wp-image-17470https://home.dictionaryofsydney.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/SLNSW-PXC-f10-a709011h.jpgWreck of the 'Edd Lalm' [Edward Lombe] On Middle Head Fort Jackson 1834, by Oswald Walters B Brierly, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW(PXC 284, f10)500323/> Wreck of the 'Edd Lalm' [Edward Lombe] On Middle Head Fort Jackson 1834, by Oswald Walters B Brierly, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW(PXC 284, f10)

It's been wild weather out there in Sydney over the last couple of days, so it seemed like a good time to look at one of the earliest maritime disasters in Sydney Harbour - and remind people it's really not a good idea to take the boat out at the moment.

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The Dunbar is probably Sydney's famous shipwreck, but 23 years before that terrible event left its scar on Sydney, another ship was wrecked inside the harbour, killing eleven people and leading to permanent changes in maritime safety precautions. Not many people remember the wreck of the Edward Lombe in August 1834 now, overshadowed as it was by the wreck of the Dunbar, but it was the first major fatal wreck in the harbour. Ships and shipping were the aviation industry of colonial Sydney - anyone or anything coming or going, did so by ship. Sydney was a maritime town - the industry touched every facet of life in Sydney, everyone knew the crews and the sailors. Like planes, there were lots of different kinds of ships too for different purposes, including barques, schooners, sloops and brigantines, for  transporting passengers, convicts and goods. Shipping made Sydney an intercolonial city, connected with the whole world. The Edward Lombe was a copper lined, three-masted timber barque of 352.6 tonnes, built in Yorkshire in 1828 by one of the largest shipyards in England. In 1834 she was still a reasonably new vessel, and had made at least two voyages to Australia already. She would make various stops in different colonies, dropping off and collecting passengers who were travelling between colonies or countries, as well as goods and mail. On her voyage to Sydney in August 1834, she had just departed Hobart with 7 passengers, 22 crew and a general cargo of spirits, salt and other merchandise, as well as a new commission to collect a shipment of sugar from Mauritius on her way back to England. Her captain, Stuart Stroyan, had only joined the vessel in March 1834 and this was his first voyage to Sydney. Shipping was of course a dangerous business at the time. With no engines, ships were subservient to the weather. The Edward Lombe was becalmed for a few days on her way up to Sydney, but then the wind picked up and she started making good time. Unfortunately the wind soon becomes a proper gale, and a terrible storm sets in. Ships would trim their sails and sit stormy weather out off the coast, rather than try to make it through the treacherous reefs into Sydney Harbour, and this is what the captain of the Edward Lombe planned to do on the evening of the 25 August. However this was not to be. The wind was so high that it pushed the vessel towards the coast - Stroyan saw the light from South Head and decided the only thing to was to steer for the heads, where hopefully they could find shelter. At about half past nine that evening the ship made it through the heads, and with no pilot to guide them, Stroyan decided to let go of an anchor about two ships's lengths off the small rocky outcrop known as Sow and Pigs reef off Middle Head. The wind was so strong that the cable snapped almost immediately. They dropped another anchor, but this was not strong enough to hold the ship and her stern was dashed on the rocks at Middle Head. The ship was doomed.

Sketch of Edward Lombe from part of wreck, Middle Head, New South Wales 1834 by Robert Russell, National Library of Australia (PIC Drawer 61 #R212)

Two passengers and Captain Stroyan tried to cut a lifeboat free, but were swept to their deaths by a wave that crashed over the boat. When stuck, wooden ships come apart reasonably easily, and in this case the Edward Lombe literally split in half. Held together only by cables and ropes, with the cargo pouring out, the front half of the ship swung round and everyone on that half of the ship was killed. Two more men were drowned as they attempted to cast a line to the shore from the stern, while another was dashed on the rocks but, miraculously, was thrown by the waves onto the bows of the wreckage and climbed onto a high rock, which he managed to cling to all night. By morning the survivors were huddled together on the remaining deck, the huge waves having crashed over them all night. The alarm was raised by a smaller boat heading out to sea who spotted the wreck and made their way, at considerable risk to themselves, to their aid. In all eleven of the 29 people onboard died, including 5 of the 7 passengers. In the weeks following, as some of the bodies were recovered and inquests and inquiries were held, several recommendations for improvements to navigational aids were made. A temporary light was established on the Sow and Pigs, and by 1836, a permanent floating light ship had finally been placed there. It had already proved so useful that at least one newspaper expressed the hope that it might soon be superseded by a small lighthouse. In 1912 the light ship was replaced by a buoy with a gas light that was in turn replaced by the Western Channel Pile Light. Read more about the wreck of the Edward Lombe and its aftermath in Hugh Tranter's great entry, The Wreck of the Edward Lombe, on the Dictionary here: https://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/the_wreck_of_the_edward_lombe 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. Mark appears on 2SER on behalf of the Dictionary of Sydney in a voluntary capacity. Thanks Mark!  

John Rae c1884, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (ML MSS A807)

John Rae is, perhaps, my favourite dead white male. On the surface, he’s really rather ordinary. An administrator who was meticulous and ambitious, he was a career public servant. He woke up, got dressed, went to work and came home again. He married and had six children. In many respects, he’s just another man of colonial Sydney, the type that looks serious and a bit stiff in photographs. Yet, Rae is, on closer inspection, quite an extraordinary individual.

