Cocky Bennett, Sea Breeze Hotel, Tom Uglys Point 1911, State Library of Victoria (H23120)

Here at the Dictionary of Sydney we like to give you insight into those seminal moments in the city’s history, the patterns and forces that shaped our city, influential people and events… or in the case of today a foul-mouthed pet cockatoo, Cocky Bennett. Listen to Minna and Alex on 2SER here Because Cocky wasn’t just any bird. Most cockatoos live to around 80 years old but Cocky’s life apparently spanned the eighteenth, nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Of this time, about 78 years was spent travelling the world with Captain Ellis trading in the South Sea Islands - perhaps where Cocky originally picked up some of his bad language. When Captain Ellis died, Cocky changed hands through the Captain's family, and ended up at on the Georges River at the Sea Breeze Hotel on Tom Ugly’s Point in Blakehurst.  A popular pitstop for fishermen and ferry traffic, this is where Cocky really became centre stage. Perched up on the hotel’s front verandah he would screech at people passing by and greet incoming patrons. People soon figured out that Cocky got even more loose tongued if you gave him some of the drinks on offer. One of his trademark sayings was ‘If I had another bloody feather I'd fly!' This was particularly amusing to the pub's punters because poor Cocky looked ‘more like a plucked chicken with wrinkled skin'. He got worse with age, the huge tip on his upper beak growing so long he could only eat mashed food, his skin a leathery grey on a scrawny body. Despite his looks, affection for him never waned. Each year piles of birthday cards would be sent from his admirers. At the bottom of his cage at the Sea Breeze Hotel, there was a collection box for St George Hospital which raised enough funds for three beds. Cocky’s generosity did not go unnoticed; a plaque commemorates his contribution. On his death in 1916, there was an outpouring of grief. His obituary in the Sydney Morning Herald described that though he had been absolutely featherless for the last 20 years he had still been as chatty as ever and had indeed become the 'venerable cockatoo'. Hobart's Daily Post took the tribute even further: 'Sydneyites were as proud of Cocky as they are of their harbour, and not to have seen Mrs Bennett's pet was taken almost as a slight to the city'. Stuffed for posterity by Tost & Rahu, Cocky remains on exhibition at the Carss Cottage museum at Blakehurst. Read more on the Dictionary of Sydney here: Catie Gilchrist, The Cocky Bennett Story, http://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/the_cocky_bennett_story Alison Grellis, Blakehurst, https://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/blakehurst 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.   

Social distancing measures with llamas, Durango Trails, Colorado

These days we’re all talking about social distancing, or, more accurately, physical distancing but how far should we be staying away from each other? Some advice is 1.5 meters, some is 2 meters. People working in the old scale are saying 6 feet. What does it all mean? How can we quickly estimate how far away we are from other people out on the street or in the supermarket?  Well, Kansas City Zoo has suggested keeping two capybaras — the world’s largest rodents — between yourself and those around you. Now, capybaras are very cute, and being quite short they’re a sensible choice for people in flats. The problem with capybaras though is that with so many buying restrictions across a range of products during this pandemic, needing two of anything can be a bit tricky.  Another suggestion that’s been doing the rounds on social media has been keeping one llama between you and others. Like our capybara measure, this seems to have started in the United States, in Colorado where there is quite the llama-loving population. Is this achievable in Australia? Do we even have llamas in Sydney? We do. Listen to Rachel and Alex on 2SER here The history of llamas (and their smaller cousins, alpacas) in Sydney goes back to Governor Phillip Gidley King, who suggested importing these animals as early as 1803. Both types of animals belong to the camelid family; llamas are quite tall, coming in at about 2m (and about 1.8m long) and they weigh between 160 and 200kgs; alpacas are about 1.4m tall and weigh between 50 and 70kgs; they both produce fleece, with the alpaca producing a softer and a larger quantity of fleece than the llama. Reasonably hardy, they were seen by some colonial administrators as another promising addition to agriculture in New South Wales. Yet the idea languished until the 1850s.

Illustration of the animals en route, by Santiago Savage, from a record of Charles Ledger's journeys in Peru and Chile,October 1857,  Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (MLMSS 630/1)

In 1853 the British-born, South American-based adventurer Charles Ledger (some of his papers are at the State Library of NSW) pushed for their introduction in Australia and approached the Governor of the day Sir Charles FitzRoy. Ledger was supported by Sydney-based businessmen Thomas Sutcliffe Mort and Thomas Holt among others, who saw the potential of llamas and alpacas for the colonial textile industry. This all sounds fabulous. The reality was, however, very different. The first obstacle was a ban on the exporting of these animals by the Peruvian Government. Ledger was also facing competition from other Australian entrepreneurs and importers. By 1858, these animals were big news. The year began with reports of the introduction of 150 llamas to the United States, amid enthusiastic endorsements of similar ventures for Australia. Reports followed in May of six beasts soon to be received in South Australia by enterprising importers, and then of the purchase of ten more in London by a Sydney merchant. This led to even more ambitious plans, and a public subscription was established to purchase the rest of the herd that had found itself in London as a gift for the colony of Victoria. (Llamas do make a lovely gift.) The Sydney Morning Herald was enthusiastic about the animals' impending arrival: After many years’ unavailing exertion we learn, with great pleasure, that the Llama or Alpaca is about to be introduced to Australia, in numbers to assure their naturalisation. Their export from Peru has been jealously interdicted by the Government of that country.

