Detail from 'The town of Sydney in New South Wales' showing Māori chiefs, c1821 by Major James Taylor, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (V1/ca.1821/5 DETAIL])

New Zealand and New South Wales were once one colony, but on 3 May 1841 New Zealand was officially declared a British colony separate from New South Wales. This month it is the 180th anniversary of this decision that brought about two intertwined but distinct national stories. Listen to Mark and Marlene on 2SER here

Today Sydney enjoys close ties to New Zealand. It is our only international travel bubble option and remains a popular holiday destination. People come and go from both directions, with a large ex-pat community of New Zealanders in Sydney.

These connections go back to the first years of Sydney as a British outpost, maybe even earlier. Aboriginal and Māori stories hint at contact across the ditch before British arrivals, but we know for sure that Māori visitors were here by 1793, just five years after the First Fleet arrived.

In true colonial fashion, British ships visiting New Zealand’s Bay of Islands area kidnapped two Māori men, Tuki Tahua and Ngahuruhuru (also known as Huru) and took them to Norfolk Island to teach convicts how to weave flax for ships sails. Flax grew abundantly in New Zealand and would become a major trade item. The men did not traditionally weave flax and so could not help. Instead they were taken to Sydney, met Governor King and were returned to their homes.

Tuki and Huru’s time in Sydney alerted merchants to the flax and Kauri pines growing in their homeland, and soon merchant ships were visiting regularly. Many Māori came back to Sydney on these ships as both visitors and crew, until they were a reasonably regular sight on Sydney’s colonial streets. Paintings of Sydney in the 1810s and 1820s show Māori people amongst the crowds.

In 1805 Māori chief Te Pahi arrived with four sons, spending three months touring Sydney and the surrounding area including Parramatta and John Macarthur’s farms. His daughter Te Atahoe and her ex-convict husband also came to Sydney in 1810, having been kidnapped in New Zealand in 1808 and taken to India before gaining their release. Te Pahi had himself come back to Sydney in 1808 to see Governor Bligh and secure his daughter’s release. She died in Sydney after giving birth and was buried at the Old Sydney Burial Ground.

Relations began to sour after 1809 when a merchant ship, Boyd, was attacked by Māori war canoes in the North Island and all but four people on board massacred. The attack had been prompted by the British captain flogging a Māori chief’s son who was on board the ship.

Although trade and travel continued to flourish, it was done with increasing wariness. By the 1830s increasing incursions by Sydney merchants, missionaries, whalers, timber getters and settlers led to James Busby from Sydney being appointed as Official Resident to represent the British Government in 1832. He was to act as a liaison between the British and Māori. Tensions finally exploded in 1845 in what became known as the Māori Wars. Sydney sent troops and gunboats in the 1840s and again in the 1860s, marking a brutal end to what had been one of the first multi-cultural exchanges outside Australian shores in colonial Sydney.

Read more about New Zealanders and Māori in Sydney on the Dictionary:

Māori by Jo Kamira

 New Zealanders by Duncan Waterson  

Mark's new book is available now.

Dr Mark Dunn is the author of 'The Convict Valley: the bloody struggle on Australia's early frontier' (2020), the former Chair of the NSW Professional Historians Association and former Deputy Chair of the Heritage Council of NSW. He is currently a Visiting Scholar at the State Library of NSW. You can read more of his work on the Dictionary of Sydney here and follow him on Twitter @markdhistory here. Mark appears on 2SER on behalf of the Dictionary of Sydney in a voluntary capacity. Thanks Mark!

   

Sydney Gazette, 5 May 1832, p2 via Trove

On 7 May 1832, John Hammell (also reported as John Hammill, John Haymell and Charles Hammell) was hanged for the murder of his boss George Williamson. Not everyone was sorry Williamson had been bashed in the head with a spade, but committing murder has consequences.

Listen to Rachel and Marlene on 2SER here

The crime unfolded on 18 April at Grose Farm, now the Camperdown site of the University of Sydney. Williamson was the overseer of a work gang at the Farm. The day before he was killed, many members of the gang complained to him that their accommodation was not fit to live in. This was not a minor matter of a routine plumbing issue or a small leak: there was a stream running through the room.

The men were convicts, but they worked hard and believed they were right in requesting different quarters. Williamson, a former convict himself, refused. The Sydney Monitor reported that Hammell, and the other men in his gang, carried on until Williamson instructed Hammell to cut a drain ‘in a peculiar way’.

Hammell did as he was told, but when Williamson found fault with his work and told him he had not made the drain properly, ‘he lifted the spade with which he was working, and struck the deceased on the head, inflicting the wound of which he afterwards died’. The Sydney Monitor also covered the coronial inquiry which revealed that after killing Williamson, Hammell threatened his fellow labourers, but he ‘suffered himself to be secured, and was handed over in custody to some soldiers who came up; the deceased man’s head exhibited two or three cuts, and he expired in less than three hours after the wounds had been inflicted’.