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Born in Scotland in 1813 and arriving in Australia in 1839, Rae, who studied arts and law, was a book collector, educator and inventor (designs for several wonderful inventions to support his interest in photography survive today). A self-taught artist he produced beautiful pictures of the world around him, including delightful doodles in the Minute Books of the Council of the City of Sydney. He also wrote romantic letters to his wife, his 'Dear Bessie'. This month marks the anniversary of Rae being appointed as the first full-time Town Clerk for the City of Sydney on 27 July in 1843. Rae’s biographer, Nan Phillips, has written how in this role he was 'secretary, administrator and chief adviser to the council; he was also legal officer, pioneering the interpretation of the Sydney Corporation Act, and the framing of by-laws and regulations'. By 1857, Rae was working for the railways in New South Wales; holding several positions and making multiple improvements on the running of, and the reporting on, a rail system. One of his most famous—but now taken-for-granted—innovations, was the inclusion of profit and loss accounts within a railway’s annual report. A standard feature of these annual reports today, Rae’s work resulted in a first for any railway system anywhere in the world, making him quite the celebrity on the transport tracks. Rae retired in 1893. So, when Rae wasn’t working hard and being a generally good bloke, what was he doing? Well, he spent a lot of time drawing, painting and photographing Sydney. The State Library of New South Wales houses many of Rae’s artistic efforts including a lovely series of views of Sydney. The Library also holds one of Rae’s best-known watercolours, an 1850 piece titled 'Turning the first turf of the first railway in the Australasian colonies at Redfern, Sydney, N.S.W. 3rd July 1850'.

Turning the first turf of the first railway in the Australasian colonies at Redfern, Sydney, N.S.W. 3rd July 1850, by John Rae, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (ML 244)

  The start of the construction of a railway was seen by Sydneysiders as a symbol of great progress. Sure, it’s not an entirely accurate picture. Rae presents a glorious, sunny day when there was not a blue sky to be seen in Sydney on 3 July 1850, heavy rain making for a soggy, rather than celebratory, event.

Detail of 'Turning the first turf' showing Aboriginal people near the location of modern day Eveleigh Street in Redfern

Rae did, however, take great care in portraying a group of Aboriginal people in residence on a piece of land, known at the time, as the Cleveland Paddocks Reserve.  This vignette appears to be a re-working of a picture of the group that Rae drew for the cover of  Part III of Sydney Illustrated, a series of volumes he produced between 1842 and 1844 with artist JS Prout. Comparisons to other works by Rae suggest that these are Dharawal people from the Illawarra or Five Islands district who he sketched in 1842, including Moureet and William Darby (Nutangle). In this watercolour, Rae has placed this version of the group quite close to present-day Eveleigh Street and the area that many people refer to as 'The Block', the urban heartland of Sydney’s dispossessed Aboriginal peoples. Another striking feature of this painting—something you see across many of Rae’s pictures—is his depiction of animals. You can easily identify a Rae artwork by looking at his horses. They all have quite assertive tails that say: 'Look at me!'. They also have very quirky legs. Rae’s horse legs are either stretched out and appear impossibly long (very showgirl-esque), or they’re bent at odd, rather uncomfortable looking, angles. There are sixteen of these delightfully drawn horses in the foreground of 'The Turning of the Turf' with lots more in the background. There are also quite a few puppers in this picture. You can see a similar, if not quite as pronounced pattern, in his dogs. All perky tails and awkward legs. Rae drew hundreds, if not thousands, of animals over his lifetime. Many of these are mythical beasts but many are everyday creatures that would have been common on the streets of Sydney in the 1800s. Standing, prancing or running at full gallop, his horses are particularly distinctive.

Detail from 'Turning the first turf' showing some of Rae's signature animal moves

Rae died on 15 July 1900, almost 57 years to the day since his appointment to the City of Sydney and almost 50 years to the day since the turning of the first turf at Redfern. You can of course see the painting and how it's appeared on the Dictionary of Sydney here, but if you'd like to zoom right in to get a good look at all the details, head to the State Library's new catalogue to use their fantastic new image viewer: https://collection.sl.nsw.gov.au/record/YdmdbG49 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, and tune in to 2SER Breakfast with Alex James on 107.3 every Wednesday morning to hear more stories from the Dictionary of Sydney. References Franks, Rachel (2019). 'In the Margins', SL Magazine, Spring 2019, 28-31. https://www.sl.nsw.gov.au/sites/default/files/5403_sl_magazine_spring_2019_12awk-complete-web-revisednew3.pdf Franks, Rachel (2019). 'A Life in the Margins: John Rae and the early minute books of the City of Sydney.' Script & Print, 42(3): 133–46. 'The Sydney Railway.' Freeman’s Journal, 4 July (1850): 6. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article115765220 Phillips, Nan (1976). 'Rae, John (1813–1900).' Australian Dictionary of Biography. http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/rae-john-4443 Rae, John (1842). Sydney Illustrated, Part III: cover, National Library of Australia (PIC Volume 551 #U7589 NK1524/21) https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-135612093/ Rae, John (1863). 'Letters to his Wife Elizabeth Rae, 22 June – 22 December 1863, transcribed by David Rae.' Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (MLMSS 7774). https://search.sl.nsw.gov.au/permalink/f/1cvjue2/ADLIB110331965 Rae, John (1842). John Rae - portraits of Australian Aborigines, 1842, Dixson Galleries, State Library of NSW (DG*D 230) http://archival.sl.nsw.gov.au/Details/archive/110328058  

A high kick, The Australasian. 24 September 192, p67 via Trove

Last week Australia and New Zealand won their joint bid to host the 2023 FIFA Women's World Cup on Friday, prompting us to think across codes about some other legendary women football players in Sydney who played their first game almost 100 years ago. As the first women's soccer match was played in Brisbane in September 1921, at the same time in Sydney two teams of women were playing their inaugural public match of a different code.

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On 17 September 1921 a crowd of between 20,000-30,000 people turned up at the showground at Moore Park to watch a match involving two teams of women. A 15 year old winger Maggie Maloney, whose older brother Mick played for South Sydney, emerged as the star scoring four tries in the match, and also winning a 110-yard sprint race. The game was even more astonishing given this was a code with almost no tradition of female involvement and one that remains dominated to this day by images of heroic men and supposed ideals of masculinity. An attempt had been made to generate enthusiasm for a women's competition in Sydney in early 1912, but had not been successful. Feminist Rose Scott, an advocate for women's suffrage and the president of the NSW Women's Swimming Association, publicly denounced the idea, calling it 'disgusting', 'brutal' and 'worse than horrible' (despite only ever having seen one match of football actually played).