Mr Ledger's alpacas and llamas at Sophienburg, the seat of Mr. Atkinson, New South Wales c1859, National Library of Australia (nla.obj-136096736)

When the first ten animals arrived in Sydney in November 1858 there was great interest in the exotic species: … These beautiful and interesting creatures … were landed on Wednesday … and conducted up Pitt Street to the emporium of Messrs R.C. Burt and Co., where they at present remain for inspection, preparatory to being brought under the hammer. They are singularly pretty animals, something like a double cross between a camel, an ostrich, a sheep, and a donkey: and appeared as well as can be expected after their knocking about at sea. The young one would make quite a lady's pet. Our friend Ledger, adventurer-turned-smuggler-of-camelids, had started work on bringing together his herd of llamas and alpacas in 1853, procuring animals in Peru, near the border of Bolivia, and then driving the herd overland to Argentina, then on over the Andes Mountains into Chile. Many of the animals did not survive the arduous journey and Ledger arrived in Sydney, in late 1858, with a flock of around 280. Twelve of the men who had travelled with him through South America had joined him and the animals on the voyage. The animals grazed on the Sydney Domain before they went out to the property Sophienburgh at Liverpool. Ledger was honoured and his bravery lauded. Their first shearing in Liverpool in late 1859 was a gala society event, attended by the rich, famous and fashionable The llamas remained in Liverpool for over a year before Ledger, as the Government’s Superintendent of Alpacas, took them on the road to what he hoped would be suitable terrain, eventually pasturing them near Goulburn.

Some of Ledger's flock after their sale in 1863, at Thomas Lee's Bathurst property Woodlands, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (SV/19)

Unfortunately however, Ledger had trouble getting the government of the day to reimburse him for his endeavours and the huge costs he’d outlaid, and in 1863 the herd was broken up. Little is known of the lives of the llamas after this - some were purchased by farmer Thomas Lee at Bathurst, others had been given away to farmers as far away as Queensland, or went to zoos or as curiosities to places like the Gladesville mental asylum, or the home of Sir Henry Parkes. Sadly, all these efforts to bring the llama and alpaca to Australia during the colonial era failed, mainly due to drought and mismanagement, and the small numbers of animals imported which prevented proper breeding programs. Llamas, and alpacas, were reintroduced to Australia in the 1980s, and while they will never compete with sheep in this country, they are a most useful measurement tool in the age of social distancing.       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, 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 Andrews, B.G. 'Ledger, Charles (1818–1905).' Australian Dictionary of Biography, 1974. http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/ledger-charles-4004 'After Many Years.' The Sydney Morning Herald , 22 October 1858, p4. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article13017082 'The Alpacas.' The Sydney Morning Herald, 12 November 1859, p8. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article13033124 'Alpacas in Australia.' Yacka Ridge Alpacas website, 2020. http://www.yackaridge.com/history.html Annotated watercolour sketches by Santiago Savage, 1857-1858, being a record of Charles Ledger's journeys in Peru and Chile; with maps and notes. Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW, Call No. MLMSS 630/1. http://archival.sl.nsw.gov.au/Details/archive/110319128 'Arrival of the Llamas' Bell’s Life in Sydney and Sporting Reviewer, 13 November 1858, p2. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article59869567 Charles Ledger Papers, 1857-1896, 1953. Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW, Call No. MLMSS 630. http://archival.sl.nsw.gov.au/Details/archive/110319127? 'From the S.M. Herald’s Correspondent.' Illawarra Mercury, 18 October 1858, p1. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article136440299 Medals awarded to Charles Ledger for his experiments with the alpaca, 1860-1862, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW, Call No. ML R 332, Items 1-5 http://archival.sl.nsw.gov.au/Details/archive/110372812 Gramiccia, Gabriele. The Life of Charles Ledger (1818–1905): Alpacas and Quinine. London: Macmillan Press, 1988 'Local News.' Bell’s Life in Sydney and Sporting Reviewer, 4 December 1858, p3. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article59869742 Mander Jones, Phyllis. 'A Sketch Book Found in Australia'. Reprinted from the Inter-American Review of Bibliography, Vol. III, No. 3, 280–88. http://handle.slv.vic.gov.au/10381/109976 Parsonson, Ian M. The Australian Ark: a history of domesticated animals in Australia. Collingwood: CSIRO Publishing, 1998. Ridley, Matt. 'Charles Ledger: Australia's First Alpaca Importer.' AAA Alpacas Australia, Issue 75, March 2015, pp20-22. https://issuu.com/australianalpacaassociationltd/docs/aaa_alpacas_australia_issue_75_web 'Safe Trail Use During COVID-19.' Durango Trails, Colorado, 2020. https://www.durangotrails.org/2020/03/safe-trail-use-during-covid-19/ 'South Australia' The Argus, 26 May 1858, p5. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article7295151 'What’s the Difference?' Alpaca Magic website, n.d. https://www.alpacamagic.com.au/whats-the-difference/

Australian Medical Journal Vol 1 No 4, 2 November 1846, p46, via Trove

City living in Sydney in the early part of the 19th century could be dangerous and insalubrious, especially for the poor. Adult hospitalisations were dominated by the complaints of hard living in humble circumstances—primarily gastrointestinal, dermatological and joint disorders—but as the proportion of children aged under 12 increased in the 1840s, epidemic diseases such as influenza, diphtheria, scarlet fever, whooping cough and typhoid fever became entrenched. Most feared of all—although not diagnosed in the city since the early 1830s—was smallpox.