It was shown that the victim was a quarrelsome vindictive tyrant, who would do all that lay in his power to annoy and torment those who offended him; that the place in which the gang slept at night was dilapidated, and admitted the rain in many places; that many of the gang slept on the ground, and, in consequence, on the night previous to the day on which the murder was committed, it being rainy and tempestuous, they were very wet and cold; that the deceased had turned the prisoner, with others of the gang, away from the fire, when drying their clothes, on the morning the murder was committed. The matter went to trial.

Now, in 1832 prisoners were not entitled to counsel. Before 1840, you only had legal representation in New South Wales if you could afford it. The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser reported that even without anyone acting for his defence, Hammell showed living conditions on the Farm were bad enough that he had ‘begged to be locked up in the cells until the morning’ rather than sleep in the poor accomodation provided. He also said Williamson provoked him by pushing him first.

The judge instructed the jury to, if they believed the prisoner had been assaulted by the deceased, to give a verdict of manslaughter instead of murder. The jury, after taking only fifteen minutes to consider their decision, found Hammell guilty of wilful murder. Justice James Dowling sentenced the prisoner to death.

View of Sydney from Grose's Farm 1819, by Joseph Lycett, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (ML 55)

The Sydney Herald (now the Sydney Morning Herald) reported Hammell’s execution. For the crime he committed at Grose Farm, he ‘underwent the utmost penalty of the law for his offence, at the usual place of execution’. In 1830s Sydney, the ‘usual place’ for a hanging was the Old Sydney Gaol on George Street, near Sussex Street.

Unfortunately for Hammell, the hanging was not a neat job. After asking spectators to pray for him, he was sent off, but ‘he struggled in strong convulsions for at least five minutes. After hanging the usual time, the body was cut down and sent to the hospital to be dissected and anatomized’.

Highlighting the injustice of the punishment, the Sydney Monitor pointed out: ‘Had the prisoner been rich he would have had a Counsel. That Counsel would have written a defence for him’, and perhaps helped the prisoner better demonstrate ‘that on the present occasion, deceased had been the first aggressor’. A good defence could have also shown that Williamson ‘was a man of a cruel and brutal nature’ and so helped to secure a verdict of manslaughter for Hammell, allowing him to avoid the gallows.

Refs: Defence on Trials for Felony Act 1840 No 32a (NSW) Sydney Herald, 14 May 1832, p.3, accessed 1 May 2021 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article12844480; Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser, 5 May 1832, pp.2–3, accessed 1 May 2021 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article2206383; Sydney Monitor, 21 April 1832, p.2, accessed 1 May 2021 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article32077427; Sydney Monitor, 12 May 1832, p.2, accessed 1 May 2021 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article32077591  

Dr Rachel Franks is the Coordinator of Scholarship at the State Library of NSW and a Conjoint Fellow at the University of Newcastle. She holds a PhD in Australian crime fiction and her research on crime fiction, true crime, popular culture and information science has been presented at numerous conferences. An award-winning writer, her work can be found in a wide variety of books, journals and magazines as well as on social media. She's appearing for the Dictionary today in a voluntary capacity. Thank you Rachel! 

For more Dictionary of Sydney, listen to the podcast with Rachel & Marlene here, and tune in to 2SER Breakfast on 107.3 every Wednesday morning to hear more stories from the Dictionary of Sydney.  

Portrait photo of Stefan Pietroszys attached to Australian Immigration file 1947, National Archives of Australia (PP15/1 1953/64/1305)

The picturesque suburb of Killarney Heights at Middlehead was a popular picnic destination named after Killarney in Ireland. However, 41 years ago it became indelibly associated with the suffering of refugees fleeing war torn Europe. Listen to Minna and Wilamina on 2SER here (skip to 135.27)

In 1979, a bearded man emerged from the bushland near Killarney Heights and called out to fishermen in German "Meine Frau ist Tot!" - my wife is dead.

Leading them back to a cave he showed the fishermen his deceased wife lying on foam matting. Confusion erupted about where exactly this couple originated from, speculation ranging from Ukrainian, Russian, Lithuanian to German.

Eventually they were revealed to be Stefan and Genowefa Pietroszys, Lithuanian refugees who had lived in the caves for at least 25 years. Here they had survived on bush rats, berries and hand-outs in the cave, 200 metres from the suburban homes of Killarney Heights. T

he couple were just two individuals of the 2 million migrants that arrived in Australia after the Second World War between 1945 and 1965; part of Immigration Minister Arthur Calwell’s campaign to bring blonde-haired blue-eyed Baltic migrants or ‘Beautiful Balts’ as they became known to Australia.