Nellie Doherty & Molly Cane, The Sun, 27 May 1921, p1 via Trove

The new era was instigated by two young women from North Sydney. In May 1921 Molly Cane and Nellie Doherty wrote a letter to the New South Wales Rugby League (NSWRL) requesting its assistance to create a women's rugby league competition. They pointed to the success of women's soccer in England and France as a precedent for drawing audiences in Sydney.  Initially the NSWRL refused the request but just a few days later, the League's Secretary Horrie Miller relented and advised that the organisation would support the establishment of women’s clubs. At the formation meeting at the NSWRL headquarters on 3 June, Miller teased the prospective players saying 'It has been suggested that the ambulance man will have to include powder and paint in his box of tricks.' Molly Cane retorted, 'It won't be wanted. We are going to play football as the men play it', to roars of approval from the other women in attendance. At least five teams were established, based on the number of women who had attended the formation meeting. Balmain had 2 players, Easts 23, Glebe 4, Newtown 8, Norths 9, Souths 11, Wests 5, St George 7 and University 1. After this tally, the clubs formed were Glebe-Balmain, Newtown-South Sydney, St George-Western Suburbs-University, North Sydney and Eastern Suburbs.

A pass by the Sydney team in a training match, The Australasian, 17 September 1921, p viii via Trove

On 18 June 1921, about 100 women met at the Sydney Sports Ground for their first training session, under electric lights using aluminium painted balls that would glow in the dark, with Miller there to provide advice as well as two policemen, no doubt to keep the peace. The early uniforms consisted of a bathing cap so women could tuck away their hair, football jumpers, long socks, knickers much like European female soccer players at the time, and shorts.

Nellie Doherty, Captain of the Blues. The Australasian. 24 September 1921, p67 via Trove

The first match of the Ladies' League, between two teams titled Metropolitan (in blue) and Sydney (in red), was played on the first weekend after the official men's season had ended, with the Metropolitan team winning 21-11. While some reports said the large crowd had mostly only attended to laugh, all agreed that they were rapidly swayed by the determination and athleticism of the players. Despite their early support, the NSWRL had threatened any of their members with disqualification if they appeared officially at the match in any way, even going so far as to try to distract from the inaugural game by timetabling a short match on the same day between two teams of schoolgirls at a charity gala event of rugby league for the Women's Hospital at the Sydney Show Ground. Despite this threat, rugby league legend Dally Messenger gave an exhibition of goal kicking in support of the tournament. Criticism and outright sexist commentary of the women had continued from the outset. Cartoons made fun of the women’s weight, emotional capacity and physical ability. They were told they were attention-seeking, that the game would impact their reproductive organs and that they would become a ‘menace to motherhood’. Mocking poems appeared, like this line from one published in the Australian Bystander - 'When shall their memory fade? What a freak-show they made!'  or one by Wilcha in the Rugby League News (When Mother Joined the League) that lamented not only his wife's admiration of the male players, but her enthusiasm for playing herself - apart from intimidating him, who would mind the children?

The winning team, The Australasian. 24 September 192, p67 via Trove

Part of this could perhaps be attributed to social tensions as the increasing numbers of women in the workforce after World War One were seen to be encroaching on male arenas. However, inequality in the game continues to prevail, not just in just pay and conditions, but in the culture of sexism evident in the recent lack of support to restart the women’s league during the Co-Vid pandemic.

Support for the idea of women playing football was mixed, with this cartoon describing the 'type of bilious citizen who objects so strong to the ladies taking up football', Rugby League News 18 June 1921, p12 via Trove

Despite this, women’s resilience in the sport has seen their own State of Origin running since 1999 (where they play for the Nellie Doherty Cup, named in honour of one of the 1921 founders); the Women’s World Cup is now held concurrently with the Men’s; and in 2017 New South Wales Rugby League announced the creation of an under-18s women’s league.           References Andrew Ferguson, ‘How a courageous duo helped women's rugby league kick off in 1921’, 23 December 2018, NRL News, https://www.nrl.com/news/2018/12/23/how-a-courageous-duo-helped-womens-rugby-league-kick-off-in-1921/, accessed on 1 July 2020. Charles Little, ‘What a freak-show they made!’ Women’s Rugby League in 1920s Sydney’, Football Studies, Vol. 4 No. 2, p 28. https://web.archive.org/web/20160912150732/http://library.la84.org/SportsLibrary/FootballStudies/2001/FS0402e.pdf, accessed on 1 July 2020. ‘Women Footballers’,The Sun, 14 February 1912, p6  http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article222007086, accessed on 1 July 2020. WOMEN DETERMINED The Daily Telegraph, 4 June 1921, p12 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article239749473, accessed on 1 July 2020. 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 & Alex 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.       

Sydney Town Hall under construction c1875, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (SPF/334)

You know, we often take Sydney Town Hall for granted. It's undeniably a city landmark - we sit on its steps and watch the world go by, use it as a meeting place, and it has given its name to a train station - but it is also a very special building. City of Sydney Council announced this week that they are embarking on the final stage of conservation works to spruce up the building, a reminder to look up when we're in the city and appreciate the hall's architecture, design and history. 

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This has been a long term project, but in a just a few more years the Town Hall will be sparkling like the cultural gem it is. This stage of the works entails enclosing the southern and western exteriors with scaffolding so that the sandstone can be cleaned and repaired. And the stained glass windows in the main hall will be carefully removed and restored. Sydney Town Hall was originally designed by J H Willson, and its two stages of construction was overseen by a series of five architects over a period of two decades. The building exhibits an exuberant French Second Empire architectural style, combined with Neo-Classical tempe-like elements. There are lots of carved columns, dentils, festoons of flowers, and lions heads. A town hall encompasses the vision and aspirations of the civic fathers - and Sydney Town Hall is just that. At the time of its completion in 1889, Sydney Town Hall was a daring, technologically innovative building. It had a large roof expanse without columns, and the ceiling was a pressed metal ceiling by Wunderlich - the first of its kind at such scale. There was decoration of native flora and the largest organ in the southern hemisphere which was the envy of the world. This was a place for the people of Sydney: a civic and cultural venue for elections, parties, anything. The building is a testament to the artisans and craftsmen that brought the building to life.

