1717, and from there, Freemasonry travelled wherever the British Empire did. By the late 1800s, Freemasonry had reached a tiny town called Queanbeyan, NSW, where it has quietly continued meeting ever since.
The Queanbeyan Lodge is one of the oldest surviving community organisations in town. Today, it has about 58 members, although only 20 to 30 gather for monthly meetings.
The modern Freemasons
Jordan, 26, became a Mason two days after his 18th birthday. His father is a Mason. And his grandfather is a Mason. But Jordan’s brothers have chosen a different path.
“It’s different for everyone,” Jordan says.
Downstairs of the Temple is a little more ‘community hall’. Photo: Briony Winchester.
Some members love memorising the rituals that occur in the formal meeting room. Some enjoy the history. Pretty much all love what happens after the formal meeting – a proper sit-down dinner downstairs from the meeting room, known as ‘The South’ – where the dress code is black tie.
“The Junior Warden organises the meals for The South,” Jordan explains.
“So … like KFC?” I ask hopefully.
Both men laugh.
“No. It’ll be something nice, like a steak dinner.”
(There goes my image of one of the world’s oldest men’s club surviving on Zinger Boxes.)
During The South, the men talk about the business of the Lodge: which is mostly raffle tickets, charity donations, members checking in on each other and the older blokes patiently teaching younger blokes 20-minute speeches off by heart.
Freemasons Jordan Gorman and Howard Mackinder welcome “men of any faith” to join the Queanbeyan Masonic Lodge. Photo: Briony Winchester.
The more Howard and Jordan talk, the less mysterious Freemasonry becomes. There’s no plotting world domination. No billionaire puppet masters. No secret underground tunnels underneath Queanbeyan.
Women can join women-only or co-ed Lodges, but these are not formally recognised by the mainstream Lodges run exclusively by men. Males interested in joining a Lodge need to apply, but the only prerequisite is a belief in a ‘Supreme Being’ (something bigger than yourself).
When I ask Jordan what he gets out of being part of the Lodge, he pauses.
“Every single time you’re doing it,” he says, “you learn something new.”
Walking back onto Monaro Street, I realise I’ve spent two hours inside one of Queanbeyan’s most mysterious buildings. I’d gone looking for secret handshakes, but I’d found a bunch of blokes into tradition, brotherhood and symbolism. And helping out their local community wherever they could.
Was it still a little … culty?
Sure.
But so is CrossFit.
And at least these blokes feed you afterwards.
Original Article published by Briony Winchester on Region Canberra.