Listen to Peter and Alex on 2SER here

A devastating and highly infectious disease, smallpox left its victims covered in a rash that resulted in painful fluid-filled pustules that would eventually burst and scab over. With a high mortality rate, survivors usually had terrible scarring all over their bodies. While the colony's strict quarantine measures largely protected the city, there was still risk of an outbreak brought into the country by overseas travellers. Vaccinations against smallpox had been available in Sydney since the first vaccine materials had been imported in 1804, but maintaining a supply of the vaccine material, or 'lymph' in Sydney was difficult. It was often transported between wax-sealed glass slides, or as dried scabs sloughed off a successfully vaccinated patient. However, because its viability declined markedly over time—especially in hot weather—lymph was ideally administered in a fresh state, often by direct arm-to-arm transmission. This was precisely the method used by the colony’s inspector general of hospitals to maintain a small supply of lymph for Sydney in the 1830s. Alarmingly, a sample of this potentially infectious material was found at the New South Wales State Archives and Records in 2010. Stocks were always erratic however, and in the late 1830s it was proposed that a permanent vaccine depot be established. Nothing came of this suggestion, or subsequent ones, until 1846, when the new Governor, Fitzroy, announced the establishment of the Vaccine Institution. Opening in 1847, the Institution's primary purpose was to ‘search in the Town & vicinity for those of the lower orders who have neglected vaccination of their children’ and inoculate these children to lessen their risk of contracting smallpox, should it elude the city’s hitherto successful quarantine defences. ‘It is as much a public sanitary question as the drainage of the city, the Building Act, or the quarantine laws’, asserted Isaac Aaron, the editor of Australian Medical Journal, in the Sydney Morning Herald in October 1846. The Vaccine Institution operated out of the Emigrants’ Barracks in Bent Street, literally around the corner from the Sydney Infirmary and Dispensary that was operating from the southern wing of the General Hospital, and also from the Legislative Council’s chambers, which in 1843 had been constructed in the hospital’s northern wing

Sydney Morning Herald, 1 April 1853, p2 via Trove

By March 1848 Sydney’s Vaccine Institution was shipping lymph to Adelaide, New Zealand, Tahiti, the Society Islands, and the Friendly Islands (Tonga). From 317 vaccinations in 1847, the annual total rose to 452 in 1851, almost all performed on children aged 10 years and under. The service was not free, however: patients were required to pay a shilling per inoculation, only refunded when they returned to gauge the success of the procedure one week later. In the eyes of the Australian Medical Journal, imposing such a ‘bail’ upon the lower orders was a measure ‘admirably adapted to defeat the purpose of gratuitous vaccination’. Vaccination nevertheless remained voluntary – unlike other colonies such as Victoria, and despite prominent medical support, New South Wales never mandated compulsory vaccination against smallpox. Having outgrown its cramped quarters on Bent Street, in May 1857 the Vaccine Institution was relocated to the courtyard of the Emigrant Depot in Hyde Park Barracks, where it shared an office with the City Coroner, directly abutting the new mint. During the 1881 outbreak of smallpox that Minna Muhlen-Schulte discussed a few weeks ago, the crowds clamouring for vaccination of their children grew so large that vaccinations had to be administered in a shed in the Domain. The Institution remained here at the top of King Street until the refurbishment of the Barracks complex in 1886.

In this detail from a view of Hyde Park Barracks taken from St James spire in 1872,  the words Vaccine Institute can almost be discerned above the entrance in the wall on the right, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (PXB 419,2)

          About the author Dr Peter Hobbins is Principal Historian at Artefact Heritage Services, an Honorary Affiliate in the Department of History at the University of Sydney and a Royal Australian Historical Society Councillor. His published work has included histories of Australian medical research, venomous creatures in Australasia, quarantine and aviation medicine. Dr Hobbins is the author of two books, 'Venomous Encounters: Snakes, Vivisection and Scientific Medicine in Colonial Australia' (2017) and, with Dr Ursula K Frederick and Associate Professor Anne Clarke, 'Stories from the Sandstone: Quarantine Inscriptions from Australia's Immigrant Past' (2016). He appears on 2SER for the Dictionary in a voluntary capacity. Thanks Peter!   Listen to the podcast with Peter & 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 Peter Hobbins, 'Tending the Body Politic: Health Governance, Benevolence, and Betterment in Sydney,1835–55',  Health and History, Vol. 19, No. 2, Incarceration, Migration, Dispossession, and Discovery: Medicine in Colonial Australia (2017), pp. 90-115, Australian and New Zealand Society of the History of Medicine, Inc http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5401/healthhist.19.2.0090 Rebekah McWhirter, Lymph or Liberty’: Responses to Smallpox Vaccination in the Eastern Australian Colonies (PhD thesis, University of Tasmania, 2008), https://eprints.utas.edu.au/8077/        

Traveller's engraved horn, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (LR 23)

One of the most perplexing tales to come out of Norfolk Island in the nineteenth century is the story of Bennett and Balsto. A story that beautifully illustrates both the complex difficulties that historical researchers can face, and the oft-stated advice to not believe everything you hear, it appears, not in a newspaper or in a book, but on the engraved horn of a bull.

Listen to Rachel and Alex on 2SER here

There is a piece of scrimshaw held at the State Library of New South Wales enscribed with text that reads: ‘This horn belonged to Traveller who was calved at Cow Pastures 1819 worked for 12 years at Norfolk Island for Government. Here he was killed by two bushrangers who absconded for purposes of making a boat with his hide to escape from the island on 23rd day of Decr. 1838 - Bennett and Balsto’. It’s a great story, the opposite of the trope of the criminal genius. But how much of it is true? Sure, escape attempts were not uncommon during the convict era, but two blokes thinking they can turn a bull into a boat and make a bid for freedom is unusual. If Bennett and Balsto were trying to escape, then presumably they were convicts.

The other side of Traveller's engraved horn, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (LR 23)

Now, the Prisoners’ Barracks was on the southern side of the island, much closer to the water than the Military Barracks which was north of Government House. Sure, the water would have been monitored, but the water also offered ready-made vessels which several men took advantage of when executing their plans to abscond in the same period. To steal a bull, slaughter him and then turn him into a seaworthy vessel — one capable of a journey of about seven days if the goal was to make it to Port Jackson — is hardly a surreptitious plan. It all seems a bit unlikely. Yet, Cow Pastures was a real place and bulls, like Traveller, were available on Norfolk Island. In 1788, two of the bulls and five of the cows brought out on the First Fleet decided they were not happy with local conditions and they wandered off from Sydney Cove. Years later, in 1795, wild cattle were found, alive and well, south of the Nepean River in a place that was named Cow Pastures. There were several hundred head of cattle by 1801 and thousands of bulls and cows by 1804. The lush grazing area was later re-named Camden, the site eventually becoming better known for sheep rather than cattle. Livestock were relocated to Norfolk Island to support the penal settlement when it reopened in 1825 and by November 1839, less than a year after the scrimshaw’s story is set, there were ‘396 horned cattle’, amongst other beasts, on the island. It is entirely possible that a bull named Traveller, a young public servant west of Sydney, took up an involuntary opportunity to work for the Government on Norfolk Island.