Stained glass figure representing New South Wales, designed by Lucien Henry, in Sydney Town Hall. Photo courtesy of Paul Patterson, City of Sydney Council.

But it is the stained glass windows in the interior which are the real stunners. A pair of semicircular stained glass windows designed by Lucien Henry, a French artist living in Sydney, encapsulated through symbolic imagery Sydney's place in the world and its promise as a city. You might have seen them if you've gone to a concert in Sydney Town Hall - they grace the stairwells on the northern and southern side. On one side is a traditional design acknowledging the British empire, with the incorporation of Captain Cook on board a ship with a telescope. But it is the southern window that takes your breath away. In the southern stairwell New South Wales is represented as an allegorical, draped in a Union Jack with a solar halo and headdress of rams' horns and wool. She holds a miner's lamp in one hand, representing the mineral wealth of the colony, and Neptune's trident, representing its maritime power, in her other hand. She stands commandingly over Oceania; she is the jewel of the southern hemisphere. The side panels are decorated with waratahs, flannel flowers and firewheels, as well as the stars of the Southern Cross. High above the main hall a series of stained glass clerestory windows also feature native flora. The windows depict musical instruments, fruit and Australian native wildflowers. These are also believed to be the work of Lucien Henry. It is clear that the subject matter reflects white values of the day, and while the application of native flora was itself an innovative step at that time, the windows did not embrace or include our First Nations Peoples. But the designs of the Town Hall were definitely expressing an emerging appreciation of the unique flora and fauna of this land and presenting these symbols as part of the colonial Sydney identity and a nascent national identity. It is interesting that it was a migrant, French-born designer Lucien Henry, who saw the place with fresh eyes and revolutionised Australian decoration. The building is special for its continuing use as the offices of the Council of the City of Sydney and as the city's civic and cultural centre. The hall is built on the former site of Sydney’s first official European cemetery. There are so many layers of people, decoration, occasion and celebration connected with this site that together tell the unique history of the City of Sydney. You can read more on the Dictionary here: Lucien Henry Sydney Town Hall     Dr Lisa Murray is the Historian of the City of Sydney and former chair of the Dictionary of Sydney Trust. She is a Visiting Scholar 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, 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.         

Mark's new book is available now.

With Sydney surrounded by mountains on three out of four sides, getting out of the city area has, until fairly recently, been tricky. This was particularly the case in the colonial period. In the west the Blue Mountains were viewed as an almost impenetrable barrier by the British. Aboriginal people had been coming and going over the mountains, by a multitude of routes for hundreds of generations, but it was not until 1813 that the British finally managed it. The ‘discovery’ of the Bathurst Plains in the west set many a farmers heart racing and new attempts to reach it were soon being made from the Hawkesbury settlements around Windsor.  Listen to Mark and Alex on 2SER here In 1817 and 1818 two failed attempts to reach the Bathurst Plains were made by settlers at Windsor, the first by Benjamin Singleton, farmer and convict son, and the second by ex-convict surveyor William Parr. Both got as far as Putty, about 150km north west of Sydney, but became lost in the steep valleys and rugged country. Singleton gave it another go late in 1818, but despite taking an Aboriginal guide with him, still failed. In 1819 another attempt was made by settler John Howe. Howe had been living at Windsor since 1802. In 1804 he was speared in a raid on his farm during the first wave of frontier clashes on Sydney’s fringe. He later became a constable and during the 1816 frontier war that culminated in the Appin Massacre, Howe was in charge of escorting Aboriginal prisoners captured during the fighting. At the height of the troubles, Governor Macquarie released a list of the ten most wanted Aboriginal leaders of the resistance. Number 2 on the list was a man from Richmond identified as Myles. Howe set out from Windsor in late October 1819 with five settlers and two Aboriginal guides, one of whom was Myles, the Richmond resistance leader. After about ten days they came into a wide valley with a fresh water river. This, although they did not know it yet, was the Hunter Valley. The relatively quick trip through the mountains was due in no small way to Myles. Instrumental to the success of the expedition, he led the group, he liaised with Aboriginal people they met on the way, he secured local guides as they went and he avoided a potential fight when they arrived in the Hunter. When the party returned to Windsor, Myles and a larger group of Aboriginal men were again provisioned under Macquarie's orders and sent back to investigate an easier route, as suggested by a local Aboriginal man they met on their way back.  Myles returned within the week and confirmed the way through. Howe went again, this time with thirteen others and again with Myles and another Aboriginal man called Mullaboy as guides. The route was shorter and easier, and Howe marked a path all the way to Maitland. The section through the mountains became the Putty Road and is still in use as one of the main routes out of Sydney’s west today. Mark's book 'The Convict Valley: the bloody struggle on Australia's early frontier' has just been published by Allen & Unwin. The story of the second British penal settlement in Australia, where a notoriously brutal convict regime became the template for penal stations in other states, the book explores relations between the white settlers and the local Aboriginal landholders, and uncovers a long forgotten massacre. It's available to purchase online and at all the best bookstores now.  Mark will be speaking at a number of online events in the next few weeks - see details for bookings below, and keep an eye on social media for more as they become available. You can read the Dictionary's review here too.

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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. Mark appears on 2SER on behalf of the Dictionary of Sydney in a voluntary capacity. Thanks Mark!      

