The Dictionary of Sydney is looking for a part-time Education Officer, one day per week, for 6 months. So if you have:

• teaching qualifications
• an understanding of history education issues and an understanding of the NSW Curriculum and Learning Innovation Centre
• strong project management and time management skills, with the ability to work independently
• excellent communications and professional writing skills
• demonstrated high-level presentation skills

then download a PDF of the position description here and get your application to us by 20th March 2015.

The Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardis Gras parade happened on Saturday and it was just as vibrant as it has been since it started 37 years ago. About 10,000 people and 150 floats spanned five kilometres covering themes including marriage equality and apparently half a tonne of glitter was used to adorn its participants, many of them dressed in drag. So I thought I’d delve into the Dictionary and take a look at Sydney's history of drag and cross dressing for 2SER Breakfast this morning! Cross dressing might be an integral part of the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardis Gras parade today and indeed one of our most famous films, Priscilla Queen of the Desert, made the world take notice of our city’s drag queens back in 1994. But during the 19th century, wearing the clothes of the opposite sex was considered deviant behaviour. In 1835, the convict Edmund Carmen was caught by police near Wollongong ‘dressed in a woman’s gown and cape’. He was found guilty of improper conduct and received 50 lashes. However in 1839, police arrested a woman for drunkenness in George Street only to find that she was actually a he. After this discovery they released him without charge. By the end of the 19th century, the activities of the famous Irish playwright Oscar Wilde had caused a scandal in London and even reached Sydney’s newspapers. They published details about his homosexuality and extravagant dress. One scandal sheet objected to what they called ‘The Oscar Wilde’s of Sydney’ ‘whose presence is advertised by an effeminate style of speech and the adoption of the names of celebrated actresses … and that part of College Street from Boomerang Street to Park Street is a parade for them.’ Despite the strong objections to those who chose to dress in drag on the street, men who donned women’s clothing were more readily accepted as long as they appeared on the theatrical stage. In the early years of World War II, nightclubs featured local stars such as the burlesque performer ‘Lea Sonia’, who would appear in drag at the Diamond Horseshoe Club in Oxford Street. Despite this supposed freedom, there were some instances which served as a harsh reminder of the intolerance for drag and general homophobic attitudes. In 1942 at the Ziegfeld Club in King Street, ‘accomplished nightclub dancer’ and cross-dresser Harry Foy tried to kiss an American sailor who then knocked him to the ground. Foy tragically died the next day ‘from the effects of a fractured skull’ and his assailant was never convicted. But gradually, as clubs increasingly featured drag shows during the postwar era throughout suburbs like Kings Cross, Redfern and Newtown, attitudes began to change. And not all drag shows featured feathers and sequins, one satirical show, The Sound of Mucus was a send-up of The Sound of Music and used to play at the Purple Onion in Kensington. Some of these drag performers became stars in their own right, including Carlotta and Carmen. Our city certainly has come a long way since the 19th century and the arrests, floggings and imprisonment of cross-dressers and so-called ‘Oscar Wildes of Sydney’! Check out Garry Wotherspoon's detailed article in the Dictionary. You can listen to a podcast of my segment with Mitch at 2SER Breakfast. Tune in again next week for more of Sydney’s history courtesy of the Dictionary of Sydney, on 107.3 at 8:20am. Don’t miss it!