It was reported that the Pietroszys chose to eke out their existence on the fringes of Middle Harbour because they still lived in fear of the Russian KGB secret police. Perhaps more generally their distrust of authorities was compounded by their traumatic experience of the Second World War. Having witnessed violence at the hands of the Soviets in Lithuania, survived a Nazi labour camp and then an Allied American camp, they arrived in Australia and were then deemed unfit for work and flagged for deportation. Instead, they went on the run through regional Australia for six years.

Portrait photo of Genovefa Pietroszys attached to Australian Immigration file 1947, National Archives of Australia (PP15/1 1953/64/1306)

At Killarney Heights, they did find a compassionate friend in Salvation Army officer Captain Ivan Unicomb, who gained their trust and visited them frequently.

After Genovefa’s death, Stefan wanted to return to the cave but was persuaded to move into a Catholic aged care home at Marayong, where he died in October 1982, aged 84.

Today Stefan and Genovefa lie reunited side-by-side in Frenchs Forest Bushland Cemetery. Their story is a stark reminder of just of the trauma individuals carried with them from what remains the deadliest military conflict in history.  

Minna Muhlen-Schulte is a professional historian and Senior Heritage Consultant at GML Heritage. She was the recipient of the Berry Family Fellowship at the State Library of Victoria and has worked on a range of history projects for community organisations, local and state government including the Third Quarantine Cemetery, Woodford Academy and Middle and Georges Head . In 2014, Minna developed a program on the life and work of Clarice Beckett for ABC Radio National’s Hindsight Program and in 2017 produced Crossing Enemy Lines for ABC Radio National’s Earshot Program. You can hear her most recent production, Carving Up the Country, on ABC Radio National's The History Listen here. She’s appearing for the Dictionary today in a voluntary capacity. Thanks Minna! 

For more Dictionary of Sydney, listen to the podcast with Minna & Wilamina here at 135.27, and tune in to 2SER Breakfast on 107.3 every Wednesday morning to hear more stories from the Dictionary of Sydney.     

George street and Charlotte Place, in 'Sydney in 1848 : illustrated by copper-plate engravings of its principal streets, public buildings, churches, chapels, etc.' from drawings by Joseph Fowles, Dixson Library, State Library of NSW (DL Q84/56)

Joseph Fowles was by way of being an early Colonial artistic influencer. Listen to Mark and Wilamina on 2SER here He arrived in Sydney in 1838 with his first wife Sarah, took up a small farm at Hunters Hill, rented from Mary Reibey, and tried to get established as an artist.  It's not clear what he had been doing before arriving in Australia but had kept extensive, illustrated journals during the voyage. By 1840 he had exhibited at least one painting of Sydney Harbour locally and had a studio in the Rocks by about 1846-47.  He was gaining a reputation as a fine maritime painter and also for his horse paintings-especially racehorses and military/cavalry horses for commission. His big (historical) break came in 1848 when he published a collection called Sydney In 1848.  This was a series of streetscapes of all the main streets in Sydney CBD, with every building facade represented and drawings of many of the more important buildings reproduced as single plates.  It was intended for locals who would purchase it, perhaps even multiple copies, and send it back to England to show the home country how far Sydney had progressed.  It was accompanied by a short history of the town to that time and descriptions of the buildings and their occupants.  It was so popular it was republished at least twice in the 19th century and then again a few times in the 20th century. It is still used by historians, archaeologists and heritage architects to get an idea of the look and scale of colonial Sydney, taking us beyond our interpretations of maps and traditional street scenes by artists. Fowles went on to teach drawing at the Sydney Mechanic School of Arts as well as working as the principal drawing master at a series of schools around Sydney including Grammar and the Kings School. He then became the drawing master for the Board of National Education, the forerunner to the Departnent of Education.  His text book on drawing became the standard text for drawing classes in NSW.

The Sydney drawing book, c1875, Dixson Library, State Library of New South Wales (DL Q85/84)

Aside from all this, his love of racing also saw him establish the Newmarket training stables at Randwick in 1861 to service the newly reopened Randwick Racecourse. Fowles died in 1878 at what was rumoured to be a seance gone wrong, but was probably just a heart attack while at a friend's house for dinner. Read more about Joseph Fowles on the Dictionary here.   Dr Mark Dunn is the author of 'The Convict Valley: the bloody struggle on Australia's early frontier' (2020), the former Chair of the NSW Professional Historians Association and former Deputy Chair of the Heritage Council of NSW. He is currently a Visiting Scholar at the State Library of NSW. You can read more of his work on the Dictionary of Sydney here and follow him on Twitter @markdhistory here. Mark appears on 2SER on behalf of the Dictionary of Sydney in a voluntary capacity. Thanks Mark!    