John Jenkins 1834, by John Gardiner Austin, National Library of Australia (nla.pic-an5600121)

In the mid-eighteenth century, the famous London magazine Punch published a short piece on the ever-increasing popularity of true crime stories: We are a trading community—a commercial people. Murder is, doubtless, a very shocking offence; nevertheless, as what is done is not to be undone, let us make our money out of it. Hereupon, we turn a murderer into a commodity, and open an account with homicide. When lawyer Robert Wardell founded Sydney’s second major (and first independent) newspaper, The Australian—with William Charles Wentworth in 1824—he could never have predicted he would be a true crime story in the pages of his own media enterprise a decade later. Listen to Rachel and Alex on 2SER here The Australian (a very different publication to the one founded in 1964 that we know today) was published weekly from 14 October 1824 until 28 September 1848. The first issue stated an intention to be unapologetically outspoken, 'individual influence is apt to luxuriate and flourish where there exists no corrective to check its exuberance or prevent its growth.' The editors bluntly declared: 'A free Press is the most legitimate, and at the same time the most powerful weapon that can be employed to annihilate such influence, frustrate the designs of tyranny, and restrain the arm of oppression'. On 9 September 1834, The Australian reported on the 'DREADFUL MURDER OF DR WARDELL' and how another 'bloody deed has now stained the annals of this Colony.' In an early example of Sydney-based investigative journalism, a representative of the newspaper went to the scene of the crime to try and find out what had happened. [W]e arrived, on the spot, and there to our infinite regret; beheld a scene of horror, which to attempt to describe with truth is not in our power; imagine a human being crimsoned over with his own heart’s blood; a fearful wound on the left side of the throat, immediately under the ear, and another gaping wound sufficient for the escape of a hundred lives, immediately between the left shoulder and the breast; and you have some faint picture of the scene which we yesterday beheld. The blood stained corpse, of which was once Robert Wardell, was here before us.

1940s depiction of Wardell's murder, Truth, 4 December 1949, p19 via Trove

Yes, true crime stories are often dominated by graphic details of violence, but this article is different. In these words you can feel the grief, and the rage, felt by those at The Australian where Wardell had been, for many, a colleague, an employer and friend. So, what actually happened? Wardell had been riding on his property at Petersham when he came across three runaway convicts. He unsuccessfully tried to convince the trio to give themselves up to authorities. John Jenkins, the leader of the small gang, fearful that Wardell would turn them in, shot and killed him. Two of the men, including Jenkins (a man with a really dodgy past) and Thomas Tattersdale, were soon arrested, tried and convicted for murder. The third man, a teenager by the name of Emmanuel Brace, made a deal with prosecutors and gave evidence against his former companions. The trial was quite an event, and the courthouse was packed. The jury was sworn in, the indictments were read and the prisoners pleaded not guilty. There was evidence, there were witnesses and the usual emotive arguments. The jury retired, 'but the door, was hardly shut, when they came back into Court' and returned verdicts of 'Guilty' against Jenkins and Tattersdale. Jenkins was condemned for being the ringleader and the man who pulled the trigger, killing Wardell. Tattersdale was done for aiding and abetting. His Honour, Chief Justice Francis Forbes, passed the sentence of death: both men would 'be hung by the neck until they were dead, and their bodies delivered over to the surgeons for dissection'. This is when things became a little bit more dramatic. Tattersdale was resigned to a verdict he must have seen as inevitable. He asked the Judge to order the teenager Brace to be present as a witness at his execution, and he requested some time to repent. In sharp contrast, Jenkins was clearly unimpressed.

Old and New Sydney, no 4, 1882, p26 via Trove

Wardell’s murderer had 'a good deal to say, and throwing himself into a threatening and unbecoming attitude' (a very polite way of saying that Jenkins completely lost it). The convicted murderer started swearing and abusing everyone in sight: he complained he hadn’t received a fair trial, he blamed his counsel for the outcome and then declared he could shoot everyone in the courtroom. Jenkins then tried to play for leniency, or at least time, and suggested that 'in order to prevent innocent persons from being punished, he would confess to several robberies he had done, and that he had shot several bullocks'. Forbes, who had been Chief Justice for over a decade when he heard this case, wasn’t going to tolerate Jenkins’ schemes and told him 'he had better apply to the clergyman of his own religion' if he wanted to make any confessions. Jenkins launched himself on Tattersdale: he punched him hard in the face, twice, knocking him down in the dock. Forbes, who had really seen almost everything there was to be seen in a court of law was quite overwhelmed while he watched his court room, once a stoic symbol of justice and order, become a complete scrum. In a classic understatement, The Australian reported that the Judge: 'sat in mute astonishment'. The scene was one of absolute uproar: there was poor Forbes; the bashed Tattersdale; the jury; the officers of the court; a small but obviously highly-motivated media pack; members of the public; and the dozen constables that were required to brawl with Jenkins, secure him and put him in handcuffs. Though restrained, Jenkins fought and hurled insults all the way to his cell.

1950s depiction of the court scene, The World's News, 22 July 1950, p4, via Trove

Jenkins and Tattersdale were hanged on 10 November 1834. Tattersdale offered his hand to Jenkins on the gallows who turned away, declaring: 'Let every villain shake hands with himself'. There was little honour among thieves in colonial Sydney, and even less honour among murderers.   Read more about Robert Wardell, Marrickville and the King Street Courts on the Dictionary: Robert Wardell: https://dictionaryofsydney.org/person/wardell_robert John Edwards 'Robert Wardell', https://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/wardell_robert Chrys Meader, 'Marrickville', https://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/marrickville Margaret Betteridge, 'King Street Courts', https://dictionaryofsydney.org/building/supreme_court_building_king_street     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!   