View of the farm of J. Hassel (Hassall) Esqr, Cow Pastures 1825-28 by Augustus Earle, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (PXD 265, 2)

We also know that Norfolk Island was a place of conflict, but the crimes, mutinies and rebellions that happened there are well documented, and this alleged escape attempt does not seem to appear in the official records. Balsto (and its variant spellings) is an unusual name and appears only infrequently in our colonial records, and none appear to have any ties to Norfolk Island in the 1830s. There was however a bushranger by the name of John Bennett on the island at about the time of this fantastic escape attempt; he had been charged with highway robbery, alongside five others, in July 1834. The gang members were found guilty and sentenced to death. All were reprieved and set to serve ‘hard labor in the irons on the Public Works of Norfolk Island for seven years’. Another incident on the island earlier in the same year was the 1834 rebellion. This event was a large-scale and ‘violent affair that left one soldier, one guard and six convicts dead’. There were multiple trials with thirty prisoners convicted and sentenced to death. Twenty-two men were recommended for mercy, but a total of thirteen men went to the scaffold. One of the men who escaped the noose was also a John Bennett.

Government House & Military Barracks Norfolk Island 4th mo: 1835, by George Washington Walker, Dixson Library, State Library of NSW (DL PXX 28 f1)

Bennett is a common name in early Australian records so we can’t be certain that our Bennett and either of these other Bennetts are one and the same. Perhaps though, having been lucky in 1834, John Bennett decided in 1838 that there was no such thing as safety in numbers; a low-key escape, with just one collaborator (and a dead bull), was the way to go. Repeat offenders, those who stole precious livestock and escapees often had an appointment with the hangman. Yet, there are no records of a ‘Bennett’ or a ‘Balsto’ being sentenced or hanged around the time of this crime. Perhaps, looking carefully at the wording on the scrimshaw, our lads are actually the artists. The horn does not tell the story of Bennett and Balsto ‘two bushrangers’, rather it tells the story of ‘two bushrangers’, gives some details and then there is a dash before ‘Bennett and Balsto’. Were they the story, or were they just telling this tale? Is this a case of one man undertaking the task of the lettering with his colleague doing the illustrations? Are our men of scrimshaw not convicts, but overseers, bored by the constant watching and waiting? Or sailors on ships running between the mainland and the island? Men who were just killing time by making art (and making stuff up)? Perhaps only Traveller knows if this is a terrible true tale or just fake news… Dr Rachel Franks is the Coordinator, Education & Scholarship at the State Library of New South Wales 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, 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 Belgenny Farm. 'The Cowpastures and its Wild Cattle.' https://www.belgennyfarm.com.au/history/site-history/the-cowpastures-and-its-wild-cattle, viewed 14 April 2020 Braim, Thomas Henry. A History of New South Wales, from its settlement to the close of the year 1844. London: Richard Bentley, 1846. Clay, John. Maconochie’s Experiment: How One Man’s Extraordinary Vision Saved Transported Convicts from Degradation and Despair. London: John Murray, 2001. Engraved Horn [scrimshaw]. Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales: LR 23, n.d.http://archival.sl.nsw.gov.au/Details/archive/110341498, viewed 14 April 2020 Gipps, George. 'Copy of a Despatch from Sir G. Gipps to Lord John Russell. Ordered by the House of Commons to be printed 9th March, 1841.' The Quarterly Review. Vol. LXVIII, June and September, 1841. Maconochie, Alexander. Criminal Statistics and Movement of the Bond Population of Norfolk Island, to December, 1843. London: Statistical Society, 1845. New South Wales Capital Convictions Database. “John Bennett.” http://research.forbessociety.org.au/record/1637, viewed 14 April 2020 'Norfolk Island.' The Australian (Sydney, NSW), 22 August 1834, p3. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article42007594, viewed 14 April 2020, viewed 14 April 2020 Plater, David and Sue Milne. '‘The quality of mercy is not strained’: The Norfolk Island Mutineers and the Exercise of the Death Penalty in Colonial Australia 1824–1860.' Australian and New Zealand Law and History Society e-Journal, 2012, pp1–43. http://www.austlii.edu.au/au/journals/ANZLawHisteJl/2012/1.html, viewed 14 April 2020 R. v. Douglas and others [1834] NSWSupC 81. http://www.law.mq.edu.au/research/colonial_case_law/nsw/cases/case_index/1834/r_v_douglas_and_others/, viewed 14 April 2020 'Saturday, August 23, 1834.' The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (Sydney, NSW), 23 August 1834, p2. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article2216918, viewed 14 April 2020

Membership Card No 1, belonging to Annie Forsyth Wyatt, courtesy of National Trust of Australia (NSW)

The National Trust of Australia is celebrating its 75th anniversary this week, so it seemed like a perfect time to talk about the inspiring woman who made it all happen.

Listen to Lisa and Alex on 2SER here

The National Trust of Australia is oldest conservation charity and is committed to the preservation and protection of our built, natural and cultural heritage. The Trust was founded in Sydney in 1945 and now has branches around the country. Based on the heritage conservation organisation that began in the United Kingdom in 1895, it came into being in Australia at a time of great change and development to raise community consciousness of widespread destruction of the Sydney's built and natural heritage.