Headstone of Samuel and Esther Bradley, Devonshire Street Cemetery c1901, Ethel Foster, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (ON146/342)

Research on the epitaph on a tombstone in Sydney's old Devonshire Street Cemetery led to the shocking story of the deaths of Samuel Bradley, 59, and his wife Esther, 65, who were brutally murdered at their home in Birch Grove on 15 August 1822. Listen to Rachel and Felix on 2SER here The crime was discovered over two weeks later, when the Bradleys' modest home was found ‘deserted and ransacked’. An acquaintance of the pair, Alexander Berry, had been on his way to visit his friend Edward Wollstonecraft when he dropped in, unannounced, at the Bradley’s place. Berry later described how ‘the premises wore the unwelcome aspect of desertion, the house being thrown open, with every appearance of having lately been plundered’. Berry and his party found a bone ‘in a putrefied state’ which they thought was the limb of an animal: it would later be proven to be one of the arms of Samuel Bradley. Berry’s group continued to Wollstonecraft's property across the river. Wollstonecraft took action, and ‘immediately dispatched two of his servants to take charge of the dwelling at Birch Grove’ also sending a message to the Chief Constable. It was a gruesome crime scene. Mr Bradley was found about 500 yards from the house, he’d been mutilated with an axe. There’d been an attempt to destroy the evidence by burning the body which had also been attacked by dogs. It was assumed Mrs Bradley’s body had been destroyed by fire. The police lost no time in rounding up suspects. Thomas Barry, the only servant of the Bradleys, was soon picked up on suspicion of murder and two of his acquaintances, John Cochrane and Bridget Howell, were apprehended as accessories: all three were found in possession of ‘several articles of property, belonging to the murdered pair’. Thomas Barry confessed, sort of. He stated the Bradleys were murdered by two other men he knew, William Barry and Dennis Lamb; he had only been a witness. This, despite someone seeing Thomas Barry on 17August, with scratches on his face and several obvious blood stains on his clothing. Barry said he’d fallen ‘on the rocks, and lost £5’. Barry did give information on the fate of Mrs Bradley however. Her body was ‘in the garden, nearly 5 feet in the ground, in quite an opposite direction to that of Mr Bradley’. About 30 yards from the house Mrs Bradley was found, her skull was beaten in at the right temple, her jawbone was broken, and her face and tongue had been cut, presumably with the same axe used on her husband. Thomas Barry was indicted for murder, as were the two men Barry implicated in his confession, William Barry and Dennis Lamb (the relationships between the three men are not made clear in the news reports). Also indicted were Cochrane and Howell, as accessories after the fact and for holding stolen property. Central to the trial was a watch and chain. A publican, Michael Burn of Pitt Street, testified that he’d been given the watch and chain in question by Thomas Barry, on 17 August, ‘in security for a liquor debt, which he had contracted without the means of paying’. A couple of days later, Barry returned to collect the items. Many murders have been motivated by greed and selling the Bradley’s personal effects would’ve raised a tidy sum. Having an unpaid debt, however, added an urgency to these crimes. Joseph Kearns, one of the constables who gave evidence, said he was the one who took Thomas Barry into custody on suspicion of murder and described Barry as ‘very anxious to learn the reason for his apprehension’ and wished, very much, to change his clothes. On being searched, the chain – described by Burn as being offered to him as security for a grog debt – was one of the items in Barry’s possession. The watch, sworn to by the publican as being held by Thomas Barry, was positively identified as belonging to Mr Bradley. Watchmaker Henry Robenson declared he had, on one occasion, repaired the watch for Mr Bradley while another watchmaker, James Oatley, gave evidence on how he had been asked, by Barry, to clean the watch on 31 August, just days after the Bradleys were murdered. Several witnesses swore to the good characters of William Barry and Dennis Lamb, as well as to the characters of John Cochrane and Bridget Howell. After what was described as a ‘laborious trial of several hours’: Thomas Barry was pronounced guilty. William Barry and Dennis Lamb were acquitted. Cochrane and Howell were also found not guilty, having come into possession of the Bradley’s property via Thomas Barry. Thomas Barry was hanged on 14 October 1822. In a last-minute act of remorse, Barry recanted his earlier confession and declared before the hangman and all of the witnesses present: ‘that he was the only and sole murderer, and that he had no accomplices in the unparalleled deed’.   Want more stories from the Devonshire Street Cemeteries? The Library's fantastic podcast series, the Burial Files (here) is not to be missed.

Thousands of people travel through Sydney’s Central Station every day, but how many know what once lay beneath it? This nine-part audio series by the State Library of New South Wales will take you on a journey back to 19th century Sydney, to rediscover a place you thought you knew.

Dr Rachel Franks is the Coordinator of Scholarship at the State Library of NSW and a Conjoint Fellow at the University of Newcastle. She holds a PhD in Australian crime fiction and her research on crime fiction, true crime, popular culture and information science has been presented at numerous conferences. An award-winning writer, her work can be found in a wide variety of books, journals and magazines as well as on social media. She's appearing for the Dictionary today in a voluntary capacity. Thank you Rachel!  For more Dictionary of Sydney, listen to the podcast with Rachel & Felix here, and tune in to 2SER Breakfast on 107.3 every Wednesday morning to hear more stories from the Dictionary of Sydney.  