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For more Dictionary of Sydney, listen to the podcast with Rachel & Alex 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.   References 'Australian, The.' The Australian (Sydney, NSW), 14 Oct. (1824): 2 https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/37074013 'Convict System, The.'The Sydney Herald (Sydney, NSW), 13 Nov. (1834): 2 https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/28654392 Currey, C.H. 'Forbes, Sir Francis (1784-1841)' Australian Dictionary of Biography (1966/2018): online http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/forbes-sir-francis-2052 Currey, C.H. 'Wardell, Robert (1793–1834)', Australian Dictionary of Biography (1967/2019): online http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/wardell-robert-2773/text3941 'Dreadful Murder of Dr Wardell' The Australian (Sydney, NSW), 9 Sep. (1834): 2 https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/42008194 'Law Intelligence: Supreme Court – Criminal Side' The Australian (Sydney, NSW), 11 Nov. (1834): 2–3 https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/42007689 'Marrickville: A Suburb History' Blog of the Marrickville Heritage Society. Marrickville: Marrickville Heritage Society (2014): online http://marrickville-heritage.blogspot.com/2012/10/marrickville-suburb-history.html 'Murder of Dr Wardell, LLD at his Estate of Petersham' The Sydney Herald (Sydney, NSW), 11 Sep. (1834): 2 https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/12850423 'Blood' Punch, or the London Charivari 2 (1842): 190 Osborne, Mike. 'Robert Wardell' The Australian Media Hall of Fame (n.d.): online http://halloffame.melbournepressclub.com/article/robert-wardell        

Sunday school, St Barnabas's Church, Broadway, December 1856, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (SPG/115)

St Barnabas' Anglican Church on Broadway, affectionately known as Barney's, has catered to congregations of all sorts since it was established in the mid-nineteenth century.

Listen to Minna and Alex on 2SER here

Positioned between Chippendale and Ultimo, the area was for a long time considered undesirable. It was prone to flooding from Blackwattle Creek and located near slaughterhouses, boiling down works, soap works and breweries. The first incarnation of St Barnabas' was not on a hill as a landmark feature of the cityscape, but instead in a rented shack amidst what the Anglican Bishop of Sydney, Frederic Barker described as a ‘neighbourhood of squalor and where offensive sights and sounds continually arrested the senses of passers by...where it would be useful, and where the influences emanating from it were needed, and would be likely to be felt.’

St Barnabas' Church, Broadway, August 1937 by Sam Hood, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (ON 204 Box 75, 52)

In 1916, Reverend RBS Hammond arrived as the new rector of St Barnabas' in 1916 with a mission to help alcoholics and the poor. He quickly transformed St Barnabas' from a struggling local church into one of Sydney's primary centres of poor relief during the Great Depression replete with an Employment Bureau, and Emergency Depot and a soup kitchen that served thousands of meals a year. The St Barnabas' Brotherhood of Christian Men exceeded 4000 members and included among its ranks 'Eternity man' Arthur Stace. Hammond also started what became a bit of a tradition of using the St Barnabas' notice board to get his message to the tens of thousands of people who travelled along Parramatta Road each day. His main crusade was temperance but it was communicated with playful phrases like 'A few drinks may turn man's laughter into manslaughter.' Throughout the second half of the twentieth century, given its proximity to UTS and University of Sydney, St Barnabas became a university church with specific services held in Mandarin and English for overseas Chinese students. But perhaps Sydneysiders know it best for the noticeboard banter on Broadway during the 1990s between the priest (Robert Forsyth) and the publican (Arthur Elliott) of the Broadway Hotel across the road. Commuters would look to the Church noticeboard first and then across to the pub for the reply: CHURCH: If God offered you heaven or hell, which would you choose? PUB: I'd choose a hell of a good time in heaven. CHURCH: The liquor bar – a bar to heaven, a gateway to hell, whoever named it, named it well! PUB: A bar in heaven, a long way from hell, with a barman called Jesus who will serve you well.

St Barney's forecourt 11 May 2012, May 2012 by Newtown Graffiti, via Flickr (CC By 2.0)

A friendship blossomed between the two men who bonded over their experience of managing institutions where people sought solace. Arthur also began to reflect on his faith and on the fact that Jesus was a real man who if he had ‘walked down Broadway he’d come into my pub and have a drink and meet the blokes...and Rob agreed with me.’ A fire in 2006 gutted St Barnabas’ Church except for the gates and the noticeboard itself. Reconstruction took six years, but today new generations of worshippers still attend Barney’s. Head to the Dictionary to read historian Meredith Lake's entries on St Barnabas' and RBS Hammond here.  

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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 & Alex 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.       