Annie Forsyth Evans with wildflowers at her family's home Girrahween in Manly c1905, courtesy National Trust (NSW), from family album held by Lynnette Lee

Annie Wyatt, the woman who led the movement to establish the Trust, was a feminist and humanitarian who wanted to make a difference to her community. She was born at 90 Cleveland Street in Redfern in 1885 and in 1891 her family moved to Rooty Hill, where her love for bushland and history developed. She married Ivor Wyatt in 1913, and in 1926, the couple and their two children moved to Gordon in Sydney's leafy northern suburbs. In 1927, in response to the destruction of much of the natural environment around Gordon, Annie Wyatt set up the Ku-ring-gai Tree Lovers' Civic League. The women who belonged to the League were protesting the dumping of rubbish, land clearances and subdivisions and the sale of public bushland. The League existed for 45 years and was very influential. Thanks to the group's activities, Balls Head was reforested as a public area in 1931 and bushland at Palm Beach was retained. In the 1930s and 1940s, big changes in the city centre in particular meant that key old buildings, like the Commissariat Stores at Circular Quay and Burdekin House on Macquarie Street, were being demolished with little regard for their historical importance and heritage value. Wyatt noticed these and looked for a way to protect and conserve the built environment and heritage she loved as well as natural places.

Annie Wyatt 1941, courtesy National Trust of Australia (NSW Branch)

At the 1944 Australian Forest League’s ‘Save our Trees’ Conference in Sydney, Wyatt, representing the Tree Lovers League, presented her case for the need to form a national trust in Australia. Her enthusiasm was infectious and on 6 April 1945 the national trust subcommittee of the Forestry League was formed. Wyatt was involved with the National Trust until her death in 1961. Her membership ticket, the first to be issued, recognised her instrumental role in the organisation. Many of the colonial buildings and structures we value today still exist because of campaigns that began directly on the Trust's formation. Hyde Park Barracks and the Mint, St James Church, the 1815 Military Hospital at Observatory Hill, and Cadman's cottage, Old Government House at Parramatta, Elizabeth Farm House, Lennox Bridge, and the cemeteries at Camperdown and Parramatta were all included on their first list of properties to protect in 1946. Annie Wyatt really shaped the start of Sydney's heritage movement. Her passion and enthusiasm for Sydney's history, community and natural environment made a huge difference to how we live in this city today. Annie Forsyth Wyatt is commemorated by a reserve at Palm Beach, an azalea named after her, and a stone seat in the Swain Gardens in Killara, as well as the Annie Wyatt Room at the National Trust headquarters at Observatory Hill .The house which was built for her and her family in Gordon has been heritage listed and is known as Annie Wyatt House. Head to the Dictionary to read Julie Blyth's entry on the life and achievements of Annie Wyatt: https://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/wyatt_annie While the National Trust's celebrations for the anniversary have been postponed for the moment, head to their website (https://www.nationaltrust.org.au/75years/) and follow their social media streams to keep up with their great 75 Stories campaign and to hear the latest about their plans for future festivities. Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/nationaltrustau/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/nationaltrustau Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nationaltrustnsw/   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.     

Balmain Colliery c1920 by John Henry Harvey, courtesy State Library of VIctoria (H91.300/71)

The deepest coal mine ever worked in Australia was on the waterfront in Sydney's inner western suburbs. This week we took a look into the pit of a surprisingly little known historical industrial site. Listen to Mark and Alex on 2SER here Coal was an important component for 19th century industry and to have a ready supply in the centre of Sydney would have been of huge benefit to local factories and exporters. In 1874, following up on theories that the existence of coal seams in the Illawarra and Hunter meant that it must also run under Sydney, Mr RD Adams applied for mining rights for over 10,000 acres under Sydney Harbour. This covered virtually the entire harbour area. His first exploratory bores were sunk in Newington and Botany in 1878, then Moore Park in 1879, followed by Narrabeen and Rose Bay in 1880 – none struck coal. However bore shafts at Helensburgh, Sutherland and Moorebank did. In 1890 a syndicate was formed to mine the seam and in September 1890, the Sydney and Port Hacking Coal Company Ltd first began boring for coal at Cremorne Point on Sydney’s lower north shore. The coal they found about 850 metres below the surface was of poor quality and so a second shaft was sunk in 1893 nearby, with much more successful results. It was estimated that there was over 113 million tons of excellent coal available, making it one of the largest possible mine sites in the Southern Hemisphere at that time. Cremorne however was already becoming an increasingly wealthy residential area, and strong protests about the presence of a coal mine, along with difficulties in the depth of the harbour for shipping, mean that in 1896 the project was abandoned and new ways of accessing the seam were explored.

Balmain Colliery workings to 1931, New South Wales Department of Industry (PRIMEFACT FEBRUARY 2007, 556)

The new site selected was on the other side of the harbour on the Balmain peninsula at Birchgrove. At this time Balmain was a working class area with an existing shipbuilding industry. The site for the mine was ideally located on the end of the peninsula, with ships able to load coal direct from the pit. In 1896 work on sinking shafts and building the surface works began, and  the newly renamed Sydney Harbour Collieries Ltd opened the ‘Birthday’ shaft in 1897 and the 'Jubilee' shaft in 1902 (both named in honour of Queen Victoria). The shafts were 5.5 metres in diameter and were fully lined with more than four million bricks.