Mr Barracluff (Junior) gives Denis a ride, South Head 24 December 1905, Album 36: Photographs of the Allen family, 15 October 1905 - 1 April 1906, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (PX*D 578. 1567)

  Listen to Lisa and Alex on 2SER here In 1889 the enterprising Joseph Barracluff and his wife Jane established an ostrich farm at South Head. The farm covered 11 acres (4.4 ha.) of sandy land, and by 1902 was agisting 100 ostriches - a substantial flock. The birds consumed a ton of food a day and Barracluff fed them with refuse from the railway depot at Darling Harbour as well as markets and large hotels. In exchange for the removal of the waste, Barracluff was permitted to have the leftovers for free. South Africa was the centre of ostrich feather farming for fashion items such as hats and fans. Some farms had been established in Victoria and South Australia in the 1870s and 1880s, so Barracluff's farm was not an Australian first. But it may have been the first to be established in New South Wales. Over the years Barracluff's farm became a well-known tourist destination where patrons could select feathers to be cut directly from the flock. A ride on an ostrich was also a novelty for children visiting the farm, as indicated by some photos that survive.

Barracluff's Ostrich Farm business card c1916, private collection

No doubt the farm's fame was assisted by a royal visit of the Duke and Duchess of Cornwall and York in 1901. In honour of the visit, two birds were renamed 'Duke' and 'Duchess'. Afterwards, the farm was permitted to use the words 'Under Royal Patronage' and 'Under Vice-Regal Patronage' - which Barracluff exploited in all his marketing.

Auction sale of Barracluff's Ostrich Farm Estate, Rose Bay Heights, December 1917, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (Z/SP/W6/161)

As the business grew, so too did the public profile of Joseph Barracluff. He became active in local community life and he was an alderman of Waverley Municipal Council for 10 years, and was elected mayor twice. The business thrived until the outbreak of WWI, when the ostentatious statement of ostrich feathers fell out of favour. Joseph Barracluff died suddenly at his ostrich farm in 1918 aged 57 years. Soon after his death, the farm folded. Although a partial subdivision of the land commenced in 1917 just prior to Joseph's death, it was not until 1925 that the farm was completely subdivided. Today, a street and park bear his name. Further reading: Head to the Dictionary to read Kim Hanna's full entry here, along with the Dictionary entity record here for even more pics. Dr Lisa Murray is the Historian of the City of Sydney and former chair of the Dictionary of Sydney Trust. She is the 20201 Dr AM Hertzberg AO Fellow at the State Library of New South Wales and the author of several books, including Sydney Cemeteries: a field guide. She appears on 2SER on behalf of the Dictionary of Sydney in a voluntary capacity. Thanks Lisa, for the many years of unstinting support of the Dictionary!  You can follow her on Twitter here: @sydneyclio

Ostriches on a farm near Sydney c1905, from stereograph private collection 

Listen to Lisa & Alex here (skip to 139!) and tune in to 2SER Breakfast on 107.3 every Wednesday morning at 8:15-8:20 am to hear more from the Dictionary of Sydney. This is Alex's last week at 2SER as she heads off to pastures new. Thank you Alex, we've loved working with you and wish you all the very, very best and look forward to hearing about what you're up to next!  

Detail of Convicts embarking for Botany Bay, ca. 1790 by Thomas Rowlandson, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (SV/312)