Mark Dunn, The Convict Valley: the bloody struggle on Australia’s early frontier

Allen & Unwin, 294 pp., ISBN: 9781760528645, p/bk, AUS$32.99

Mark Dunn opens his history of the Hunter Valley, The Convict Valley, with an observation from Lieutenant John Shortland. The naval officer, who had ventured north of Sydney in the late 1790s, noted that the river he had named the Hunter, in honour of John Hunter, the Governor of New South Wales, would be 'a great acquisition to this settlement'(p7). Indeed, much of Dunn’s work deals with the relentless drives for acquisition. There was coal. There was also red cedar; a timber so attractive that samples would be requested in 1815 for transplanting into the Governor’s Domain in Sydney (p52). There was, most obviously, tracts of flat land with fertile soil that were, critically, close to easily accessible water. As Dunn shows, it was 'access to this land that fuelled much of the conflict and violence that was to erupt during the 1820s and 1830s throughout the Hunter' (p10). The exploitation of resources facilitated wealth, power and respectability. For some, respectability was assumed, for others it had to be carefully curated and then vigorously defended. Dunn’s observations around class—how 'all assumed that in this convict society their connections and presumed status would prevail in the frontier’s social hierarchy [… and how for] the most part it did' (p110)—and his descriptions of how allegiances worked and rivalries festered are all insightful and add to our understanding of the history of this area and its people. Critically, Dunn keeps returning to the area’s first occupants. The experiences of the Aboriginal people are not episodes in a narrative of colonialism and often-toxic race relations, they are the anchor for this story. It is the Aboriginal experiences that are the foundation for all that unfolds across a landscape that is beautiful despite being scarred by dramatic increases in industry. Of course, establishing a settlement is not an easy enterprise and, as complete as the eventual takeover of this land was by the end of the nineteenth century, there were failures along the way. Newcastle, which 'operated exclusively as a penal station from 1804 until 1821' (p44) had a dreadful reputation. Not every ambitious man was as successful as he hoped. Yet, with desires to exploit the region unsatiated expansion was inevitable, as were the tensions that come with aggressive growth, and this work could have easily been titled 'Conflict Valley'. One of the great achievements of Dunn’s book is its structure. Dunn notes the 'four main rivers that flow through the Hunter Valley: the Hunter, Goulburn, Paterson and Williams rivers' (p8). These waterways—all essential to the expanse of land now known as the Hunter—do not run parallel in neat lines, but instead carve their own paths, turning and twisting until they congregate in an estuary that empties out into the South Pacific Ocean at Newcastle. Similarly, the stories that Dunn’s work reveals do not run straight routes from the occupation of the Hunter and the establishment of Newcastle in 1798. There are the Aboriginal peoples of the region as well as 'the convicts, the farmers and settlers who were to come' (p17). There are many familiar names across this history of the 'frontier of the colony' (p24): Bungaree, Edward Close, John Lewin, Simeon Lord, Thomas Mitchell, James Wallis, brothers Helenus and Robert Scott and many more. There are also names that most of us will not recognise. All of these men and women make interesting, and interconnected, contributions to a time and place that impacts all Australians, either directly or indirectly, today. There are those who would have us believe that Australia’s story is all very straightforward; a superficial narrative of 'discovery' and settlement, of triumph over conditions that were often unforgiving and the subsequent emergence of 'modern Australia'. It is a story, we are often told, of a stunning and unique landscape which gave birth to a character that is distinctly Australian. Fragments of (mostly male) stereotypes—convicts, bushrangers, settlers, pastoralists, diggers and others—coalesce into broader types of 'mates' and those who are on the 'team'. The truth(s) makes this tale much more complicated. Colonialism is a predominantly brutal process. There are moments of genuine, meaningful interactions between colonists and those being colonised. But, these moments are clearly seen as rare, rather than regular, events when they are contextualised against British-led programs of disrespect, oppression and violence. Dunn has deliberately taken a difficult route through the historical records. He could have easily written a neat history of a valley so many of us are familiar with, instead he has given us a rich and sophisticated history of the region we now call the Hunter. Mark Dunn’s history of the Hunter Valley is a well-researched and well-written text, with extensive notes and a bibliography in addition to a very useful index. His scholarship is an important piece of the puzzle that is Australian history and is a vital addition to the reading list of anyone interested in our shared past. The Convict Valley: the bloody struggle on Australia’s early frontier is available now from Allen & Unwin. Reviewed by Dr Rachel Franks, June 2020 For a preview of the book or to purchase online, visit the publisher's website here.

Bennelong Point from Dawes Point c1804, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (V1/1810/1)

Today is the start of National Reconciliation Week, so I thought we’d take a look at someone who was part of Sydney’s early history: Carangarang. Now I must confess that I didn’t know much about Carangarang before today. But that’s one of the great things about the Dictionary of Sydney. It has soooo many articles and one of its strengths is content on Aboriginal history. Listen to Lisa and Alex on 2SER here Who was Carangarang? While I don’t believe women are defined by their men, in this case, Carangarang’s relations do provide some helpful context. Most people, I believe, have heard of Bennelong. Bennelong was abducted by Governor Arthur Philip from Manly and he later became an important diplomatic figure forging relationships between the Eora and the British. Some would say Bennelong is the most famous Aboriginal man in Sydney’s history.

Aboriginal woman with her baby, in a canoe fishing with a line c1805, courtesy Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (PXB 513, f.12)

Well, Carangarang was Bennelong’s sister. She was a Wangal woman. Born around 1771, she lived into the 1830s. She remained connected to her country and her culture. And as author Keith Vincent Smith describes, Carangarang was 'a notable figure around Sydney and Kissing Point until the late 1830s, when she was in her sixties'. Why haven’t we heard more about her? Well, the vagaries and biases of white historical documents (First Fleet journals, letters and dispatches) can partly explain the silences. Slowly, historians are piecing snippets together, making connections between names and slight references. We know that Carangarang was an Eora fisherwoman. She was regularly seen in a nawi (canoe) on the harbour, singing as she paddled to keep time. She fished on the harbour, with her young children by her side in the vessel, and shared her catch with her brother. Carangarang maintained a close relationship with her brother. She was beside herself with joy when he returned from his travels in England. We can assume that Carangarang would have been closely watching her brother’s diplomatic efforts, but we can’t be sure what she thought of them. I think she was more on her sister-in-law Barangaroo’s side, keen to stick to her culture. She attended funerals and mourned the loss of her mob. And later in life she continued to practice culture up at Kissing Point, where she was observed dancing and singing at a corroboree. She wore a possum skin cloak and had traditional ornaments in her hair.

A view in Parramatta N S Wales looking East 1825-1828, by Augustus Earle, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (PXD 265/3)

We know that Carangarang had two husbands, and several children. One of her sons was later recorded as camping around Bondi and Rose Bay into the 1870s. So Carangarang’s cultural knowledge was carried and continued well into the late nineteenth century. Carangarang’s story is one of many Sydney stories. As we embrace National Reconciliation Week it’s imperative on us all to learn more about, and respect, the culture and history of Sydney’s Aboriginal people. The Dictionary of Sydney is a good place to start! Find out more about National Reconciliation Week and how to get involved on the website here: https://www.reconciliation.org.au/national-reconciliation-week/ Dr Lisa Murray is the Historian of the City of Sydney and former chair of the Dictionary of Sydney Trust. She is a Visiting Scholar 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, 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.   