Australian Town and Country Journal, 30 November 1901, p 24

Although the mine was closed between 1915 and 1923, by 1926 it employed over 350 men, 200 underground. Not all of these worked at the narrow coal face - the rest were employed laying tramlines, timbering tunnels and other essential site works.  With no ventilation under the sea, the work was hot, dirty and often dangerous, with a number of fatal accidents recorded during its working life. The heat and humidity were such that at least some of the miners were reported to work in the nude. As one reporter said in 1926 ‘what does it matter? There is no one to shock’. Cleaning a miner's work clothes would have been an arduous task too.The mine workings were run by electricity, with elevators to take the men up and down the 900 metre shaft, electric lights and battery lamps lit the underground brick tunnel entrance and the long tunnel that ran half a mile to the workings, with electrical motors driving the pumps and the tramway. Close to the face, pit ponies were used to haul the coal-skips to the tramway. The ponies lived and worked underground, never seeing the light of day. In August 1926, Oswald Anderson, manager of the radio station 2FC (better known today as the ABC's Radio National), ran one of his legendary broadcasting stunts, taking the 17th Area B Military Band and  the Sydney Harmonic Male Voice Choir down the mine to a point three-quarters of a mile from the entrance to the main drive, and over 900 metres below sea level, from where their performances were successfully broadcast to radio listeners across New South Wales. Sadly no recordings exist. The mine closed in the 1931 when its owners went into liquidations. Some largely unsuccessful attempts to find gas followed, but evenutally in the 1950s the Birthday and Jubilee shafts were filled in with fly ash from the nearby White Bay Power Station and concrete seals placed on the shaft heads.  The site is now occupied by Hopetoun Quays, a development of more than a hundred townhouses.

A broadcasting party who descended nearly 3000 feet below Sydney Harbour, Sydney Mail, 1 September 1926, p14

Read more about the Balmain Colliery in Dr Neil Radford's article on the Dictionary of Sydney here: https://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/balmain_colliery Mark Dunn is 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!      

Julian Leatherdale, Death in the Ladies' Goddess Club

Allen & Unwin, March 2020, p/bk, ISBN: 9781 76052 963 5, RRP AUD$29.99

Death in the Ladies’ Goddess Club by Julian Leatherdale is set in Sydney in the 1930s and follows Joan Linderman, budding crime writer and amateur detective, and her friend and housemate Bernice Becker, writer, bohemian and erstwhile mother. Joan is a young woman who has moved to Kings Cross from Willoughby, where her parents and war-affected brother still live. Joan’s life is in the inner-city suburbs of Sydney, working for The Mirror, and socialising with fellow bohemians and her communist boyfriend, Hugh. Bernice and Joan live in a converted, crumbling mansion, Bomora, the likes of which were once common in Sydney. Their friends are prostitutes, writers and artists, amongst them well-known people of the time, such as Zora Cross and Norman Lindsay. Joan and Bernice are part of an informal bohemian club, 'I Felici, Letterati, Conoscenti e Lunatici' (Happy, Wise, Literary and Mad), wittily shortened by Leatherdale to the ‘Evil Itchies’ (say “I Felici” out loud!). Through their association with the fringes of Sydney society, Joan and Bernice brush with Sydney’s criminal underworld, but when Bernice discovers the gory murder of a prostitute, friend and fellow Bomora resident Ellie, Joan and Bernice become increasingly entwined in real-life crime and investigation. Linked to Ellie’s death is Joan’s rich aunt Olympia’s 'Ladies’ Goddess Club', a secret women’s sex and drug club, into which Joan and Bernice are initiated. In the background is the mystery of Joan’s other brother, James, who never returned from WWI. Their mother's unwavering belief in his survival and return to Sydney threatens to become madness. The story ends with a twist that isn’t entirely unexpected but is still somewhat of a surprise. Overall, it is a neat story that leaves all loose ends tied up, except one. This novel is well-researched and conjures a vivid and authentic picture of Sydney and surrounds in the 1930s. Crumbling old boarding houses converted from once grand homes are equal characters with the people. The police detective, Lillian Armfield, was a real police sergeant at the time, and the lives of well-known Sydney crime figures merge with the fictional. The book’s main themes are writing, authorship, feminism, class and war. The after-effects of WWI on Sydney society inform the novel, how it has affected women’s roles and the post-war battles between the haves and have-nots, and the New Guard versus the Communist Party. Joan and her family are working class, while her aunt and uncle, Olympia and Gordon, represent Sydney’s wealthy elite. The author clearly chooses the side of the working class, and the novel links wealth with corruption, crime and unscrupulousness. Communism and the politics of the era are explored through the character of Joan’s boyfriend Hugh, a war hero and member of the Communist Party. Political figures of the era, Premier Jack Lang and Mrs Lang, Francis De Groot, Governor Philip and Lady Game all make an appearance towards the end of the novel when Joan and Hugh attend the opening ceremony of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. The construction of the bridge and the joining of the arches is a backdrop to the novel; and the opening ceremony symbolises a turning point in the novel where Joan discovers a significant clue to the crimes committed. Creative writing and authorship give the novel its structure. Joan is a wannabe crime writer, with the deadline for her first story approaching. Joan writes about the crimes and clues in her life and her own amateur investigations in her novel, from the perspective of her fictionalised (yet real in the novel) Sergeant Lillian Armfield, whom she admires. In the novel, Joan undertakes her own detective work which then feeds back into her writing. Leatherdale writes from Joan’s perspective: ‘How could she persist now that so much had changed, now that she, the writer, was so deeply entangled in the narrative, no longer the detached outsider but a character at the mercy of the story itself?’ (p. 282) And again: ‘The challenge for Joan was to see herself as the woman police officer saw her…' (p. 282) Joan’s story writing is interspersed throughout the novel and serves to summarise the novel’s events. The reason for this is slightly unclear, perhaps a comment on authorship and authority or perhaps Leatherdale’s comment on women increasingly becoming the authors of their own lives. Feminism is loud and clear in Leatherdale’s novel. On page 330, as Joan smashes the inside of Bomora, her former home and due for demolition, her thoughts run: ‘To change men’s minds and build another world for women would require destruction of one kind or another. Did any of the men she knew and loved truly respect her as an independent, capable person?' These ideas form the backbone of the book. Joan rails against the idea of becoming a suburban wife and mother, like her own mother, and her best friend Bernice gave up her two sons to live the life of a bohemian writer. Joan and Bernice’s sexual exploits are peppered throughout the book, and whether or not they are accurate for young women in 1930s Sydney, they have a refreshing honesty, frankness and freedom to them. The plot moves steadily and unfolds at an even pace. I would have liked more build-up and suspense in the threats to and attacks on Joan, in some places they seemed to come out of the blue. I also felt that in some parts of the book Leatherdale could have ‘shown’ rather than ‘told’, particularly in passages of dialogue. Overall, the book is a well-paced, light and enjoyable read evoking a long-gone Sydney. Leatherdale brings his characters and the city of Sydney to life. If you enjoy crime fiction or historical fiction, then this book is certainly worth a few hours of your time.   Reviewed by Shari Amery, March 2020 Head to the publisher's website to order and for a preview of the book here.