In Governor Arthur Phillip’s great outdoor gaol in Sydney Cove, most eyes were on the convicts. It was logical to assume that those who had already proven themselves as felons were those most likely to offend in a new settlement. Yet, it was a military man, not a convict, who committed the first crime when a sailor illegally entered the Women’s Camp in early February 1788. Listen to Rachel and Alex on 2SER here The military were also at the centre of an organised crime ring that started to unravel in mid-March 1789. Private John Easty, of the marines, wrote that on 18 March 1789 ‘a Key was found Broke in one of the Locks att the Publick Store house’. The evidence was taken to William Fraser, a convict working as a blacksmith, who identified the key and stated that Private Joseph Hunt, a marine, had given it to him to alter. Now, Hunt was a guy with a record. In March 1788, he’d been found guilty of striking a fellow marine. He was ordered to publicly apologise to his victim, or to receive 100 lashes. In February 1789, he was done for being absent from a sentry post and was sentenced to 700 lashes, to be delivered in two sessions. As Hunt’s body was still stinging from his brutal punishment, details started to emerge in the settlement about a series of thefts from the Government Stores. Captain David Collins, the colony’s Judge Advocate, investigated the crimes. It was discovered that a group of seven marines, all swearing each other to secrecy, had procured keys to be altered so that they would fit the different locks on the three doors of the Government Stores. When one of the group members was rostered to guard the store, two more would enter and be locked in while they raided supplies of flour, meat, grog, tobacco and other items. Anyone else walking around would see the Stores locked and a guard on duty. This worked well, until one of the members decided to undertake a solo raid: he panicked and broke one of the keys off in a lock. The game was over. On 20 March 1789, in exchange for a pardon, Hunt told all that he knew about months of thieving from the Government Stores, including the names of his co-conspirators. On 26 March 1789, Hunt and the men he gave up – James Baker, James Brown, Richard Lukes, Thomas Jones, Luke Haines (or Haynes) and Richard Askew (or Asky) – were tried for their crimes. It was a clear message that everyone was equal under the law. The seven marines were found guilty. Hunt got off, but the other six were sentenced to death and scheduled to meet the common hangman the next day. There’s one last, shocking, twist to this story. Authorities were so keen to issue punishments for serious offences, regardless of who the perpetrators were (how times have changed), the gallows needed to carry out the hangings were erected before the men’s sentences were handed down. And Hunt? Well, he was, let’s say, unpopular. He spent some time in Norfolk Island, then returned to Port Jackson before going back to England in 1791.   Sources: John Cobley, Sydney Cove, vol. I: 1788 (Angus & Robertson, 1962/1980). John Cobley, Sydney Cove, vol. II: 1789–90 (Angus & Robertson, 1963/1980). John Easty, ‘A Journal.’ State Library of NSW, 1787–93, DLSPENCER SAFE 374. View online at the Library: https://collection.sl.nsw.gov.au/record/94RxOZ01/520ODraNp7a0E Watkin Tench, A Complete Account of the Settlement at Port Jackson (G Nicol and J Sewell, 1793). View online at the Library: https://collection.sl.nsw.gov.au/record/74VKJj8XZDE3/lJ0MxQZEx43oz  Dr Rachel Franks is the Coordinator of Scholarship at the State Library of NSW and a Conjoint Fellow at the University of Newcastle. She holds a PhD in Australian crime fiction and her research on crime fiction, true crime, popular culture and information science has been presented at numerous conferences. An award-winning writer, her work can be found in a wide variety of books, journals and magazines as well as on social media. She's appearing for the Dictionary today in a voluntary capacity. Thank you Rachel!  For more Dictionary of Sydney, listen to the podcast with Rachel & Alex here (skip to 137!), and tune in to 2SER Breakfast with Alex James on 107.3 every Wednesday morning to hear more stories from the Dictionary of Sydney.  

Robert Clancy, The Long Enlightenment: Australian Science from its Beginning to the mid-20th Century Halstead Press and the Royal Societies of Australia, 184 pp., ISBN: 9781925043532, h/bk, AUS$49.99

Robert Clancy – who would be familiar to many through his work as a clinical immunologist, gastroenterologist and auto-immune disease specialist as well as his work to promote the study of maps and mapping – set himself an ambitious task to unpack the story of Australian science from colonisation through to the 1950s. The resulting work, The Long Enlightenment: Australian Science from its Beginning to the mid-20th Century, is, predictably, excellent. This is a history by discipline, rather than by strict chronology, allowing readers to read this book from the first page or to explore different areas of science in which they might have a particular interest. There are sections on botanists, zoologists, agricultural and pastoral scientists, anthropologists, chemists, biomedical scientists, geologists, surveyors, astronomers, physicists and engineers. In all, the contributions of over one hundred innovators are included. There are many names that are well known, including Joseph Banks (botanist), Douglas Mawson (geologist), Thomas Mitchell (surveyor) and John Bradfield (engineer), as well as many names that should be much better known. The Zig Zag Railway, for example, is instantly recognised by most Australians but the man behind the project, John Whitton, is not nearly as famous however as the creatively constructed rail tracks that were built in the 1860s near Lithgow (pp.161, 163). Each profile offers a neat overview of key biographical information, major achievements and an insight into how the work of one person, or a small team, can contribute to a broader progress. Many of these vignettes cite privilege or being in the right place at the right time. Some also acknowledge a preparedness to invest in those who had obvious potential. Such investment came through the provision of space, resources and, critically, permission to go out and change the world. This book is, perhaps inevitably, dominated by men. Many of these stories might be about ‘permission’, and being granted permission – across the colonial era, into the mid-twentieth century and into the modern day – has always been easier if you are male (more specifically if you are male and you are white). That said, there is an excellent overview of the work of astronomer Ruby Payne-Scott. A career that began in the early 1940s, Payne-Scott helped to research ‘small signal visibility on radar displays and sort out difficulties with noise factors’ to support Australia’s war effort. Later, she would be an integral member of a team that would conduct ‘the southern hemisphere’s first radioastronomy experiment with long wave radiation’ and help identify ‘million degree temperatures in the corona [an aura of plasma that surrounds the sun and other stars]’ (p.148). There is, too, a section on ‘Women in Australian Science’ that discusses some extraordinary achievements made by women, despite concerted efforts to exclude them from the world of scientific work. Clancy notes how women were often restricted to supporting roles, despite obvious intellect and talent, and he offers a shocking statistic to make his point: ‘Through to the 1920s, only one to two per cent of communications in the Journal of the Royal Society (NSW) were authored by women’ (pp.167, 174–75). The production values are very high, with each section beautifully illustrated by artworks, documents, maps, photographs of objects and of people as well as sketches. The end papers are stunning. Essentially, this is a coffee table book as well as an important resource. There is an excellent bibliography, one that has been thoughtfully arranged by discipline for those wanting to explore a particular field of science in more detail. There is also a useful index. Clancy’s history of the long enlightenment in Australia is a narrative of national ambition, of collective enthusiasm and of remarkable (if occasionally difficult) individuals. This volume is an invitation to reflect on our shared scientific past and to engage in science-based conversations about our future. The threat of climate change and the struggle to create a ‘new normal’ in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic are just two of the obvious challenges that face us, in Australia and around the world, right now. I often find myself defending the humanities. Yet, the sciences also face similar issues of public dismissal, political interference and underfunding (pp.8, 175–80). In the opening pages, Clancy asks ‘does it matter?’, do these stories of science matter now? In short, yes, they do. They have to. Reviewed by Dr Rachel Franks, March 2021   Visit the State Library of NSW shop on Macquarie Street, or online here.