This year’s NSW Food and Wine Festival have just finished and they featured an array of culinary delights, celebrating the many cultures present in Sydney. But our culinary tastes weren’t always this eclectic! I spoke to Mitch on 2SER Breakfast this morning about how our strong 'foodie' nature became an entrenched part of this city's culture. Nowadays, you can walk into any one of the many wine bars and restaurants of Sydney and be shown an extensive wine list and an array of scrumptious dishes. But back in the 1960s and 1970s, the idea of international restaurants and wine bars becoming permanent fixtures on the city’s streets was quite novel. The influx of new immigrants from across Europe after World War II, signaled the introduction of new beverages and dishes. One of the most popular precincts to experience these exotic delights was the Spanish Quarter in Liverpool Street. Bodegas, or wine cellars, were in Sydney as far back as the 19th century and they were not uncommon in and around Oxford Street and Darlinghurst. Ham and beef shops and bodegas sprung up in these areas offering such delicacies such as chorizo and empanadas. In the 1930s, the German-born wine connoisseur Leo Buring set up an establishment opposite Bridge Street in George Street, which he called ‘Ye Olde Crusty Cellars’. People lined up outside for their special vintage wines and the venue hosted many distinguished guests. Some of the more traditional drinking holes were still popular among Sydneysiders. Marble Bar opened in 1893 and was decked out in, unsurprisingly, marble, as well as stained glass, mirrors, mahogany and elaborate paintings. Though the hotel in which it was situated was demolished in the 1970s, it was carefully dismantled and reassembled and is now in the Hilton Sydney in George St. The 1966 film They’re a Weird Mob features a ridiculous scene in the bar before it was dismantled, where a patron explains the Australian accent to film’s main character, Italian migrant Nino Culotta. Despite the often xenophobic sentiments portrayed in some media at the time, in other cases the merits of these new cultures were explored. One 1970 article in the Australian Women’s Weekly features an array banquet style meals. It notes: ‘Australian cuisine has been greatly enriched in the past few years by the dishes introduced to it by migrants. And probably nowhere is the traditional food of European countries better presented and served than at the international clubs.’ If you’re struggling to picture it, think of the lavish spreads you would find in those classic 1970s Women’s Weekly cookbooks - a seminal publication and a staple for any experimental cook. In just a few easy steps, you could make your own German Black Forest cake, baked macaroni or Maltese trifle. Gradually, many of these old wine bars became run down, serving cheap wines, sweet cherry or port with lemonade. And many of the old restaurants have been purchased by investors; indeed, only recently the Nippon Club in Macquarie Street, which had been serving Japanese food surrounded by 1970s decor for over 40 years, was replaced. Despite the rise of new trendy bars, you can still get a jug of sangria in the Spanish Quarter and eat a plate of pasta in one of the city’s oldest Italian restaurants. They may be remnants from a different time but they are still traces of retro Sydney for the enthusiastic foodie. You can listen to a podcast of my segment with Mitch at 2SER Breakfast. Tune in again next week for more of Sydney’s history courtesy of the Dictionary of Sydney, on 107.3 at 8:20am. Don’t miss it!

Matraville Garden Village was the creation of the Voluntary Workers Association. Formed during World War I, the VWA’s main activity was providing homes for returned servicemen. In 1917, 16.2 hectares (40 acres) of Crown land was granted at Matraville under the Voluntary Workers (Soldiers’ Holding) Act for the village. Based on the English model suburb of Port Sunlight, the original plan included 170 bungalows (93 were built) for disabled soldiers and war widows and their families. The village was to be a ‘memorial to our fallen heroes’ and a reward for servicemen’s sacrifices for the nation. Street names reminded residents and visitors of World War I battles: Ypres, Pozieres, Beauchamp, Flanders and Bullecourt. Politicians and dignitaries ceremoniously opened individual cottages - but in the end the scheme was a disaster. Local and state government authorities could not agree which agencies were responsible for various services, so for many years the roads remained unmade, the streets unlit, houses became rundown and the village suffered from lack of amenities. The area set aside for the village was a sandy wasteland with scrubby hillocks. Shifting sand dunes were a constant nuisance. One couple wrote to the NSW Public Trustee complaining that a sand dune near their home had moved onto their verandah and then into their front room!

Rents were also raised and many of the tenants fell into arrears. A failed attempt by the New South Wales Public Trustee to evict a widow and her children received damning commentary in the Sydney press. The VWA’s leadership proved to be corrupt and inept, particularly the organisation's President, Dr Richard Arthur, and active member John ‘Lemonade’ Ley. The village was taken out of the organisation’s hands and was finally managed, from 1922, by the NSW Public Trustee. In the 1970s, the village was transferred to the NSW Housing Commission. It was demolished to make way for 440 housing commission flats. Only the Public School (1927) and a cottage at 6 Amiens Crescent remain today.     Further reading: Paul Ashton, Matraville, Dictionary of Sydney, 2008. Paul Ashton, Thomas John Ley, Dictionary of Sydney, 2008. --- You can catch up on this morning’s podcast on the 2SER website here. Don’t forget to join us on 2SER Breakfast again next week for more Sydney history: 107.3 at 8:20am. Thanks Paul!