Photo by Su Westerman, via Flickr (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

For as long as we have had books, books have had value. Intellectual value, sentimental value and, of course, cash value. Sydneysiders have had access to books since the arrival of the First Fleet. These items were, of course, scarce and, although some books were printed locally, the bound volumes we take for granted today were in generally short supply until regular book importations began in the 1820s. For some, such a rare commodity conferred prestige and privilege. For others, it was a commercial opportunity.   

Listen to Rachel and Alex on 2SER here

The first case – may I call it a bookcase? – I want to talk about today is that of book thief James Newt who stole some scientific texts in late-1805. The victim was a 'Medical Gentleman', one who drew significant sympathy from the press. Indeed, the newspaper report of the day was scathing of Newt: In the commission of the crime there was certainly a presumption of wantonness difficult to be paralleled: — The prisoner had never endured scholastic discipline, and could neither write nor read, so that as all authors were equally unintelligible, the size alone could stamp the value of each work. Newt orchestrated this heist on his own, but he did manage to entangle a female companion in his crime. In a move that would place his wrongdoing on full display, Newt rewarded a woman – who was 'just as learned as himself' according to the Sydney Gazette – for commenting on the beauty of the books: he gave her, to recognise such good taste, a 'valuable set of plates mercilessly torn from a book of Anatomy.'

Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser, 10 November 1805, p2, via Trove

Now, Newt and his friend could have carefully hidden this terrible crime. A bit of careful talk with a potential buyer behind a pub. A surreptitious sale. Instead, the crime went on display. Literally. The woman who received the Anatomy plates was enamoured by the wonderful images and used them to decorate her apartment. Then, in 'the course of his professional routine' the Medical Gentleman 'accidentally visited the house, and in every corner had the mortification to be presented with a mutilated relick of his irreparable loss.' The book was never recovered, and Newt was sentenced to three years of public labour, a severe and terrible punishment at the time. Lawyer Sydney Stephen was the victim of a partnership between two 'ancient worthies' when he had a book stolen from his offices in December 1831. Bridget (Biddy) McMahon did the actual thieving. She passed the book – volume two of William Russell’s Crimes and Indictable Misdemeanours– to Hugh MacAvoy (McEvoy or McIvoy or Boyd). If only they had taken some time to review the contents of Russell’s work, valued at 7s. Instead, MacAvoy took the book and tried to sell it at Hawthorn’s public house on Cumberland Street. To his credit, he tried to fetch a reasonable price by seeking to exchange the text 'for half a pint of rum, and some money.' Police were soon onto the pair (with no need to go under cover), as Hawthorn, the publican, had MacAvoy all stitched up. Hawthorn could see the name 'Mr. Sydney Stephen' written in the front, though partially erased. Hawthorn challenged MacAvoy. Then, in a move that took a bit of spine, MacAvoy asserted the book had been 'in his possession for twenty years'. Yet, the title page of the book clearly revealed that it had been printed only five years before. The game was up. MacAvoy admitted McMahon had given him the book to sell: the book had not been in his possession for even 'ten minutes'! He claimed that, 'being himself somewhat intoxicated at the time', he simply did as McMahon asked, not stopping to think that she might have actually acquired the book 'dishonestly'. And if he had known the book  was law he 'would as lief had to do with the devil'. Not all was lost for our tiddly handler of stolen goods. He was able to secure some respectable character witnesses who were only too willing to tell the Court that he was a good person (though, they admitted, he was 'unfortunately addicted to excessive drinking, which has reduced him from a state of comparative affluence'. Both prisoners were bound to be found guilty, and they were; but the Jury strongly recommended MacAvoy to the mercy of the Court. McMahon was sentenced to six months imprisonment in the Sydney Gaol, while MacAvoy was given a much lighter sentence: a six week stay in the same institution. We can only hope they both turned over a new page once they were out of gaol. We can all borrow or buy books quite easily today, with many books also now available to read online for free. So, don’t be a Newt. (Oh, and don’t cut up books either.) Do you have a Library card? While our libraries are closed at the moment, you can still use your card to access your library's digital resources, including books, magazines and more in many cases.  You can still apply online for a card at the State Library of New South Wales for access to their e-resources too. There are also lots of booksellers in Sydney who would be delighted to take your order remotely and deliver or post your books to you. Apply online for a State Library of NSW card here. Dr Rachel Franks is the Coordinator, Education & Scholarship at the State Library of New South Wales 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, 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 'No Title.' The Sydney Monitor (Sydney, NSW), 21 January 1832, p5 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article32076715 'Sydney.' The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (Sydney, NSW), 10 November 1805, p2 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article626961 'Police Report.' (1832, January 5). The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (Sydney, NSW), 5 January 1832, p3 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article2204335 'Sydney Quarter Sessions'. The Australian (Sydney, NSW), 20 January 1832, p4 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article42008166 'Sydney Quarter Sessions.' The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (Sydney, NSW), 19 January 1832, p3 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page499759 'Police.' The Sydney Monitor (Sydney NSW), 21 Jan 1832, p5 The Sydney Monitor (Sydney NSW), 21 Jan 1832, p5 'Sydney Quarter Sessions.' The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (Sydney, NSW), 3 March 1832, p3 http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article2205326 Webby, Elizabeth. 'Colonial Writers and Readers.' The Cambridge Companion to Australian Literature, edited by Elizabeth Webby. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2000, pp. 50–73.