Jack Mundy, Builders Labourers Federation, 1973 by Rennie Ellis © Rennie Ellis Photographic Archive

Can you imagine Sydney without The Rocks? or what if we didn't have the Centennial Parklands or the State Theatre? These are just some of the iconic Sydney places that were saved from wholesale destruction in the 1970s by the imposition of green bans by trade unionists. Listen to Lisa and Alex on 2SER here Traditionally trade unionists placed a 'black ban' on work or goods to push their own issues. But in the 1970s trade unionists in the construction industry began to use the withdrawal of labour to highlight their social responsibility. They argued that workers had a right to insist their labour not be used in harmful ways. In order to distinguish from black bans, this new concept was given a new name, a green ban. Sydney was one of the first places in the world to have green bans. There were three main types of green bans:

• to defend open spaces from various kinds of development;
• to protect existing housing stock from demolition intended to make way for freeways or high-rise development;
•  to preserve older-style buildings from replacement by office-blocks or shopping precincts.

One of the key figures behind the green bans was Jack Mundey. He worked as a builder’s labourer and became an outspoken and active leader of the Builders’ Labourers Federation (BLF). He was Secretary of the NSW branch of the BLF from 1968 to 1975. Jack Mundey and the green bans were familiar household words in the 1970s.

wp-image-18031https://home.dictionaryofsydney.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/SLNSW_ON-161-Item-293.jpgJack Mundey, candidate for Canterbury in the NSW State elections, speaking in Campsie shopping centre on a Saturday morning 17 February 1968, [ON 161/Item 293] (Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW, and Courtesy Tribune / SEARCH Foundation)286426/> Jack Mundey, candidate for Canterbury in the NSW State elections, speaking in Campsie shopping centre on a Saturday morning 17 February 1968, [ON 161/Item 293] (Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW, and Courtesy Tribune / SEARCH Foundation)

The Green Ban movement preserved many of Sydney’s historic sites from demolition and saved the inner-city suburbs of Woolloomooloo and The Rocks from unfettered development, as well as much of Glebe and many iconic Sydney buildings like the State Theatre, the Pitt Street Uniting Church, and the beautiful Royal Australasian College of Physicians building on Macquarie Street. But it was never just about the built environment. Green bans were as much about people, the importance of what we now call affordable housing and social equity. The movement saved many inner-city tenants of low-cost rental homes from eviction and whole communities from disruption and dislocation. For more detail about some of the sites and communities protected by green bans, and their ongoing impact, see our excellent article by Meredith Burgmann and Verity Burgmann here. The Green Bans were highly politicised. Internal dissension within the Builders’ Labourers Federation led to Mundey's expulsion, but that didn't stop his activism. Jack Mundey was elected to Sydney Council on the Communist Party of Australia ticket and represented resident action groups from 1984 to 1987. Mundey was a committed environmentalist and was a national councillor with the Australian Conservation Foundation for 11 years. He was appointed chair of the NSW Historic Houses Trust in 1995, and in 2000 he was made an Officer in the Order of Australia.