This morning Dictionary Chair Paul Aston joined Mitch Byatt on 2SER Breakfast to talk about the history of Centennial Park. Once a sandy, swampy wasteland, Centennial Park is the largest urban park in the southern hemisphere, covering 260 hectares (9640 acres). The northern boundary of the Park was an Aboriginal walking track still in use by the Gadigal people when the First Fleet arrived. In 1811, Governor Macquarie set the land aside as a common (called Lachlan Swamps) as a potential source of water. In 1827 John Busby began a scheme to supply water between Lachlan Swamps and Hyde Park. Know as Busby’s Bore, it  took a decade to complete by convict labour (Busby didn’t like convicts and didn’t do many site visits). The Bore opened in  1937 eventually becoming overshadowed by the opening of the Botany Reservoir in 1858. By the 1870s, the Bore's water supply had become polluted. The NSW Medical Gazette 1870 said it provided ‘a potable fluid… of far more disagreeable nature than the witches broth in Macbeth’. With the opening of the Nepean scheme in 1880s, water supply from the Lachlan Swamps was cut off in 1887.

Shortly afterwards, the site was chosen by Sir Henry Parkes and others for a grand park to mark the Centenary of the colony of NSW. Purportedly designed by Frederick Franklin, civil engineer, some wanted to call it Carrington Park after the Governor but Henry Parkes wanted it to be a 'people’s park'. The idea took hold and provision for the land was included in The Centennial Celebration Act passed in 1887. Liberal beliefs at the time held that the 'improvement' and 'beautification' of cities had moral benefits for urban dwellers. The park would benefit the lower classes of society by 'raising their intellectual character' - being a place where people could observe their betters and show that they were respectable, as well as improving their education by learning the Latin names of plants. To ensure this, a host of bylaws were enacted, guaranteeing that the Park would not become another Domain where political spruikers and others congregated. Work on the Park began in May 1887. It was built by unemployed Sydney men doing ‘relief work’ during recessionary times. The Park opened on 26 January 1888 with a crowd of 40,000 people. Many of the initial plantings were experiments with exotic species that died. As the more successful plants matured, the vision for the Park slowly emerged. Problems with the management of the Park running well into the twentieth century led to its decline. Despite the Arcadian ideals expressed by the Park's founders, it became a contested place:

• controversy surrounded the installation in 1893 of Tommaso Sani’s sculpture ‘We Won’*
• cars were seen as vehicles for improper activities and their presence in the Park led to the introduction of lighting in an attempt to curb immorality;
• suicides were common in the Park in the 1910s and 1920s;
• in February 1986 the murdered body of Sallie-Anne Huckstepp was dumped in Busby’s Pond;
• vandals have defaced the Park throughout its history  - the statue erected to Sir Henry Parkes in 1897 after his death had to be put in storage in 1970 after it was vandalised.

During the 1930s depression the Park became neglected. In the 1950s, artist Paul Atroshenko remembered it being ‘empty and derelict...a lot of ponds were just used a dumping grounds for…old tyres and all that sort of stuff. Administrative arrangements had always been a significant problem; this changed when the Park was transferred to the Premier’s Department in 1979. The Park's wildlife is significant: it is home to long-finned eels who, as part of their life cycle, leave the lakes in the park, head for Botany Bay and travel 2,000 kms to New Caledonia. There they lay 1,000s of eggs and die. The eggs move on the southern ocean currents, arrive back in Botany Bay and the young go back to the Park. You can read more of Paul's history of Centennial Park in his essay for the Dictionary here: Centennial Park by Paul Ashton. You can catch up on this morning's podcast on the 2SER website here: Dictionary of Sydney: The history of Centennial Park. Don't forget to join us on 2SER Breakfast again next week for more Sydney history: 107.3 at 8:20am. Thanks Paul!   * http://www.daao.org.au/bio/tomaso-sani/biography/

As we welcome the year of the sheep and the Lunar New Year celebrations kick off this Friday, let’s take a step back in time to the 1800s and look at the Chinese experience in Sydney. Many of us might assume that the first people Indigenous inhabitants witnessed sailing toward Australia were Europeans. However, there is evidence that suggests that the Aboriginal people of Sydney Harbour may have seen or at least heard stories of the Chinese traders that sailed the globe, and that Chinese contact with Australia probably occurred as far back as 1,800 years ago! It wasn’t until 1818, however, that the earliest documented Chinese settler, Mak Sai Ying, arrived in Sydney and purchased land in Parramatta. He married an English woman, Sarah Thompson in 1823, changed his name to John Shying and held the licence for a Parramatta public house called the Golden Lion. Some of his children became furniture makers and his descendants live in Sydney to this day. After the convict transportation system ended in the 1840s, the colony went through a shortage of labour, encouraging the arrival of Chinese workers. By 1852 more than 1,500 Chinese labourers had arrived in Sydney. But by early that same year, news of gold had reached southern China and men from across the country arranged passage to Australia under a credit-ticket system, which meant fares were paid once fortunes were made. With this influx came laws designed to restrict Chinese arrivals, the first of which came in 1861 and then in 1881 and 1888. In addition to anti-Chinese legislation, many blamed the emergence of diseases such as smallpox on the arrival of Chinese people.