'Small-pox! : a treatise' by D. Kinnear Brown. Sydney: J.G. O'Connor, 1881, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (DSM/614.473/B)

As we stare down the barrel of an unknown pandemic, we remember that the city has seen quite a few epidemics in its time. Prior to the Spanish Flu epidemic of 1919,  an outbreak of smallpox took hold of the city and its imagination.

Listen to Minna and Alex on 2SER here

 

Tobacco smoke was thought to ward off the risk of infection, Incidents of the Smallpox Scare in Sydney, Australian Town and Country Journal, 25 June 1881 p1282 via Trove

At 2.50am on 29 April 1881 when the steamship Brisbane floated into harbour from Hong Kong, its passengers included a smallpox victim. The sick passenger and several other men were transferred to the hospital ship Faraway for quarantine, while the rest of the crew and passengers stayed on board the Brisbane until given the all clear, but three weeks later the infant daughter of On Chong, a Chinese merchant from Lower George Street in the Rocks, was infected with the fever and rash. Newspapers became aware of the case and anxiety spread as quick as the disease. Victims were identified in the Rocks and in Surry Hills, with doctors reporting the unmistakable signs of a fetid smell and pustules on the body. Australia's distance from Europe and Asia had largely shielded the country from the impact of this disease. Sydney’s quarantine policy of isolating ships at North Head had also been effective. However, as ships made the transition from sail to steam, travel times were halved, allowing diseases with a two- to three-week incubation time to suddenly enter the country much more quickly. Sydney’s lack of preparedness exacerbated the epidemic. A lack of cowpox lymph needed for vaccination meant only one in five residents were immunised before the outbreak. Meanwhile the superintendent at the Quarantine Station withheld basic medical supplies from victims and their families despite Government instructions to the contrary.

Administering the smallpox vaccine to residents of a Surry Hills house through the palings of the back yard fence, Incidents of the Smallpox Scare in Sydney, Australian Town and Country Journal, 25 June 1881 p1282 via Trove

One of the other unfortunate bi-products of the disease was the racist backlash against the Chinese community. The public spat on and abused Chinese residents in Sydney’s streets. The anti-immigration lobby were quick to use the case of On Chong’s daughter as evidence for the case for legislation restricting Chinese arrivals. The fact that smallpox was rife in England and Europe did not seem to lessen the irrational suspicion. The upshot of the outbreak was the establishment of a hospital for infectious diseases at Little Bay (later Prince Henry Hospital); a Royal Commission into management of the quarantine station; and the establishment of a dedicated ambulance service, with personnel trained in infection control. The fear of contagion has returned to our city but looking back over 100 years it’s a perhaps a strange comfort to remember that Sydney has seen events like this before and come through.    

Profiteering from the sale of disinfectants, Incidents of the Smallpox Scare in Sydney, Australian Town and Country Journal, 25 June 1881 p1282 via Trove

Read more in the Dictionary's entry on the Smallpox Epidemic in 1881 by Raelene Allen here, and an article by Garry Wotherspoon on epidemics in Sydney here. Judith Godden has also contributed entries on the history of nursing in Sydney here and Sydney's hospitals here.   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, Victorian War Heritage Inventory, Museum of Australian Democracy at Eureka (M.A.D.E) and Mallee Aboriginal District Services. 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! Listen to the podcast with Minna & Alex here, and tune in to 2SER Breakfast on 107.3 every Wednesday morning to hear more from the Dictionary of Sydney.       

Arriving at nursery school, October 1939, courtesy National Library of Australia (nla.ms-ms2852-19-9x)

It was International Women's Day on Sunday 8 March, so this week I thought we could reflect on how women have worked together to improve their lives in Sydney.

Listen to Lisa and Alex on 2SER here

The burden or job of childcare often falls to women. Today working women have a variety of options for childcare: aside from immediate family, there are family day care centres, childcare centres and kindergartens. But for much of the 19th century, women in Sydney were entirely reliant upon family and neighbours, and even their older children, to care for their babies and toddlers while they earned a crust. Only the wealthy few could afford a nanny or domestic servant. It wasn't until 1895 that feminist Maybanke Anderson worked with other female reformers to found the Kindergarten Union. The first Free Kindergarten was set up in Sydney to assist working mothers in Woolloomooloo. In 1903 however, the Kindergarten Union decided to exclude children under the age of three, on the basis that infants required nurses, rather than teachers. This left many poor working mothers in a pickle. Two years later another group of middle-class women, all with business connections and feminist reformist beliefs, got together to found the Sydney Day Nursery Association.  They believed a creche was needed to assist working women. It was to be '…no cold, remote charity, but an institution started by fellow women, who fully realise the difficulties that beset the paths of working mothers.'

A Day with the Babies, Sydney Mail June 20 1906 p1620 via Trove

Like its predecessor the Free Kindergarten, the first Day Nursery for babies and infants was located in a two storey terrace in Woolloomooloo, one of Sydney's poor working neighbourhoods. For threepence a day, children were bathed, fed, clothed and cared for, from 7.00am to 6.30pm. A matron, and visiting doctors and dentists, monitored the children's health. Nutritionally balanced meals and fresh milk were provided. Staff supported mothers at the day nursery and made home visits. We should see this moment in Sydney's history as a radical intervention, by women, for women - even if the founding members were well-off conservative women. For most of its history, the association has also been controlled and managed by women: fundraising, leasing premises, hiring staff, advocating for children's health and education. Many more Day Nurseries were opened in the inner city and in suburbs with large female working populations who needed quality education and care of their children for the full working week. There were creches established in Darlington, Surry Hills and Paddington over the following decades. By the 1930s, the association had also established education facilities for toddlers, and it is still going strong today. It is now known as SDN Children's Services. You can read more about Maybanke Anderson in Jan Robert's entry on the Dictionary here, and more about the history of the Sydney Day Nursery Association in the entry by Lindsay Read, Michelle Goodman and Susan Mills here. 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.