View of old Government House - Sydney - N.S.W. as it appeared when vacated by Sir George Gipps in 1845, painting by George Edwards Peacock, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (ML 658)

The State Library of New South Wales holds a very lovely painting of the first Government House in Sydney. The oil painting, by George Edwards Peacock, was done in 1845, just before the building (where the Museum of Sydney now stands) was demolished. The scene is of a grand residence and place of administration, flanked by graceful trees and a set of churches in the background: there’s the square tower of the Scots Church, the round tower of St Phillip's Church and the gothic designed St Patrick's Catholic Church. On the lawns there are a few animals going about their day. Now, I was a bit unkind to Peacock when I first saw this painting. I thought to myself: 'that’s a lovely picture, but those are the ugliest horses I’ve ever seen'. Well, in my defence, I never expected to see camels quietly grazing in front of a major government building in the middle of Sydney. So, today’s story is about how camels came to be on Sydney’s Domain and a chance for me to apologise to Mr Peacock (sorry George!).   Listen to Rachel and Alex on 2SER here   Now, the idea of bringing camels to Australia was met with excitement. Like lots of ideas though, seeing ambitious plans realised can be challenging. Lord John Russell (who was Secretary of State for War and the Colonies at the time) wrote from Downing Street, London to Governor George Gipps in March 1841 about camels:

Considering the peculiar nature of the continent, the vast extend of unexplored country, the want of water, and peculiarity of the long journeys which must be made by land from one colony to another, I think they might be found very applicable, as well for purposes of discovery as for a means of communication; and that it is a subject well worthy of your attention and encouragement.

Russell, in the same letter, also suggested elephants as being of use in New South Wales, but it was the camel that captured the public imagination as being suited to some of our more arid landscapes. One of the early attempts to bring camels to the southern continent was made by a Mr J. Airdlie who imported two females and one male in the early 1840s. The male camel died, but he was soon replaced. Airdlie was going to settle in Goulburn, but he decided to return to Sydney and ask Governor Gipps to take the camels in exchange for a land grant. Instead of land, Airdlie was given cash. Quite a bit of cash: £225, in August 1842. (Depending on what calculator you use, this could be around the half a million-dollar mark today.) Gipps, and many others, thought the camel had great potential to aid exploration as such an animal was known as the “ship of the desert” .

A detail of the painting provides a closer view of the Governor's camels.

And so, in the mid 1840s, along with the sheep, the goats, the kangaroos and the emus, there were three camels grazing on the Sydney Domain. As one newspaper reported, the animals were 'the delight of children, but the terror of nurses and mothers'. Indeed, it was later noted that a boy 'who is now an eminent Barrister, was near being trampled to death by one of them' while warnings were issued to 'persons in carriages or on horse-back, not to go too near the camels unless they are certain of their horses being quiet'. In another example of great job titles that we do not have anymore, there was even an official Camel Keeper looking after the animals. The need to be cautious around camels was well known. Camels spit and have a reputation as being a bit temperamental. The first camel brought into Australia, Harry, landed in Port Adelaide in late 1840. Harry was sold to John Horrocks a pastoralist and explorer; just the type of person Lord Russell and others thought would benefit from having a camel or two. Harry was described by the press – as he headed off with Horrocks as a member of an 1846 expedition to the South Australian interior – 'the camel (not par excellence, being the only one in the colony)'. If Harry was offended, we will never know, but we do know he became an obviously disgruntled member of Horrocks’ team, attacking animals and humans with equal enthusiasm. He then, while Horrocks was reloading a gun, lurched suddenly and the gun went off: taking out the middle fingers of Horrocks’ right hand and a row of his teeth. The expedition leader died from his wounds just days later. Australia’s first camel was a killer. The Sydney-based camels were less violent and lived on the Domain until 1845. Like many camels that made their way to Australia during the colonial era, we are not entirely sure what happened to these beasts. At least one camel met a miserable end on a Sydney street, drawing complaint from a local resident who wrote to the Morning Chronicle:

Although past nuisances were certainly very great, they are quite thrown in the shade by that which now presents itself to the passer by. Not ten yards off the foot-path [near St Mary’s] there lies a dead camel, inflated with gas to an enormous size, on which a number of pigs are occasionally seen regaling themselves. The fetid smell emitted from it is sickening in the extreme, and quite enough to engender disease in all who come within its baneful influence.

While some of Australia’s early camels, like this poor beast, died of various causes, many were let loose to breed and now roam the outback and bush where they are, at least, not quite as strange a sight as they would have been at Government House.   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!  You can join Rachel this coming Thursday evening for her free online talk A Body In Your Library at the State Library of New South Wales. For further details, and to register, head to the Library's website here: https://www.sl.nsw.gov.au/events/body-your-library   For more Dictionary of Sydney, listen to the podcast with Rachel & Alex 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.   References 'Camels and Elephants.' Australasian Chronicle, 29 July 1841, p3 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article31732436 'The Camel in Australia.' The Australian, 11 December 1841, p2 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article36851588 'The Camels of New South Wales.' The Sydney Morning Herald, 8 August 1871, p5 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article13242918 Chittleborough, J. (2005). 'Horrocks, John Ainsworth (1818-1846)' Australian Dictionary of Biography, 2005 http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/horrocks-john-ainsworth-12989 'Domestic Intelligence.' The Melbourne Argus, 11 August 1846, p2 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article4759802 'Domestic Intelligence.' The Sydney Morning Herald, 23 August 1842, p2 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article12408209 'Expedition to the North West.' South Australian Gazette and Colonial Register, 19 September 1846, p2 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article195934167 https://www.measuringworth.com/index.php 'Original Correspondence.' Morning Chronicle, 29 November 1845, p2 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article31746863 Parsonson, I.M. The Australian Ark: a history of domesticated animals in Australia. Collingwood: CSIRO Publishing, 1998. Peacock, G.E. View of old Government House – Sydney – N.S.W. as it appeared when vacated by Sir George Gipps in 1845. Mitchell Library: State Library of New South Wales, 1845, Call No. ML 658 https://search.sl.nsw.gov.au/permalink/f/1cvjue2/ADLIB110318222