The statistics tell us that while our city had many Chinese visitors during the gold rushes, very few of them settled permanently. And interestingly, large influxes of Chinese after February resulted from reduced movements during Chinese New Year. Officially, there were 189 Chinese living in Sydney in 1861, 336 in 1871 and 1,321 in 1881. One popular area for Chinese arrivals in Sydney was the Rocks, which actually became the first site for Sydney’s Chinatown, which is in Haymarket today. They set up Chinese furniture shops, cook-shops and boarding houses in Lower George Street, not far from the wharves. One such furniture shop was called Ah Toy’s, and was one of the largest. However, in 1878 an there was an upsurge of violence against Chinese traders which led them to petition the government for protection from ‘larrikins’. Today the term ‘larrikin’ holds positive connotations, but back then, it was a word reserved for the undesirables of society, hoodlums and criminals. The source of this violence were trade union meetings which called for an end to immigration, opposed the low wages paid to Chinese workers by Chinese employers and advocated the use of violence. Public rallies were held, with one reportedly numbering around 2,000 people. As they headed up Pitt Street they eventually came to Ah Toy’s shop and attempted to torch the building, aware that many Chinese workers were asleep inside. Today, things are very different as we celebrate the richness of Chinese culture, and its status as a fixed and vibrant part of Sydney’s multicultural identity. Have a read of Shirley Fitzgerald’s article on the Dictionary of Sydney to find out more about the Chinese community’s fascinating story. You can listen to a podcast of my segment with Mitch at 2SER Breakfast. Tune in again next week for more of Sydney’s history courtesy of the Dictionary of Sydney, on 107.3 at 8:20am. Don’t miss it!

The exhibition Bungaree: The First Australian which is showing at Mosman Art Gallery at the moment, pays homage to this important Aboriginal figure from Sydney’s early colonial days. Fascinated by images and accounts of him wearing discarded British military uniforms and imitating the city’s earliest governors, I decided to explore his story in the Dictionary of Sydney. So who was Bungaree? Bungaree was part of the Garigal clan and was from Broken Bay, north of Sydney. During the early days of British settlement in Sydney, Bungaree adopted the role of a mediator between the English colonialists and Aboriginal people. But before he attained fame in our city’s history, he was something of an explorer. He sailed with the navigator and cartographer Matthew Flinders to Norfolk Island in 1798 and Bribie Island the following year. Flinders wrote that Bungaree’s ‘good disposition and open and manly conduct had attracted my esteem’. In 1801, Bungaree took part in the establishment of the first penal settlement at the Hunter River in Newcastle. Between 1802 and 1803 he became the first Australian-born person to circumnavigate Australia when he sailed again with Flinders, on HMS Investigator. During this voyage, he used his knowledge of Aboriginal protocol to negotiate peaceful meetings with local Indigenous tribes. Bungaree and his Broken Bay people settled on the north shore of Port Jackson. On 31 January 1815, Governor Lachlan Macquarie granted him land at Georges Head in Mosman for himself and his people to farm. Bungaree had befriended Macquarie and became a prominent figure in what the Governor termed, the ‘Experiment towards the Civilization of these Natives’. Macquarie even had a brass breastplate gorget made, inscribed with the words ‘Boongaree, Chief of the Broken Bay Tribe, 1815’. Historian Keith Vincent Smith describes Bungaree in detail in the Dictionary of Sydney. An intelligent man, Bungaree apparently had a penchant for impersonating governors and other local figures, copying their walk and mannerisms like a true entertainer. He used his talents to obtain clothes, tea, tobacco, bread, sugar and rum for himself and his people. As soon as any ship would enter Sydney Heads, Bungaree would arrive in his fishing boat, rowed by two of his wives. Dressed in a discarded British military jacket, tattered trousers and his trademark hat, he climbed aboard and welcomed newcomers to ‘his’ country. Doffing his hat, bowing deeply and grinning widely, he would ask to drink the captain’s health in rum or brandy.