'Thanks Jack' Builders Labourers Federation Protest 1973 by Rennie Ellis © Rennie Ellis Photographic Archive

Jack Mundey died last year, and his contribution to our community is being recognised with a State Memorial Service today (Wednesday 10 March). The service will be live streamed from 11am from Sydney Town Hall here: https://www.nsw.gov.au/state-funerals/state-memorial-for-jack-mundey-ao and will be recorded for later viewing too.           Dr Lisa Murray is the Historian of the City of Sydney and former chair of the Dictionary of Sydney Trust. She is the 20201 Dr AM Hertzberg AO Fellow at the State Library of New South Wales and the author of several books, including Sydney Cemeteries: a field guide. She appears on 2SER on behalf of the Dictionary of Sydney in a voluntary capacity. Thanks Lisa, for ten years of unstinting support of the Dictionary!  You can follow her on Twitter here: @sydneyclio Listen to Lisa & Alex here (skip to 136.08!) and tune in to 2SER Breakfast on 107.3 every Wednesday morning at 8:15-8:20 am to hear more from the Dictionary of Sydney.   

Mary Spear and Joy Partridge fielding (England), Betty Snowball wicket keeping, and Hazel Pritchard (NSW) batting during the English women's cricket team tour, Sydney, 1935, National Library of Australia ([PIC/8725/218 LOC Album 1056/C)

To ‘throw like a girl’ or ‘run like a girl’ is usually an insult hurled at a man without sporting prowess. But for over hundred years women have demonstrated throwing like a girl has been the winning move. In cricket women have carved out place on the pitch with their professionalism and grit, and yet theirs are still not household names. Listen to Minna and Sean on 2SER here Women have been batting and bowling in backyards since the earliest days of the colony. At the end of the nineteenth century, an official organization of teams and clubs for women had appeared and in 1931 the Australian Women’s Cricket Council was founded. The first international women’s cricket team arrived from England on tour over the summer of 1934-1935. Adding to the glare of media attention on the 'lady cricketers' was the fact that this was the first English cricket tour since the Bodyline season in 1932. The English captain Betty Archdale, who came back to Australia in the 1940s, more than passed the test as she and her team demonstrated fair play and professionalism, and both teams put on displays of highly skilled cricketing prowess. Even Yabba, the famous SCG heckler weighed in with his support:  'the ladies are playing all right for me. This is cricket, this is. Leave the girls alone'. In turn the Australian women’s team also toured overseas, visiting England for the first time in 1937. The performance of the Australia’s players quickly outshone the novelty of their cricket culottes. Sydney’s homegrown players were represented by, among others, Hazel Pritchard (1913-1967) also known as ‘the Girl Bradman’, who played style and scored 306 Test runs; and Mollie ‘the Demon’ Flaherty (1914-1989) a much-feared bowler, not only for her fiery personality, but also her fast pace bowling and strong right-hand batting. Mollie was the first fast bowler in international women’s cricket and also went on to excel in baseball and golf.

Mollie Flaherty bowling 1936, National Museum of Australia (1990.0030.0013)

 

Hazel Pritchard demonstrating the shorts for women adopted by the Australian women's team as their uniform and available as a free pattern in the magazine, Australian Women's Weekly 31 August 1935 p4 via Trove

The expectations of balancing feminine virtues and domestic life versus a sporting career remained a common strain in media commentary over the decades however. In 1976, Anne Gordon the captain of Australian Women’s Cricket team wryly commented in an interview in the Australian Women's Weekly that: ‘I don’t tell many people I play cricket because they expect me to tear up phone books for breakfast.’ Today more than ever women are levelling the playing field with the Rebel Women’s Big Bash (WBBL) garnering huge audiences, sponsorship deals and broadcast revenue. A new generation of star players have emerged like Muruwari woman Ashleigh Gardner, the first Indigenous woman to play in the Australian team since Faith Thomas in the 1950s. At just 18 years old Gardner captained the Indigenous woman’s squad tour of India and at age 21 achieved the highest score in WBBL with an unbeaten 114 runs from only 52 deliveries. You can read more about women's cricket in Australia on the State Library of NSW website here too: A Maiden Over           Minna Muhlen-Schulte is a professional historian and Senior Heritage Consultant at GML Heritage. She was the recipient of the Berry Family Fellowship at the State Library of Victoria and has worked on a range of history projects for community organisations, local and state government including the Third Quarantine Cemetery, Woodford Academy and Middle and Georges Head . In 2014, Minna developed a program on the life and work of Clarice Beckett for ABC Radio National’s Hindsight Program and in 2017 produced Crossing Enemy Lines for ABC Radio National’s Earshot Program. You can hear her most recent production, Carving Up the Country, on ABC Radio National's The History Listen here. She’s appearing for the Dictionary today in a voluntary capacity. Thanks Minna! For more Dictionary of Sydney, listen to the podcast with Minna & Sean here, and tune in to 2SER Breakfast with Alex James on 107.3 every Wednesday morning to hear more stories from the Dictionary of Sydney.