In 1828, Bungaree and his clan moved to Sydney’s Domain, where he was seen naked and ‘in the last stages of infirmity’. The effects of age, alcoholism and malnutrition had taken its toll, and he was admitted to the General Hospital in 1830. He died at Garden Island on 24 November 1830 ‘in the midst of his own tribe and that of Darling Harbour, by all of whom he was greatly beloved’. His distinctive image survives today, as he appears in 18 portraits and other illustrations created by artists of the time. The story, ‘Bungaree, King of the Blacks’ was published in Charles Dickens’ weekly journal All the Year Round in 1859, bringing the famous Sydney character to London readers. Despite his reputation as a drunkard and a beggar in his later life, he remained a respected figure and was regarded as the most famous character to walk the streets of Sydney. And so may we remember King Bungaree - the flamboyant joker, the pioneer and Aboriginal leader - grinning from history’s pages wearing military attire and raising his trademark hat. Visit Mosman Art Gallery before February 22 to check out the exhibition, and if you get in quickly, you'll also be able to catch the installation Bungaree's Farm, a site specific exhibition, responding and interpreting the site of the first Aboriginal land grant in Australia located at Georges Heights/ Middle Head, Mosman which closes on February 8. You can listen to a podcast of my segment with Mitch at 2SER Breakfast. Tune in again next week for more of Sydney’s history courtesy of the Dictionary of Sydney, on 107.3 at 8:20am. Don’t miss it!

What was life like for women living in Sydney during the early 20th century? Dictionary of Sydney contributor Delia Falconer paints a colourful picture of bohemian enclaves and the freedom of the city in her essay A City of One's Own. From the 1920s, there was a boom in apartment living on or near Sydney Harbour. Many of the Art Deco apartment buildings you see today in areas such as Potts Point used to be Italianate mansions which were then subdivided to accommodate the demand for inner city apartment living. Apartment living not only changed the face of Sydney’s streets, it also transformed the city into an irresistible social and cultural hub for single women. It offered greater freedoms to women who opted to live closer to their place of work and at the same time, did not have the rigid structure and rules that constrained women living in suburban Sydney. These apartment buildings offered a picturesque haven away from the watchful eyes of family and suburban neighbours. In Tirra Lirra by the River, a novel by Jessica Anderson, the heroine describes the ‘flowers, cats, water, sky, seagulls, ships'  as she looks out the window of her Elizabeth Bay apartment. This inner city lifestyle also brought the availability of specialty stores such as delicatessens and restaurants, where you could leave a plate before work and pick it up at the day’s end for a ready made meal. Before the introduction of the six o’clock closing  for public bars hit Sydney in 1927, working class women would congregate in the women only lounges of these bars. A refuge away from the rougher side of Sydney’s nightlife were institutions such as the Country Women’s Association hostel in Kings Cross and the Women’s Club in Elizabeth Street, which offered accommodation for women and still exist today. For many women, the city represented a form of escapism from the humdrum and restrictive life in the suburbs. The city had crowds, street theatre and diversity at every corner. World War II offered women the chance to participate in the life of the city, with increased employment opportunities and social interaction, with servicemen from around the world arriving in droves. Many alarmist novels of the day responded to this new social dynamic, with Dymphna Cusack and Florence James's 1951 bestseller, Come in Spinner, telling the tale of a young woman who is abducted and raped in a brothel. Yet despite these tragic depictions, most women writers have spoken of the harbour and living on its fringes as an idyllic and promising experience. Women have also been particularly active in the preservation of the city, with one example being the publisher and activist Juanita Nielsen who campaigned against the redevelopment of Victoria Street in Potts Point, and then mysteriously disappeared in Kings Cross in 1975. Ruth Park summed up the distressing trend of Sydney’s redevelopment during the 1960s. As old buildings were torn down around her, she wrote: ‘Oh, my poor old girl!' I used to cry…stepping aside to avoid trucks laden with enormous ironbark beams, black with age and pocked with axe marks.’ You can listen to a podcast of Nicole’s segment with Mitch on 2SER Breakfast here. Nicole returns at the same time next week to share more of Sydney’s history courtesy of the Dictionary of Sydney, on 107.3 at 8:20am. Don’t miss it!

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