Portrait of Ben Boyd by an unknown artist, 1830s, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (ML 1461)

Sailing into Sydney in his yacht Wanderer in July 1842, Benjamin Boyd was welcomed by the press of the day as a flamboyant saviour to the failing economy. Listen to Mark and Alex on 2SER here Boyd arrived in Sydney rich and ambitious at a time when New South Wales was experiencing its first real economic depression. A Scottish stockbroker, he came to start whaling, steam ship and grazing enterprises and was backed by his own bank, established and used by him to fund his ideas.  His steamships the Seahorse and the Juno had already arrived in Sydney as the start to his his shipping business, but on discovering there was already stiff competition in this regard, this became a secondary interest from then on. Running his businesses from his property in Neutral Bay, he quickly established his grazing and farming enterprises. Within twelve months of arrival he was the largest landholder in the country having already secured large tracts in the Monaro and Riverina areas in southern NSW, and land at Twofold Bay near Eden on which he began to develop a port town for access to his inland estates. His confidence in the future was displayed in the new name for his port: Boydtown. Eden and Twofold Bay was already well known as a whaling port when Boyd arrived there in 1843, although there was little in the way of development. Whales had been taken in the area since 1828 when shore based whaling began there. Boyd joined this trade as a side business to his main grazing enterprise, running both shore based and deep sea whaling from Boydtown. Boyd had arrived in New South Wales at a time of great upheaval in the economy and labour market. Convict transportation had stopped to NSW in 1841, labour shortages were exacerbated by the need to pay workers, and Boyd along with others pushed hard on various schemes to get people onto their grazing estates. The re-start of transportation was mooted, making him few friends, as was the allowance for ticket-of-leave convicts in Tasmania to move to NSW to work, and the same idea for convicts in London. Emigration of free English workers was also encouraged of course.

Subdivision plan if part of Boyd's estate in Neutral Bay, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (Z/SP/N4/7)

However, one other scheme was initiated by Boyd that saw him accused of trying to introduce a form of slavery into NSW. In 1847 Boyd ‘imported’ 65 men from Vanuatu to work at his Monaro farms, followed soon after by another 15, and about 200 in all. The scheme was a disaster. The men were made to sign five year contracts, but with no English and dubious claims about how they had been taken, it had the whiff of forced or coerced labour at best and slavery at worst. The Sydney press were vocal in both support and condemnation and  Boyd’s enemies in the Legislative Council established committees to inquire. The men themselves largely abandoned Boyd before they even made it to his estates, making their way back overland towards either Boydtown or Sydney in a desperate bid to get home (which some did succeed in doing). Under a cloud, and facing financial ruin as his Bank and his enterprises began to unravel, Boyd slipped out of Sydney on the Wanderer in October 1849, heading to America and the goldfields. What he did there is unclear, but he did not stay. In 1851 he sailed back to the Pacific, where, on a stop off at Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands, he was killed. A rumour that he had been eaten as well brought his blazing life to a dramatic end. Visit the Dictionary to read Alison Vincent's entry on Ben Boyd in Sydney here.    

Mark's new book is available now.

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

Kathy Bowrey, Copyright, Creativity, Big Media and Cultural Value: Incorporating the Author

Routledge, 218 pp., ISBN: 9780429201035, h/bk, AUS$252.00, e/bk, AUS$62.00 According to the Copyright Agency, copyright is ‘a form of intellectual property that protects the original expression of ideas. It enables creators to manage how their content is used’. This sounds not only sensible, but very straightforward. If you produce a thing that is new, then you should have some control over that thing. You can keep it, reproduce it, share it, gift it or sell it. Some people are not especially concerned about making money from their copyright, but these same people might want to control their creation in some way. To maintain its integrity, or to prevent others from profiting unfairly from a creation. For some – authors, designers, photographers and many more – earning revenue from copyright is essential to survive. Again, this all makes sense. If someone lets you use something they have created, follow the rules, add a footnote and be on your way. If a payment is involved, then don’t be tardy.  So, why then does the Copyright Act 1968 (Cth) come in at nearly 700 pages? Well, it’s complicated. Professor Kathy Bowrey’s latest book Copyright, Creativity, Big Media & Cultural Value: Incorporating the Author, explains some of the complexities about copyright. Most of us have an inkling when we are breaking copyright, but it can be easy to push thoughts of wrongdoing aside. It’s a victimless crime. It’s all about massive media companies making ridiculous sums of money and men in grey suits deciding what we should all watch, read and listen to. Not quite. This is just one of the myths that Bowrey deals with, as she explains that: ‘corporate greed is presumed to rule decision-making, the creator is addressed as a noble but disempowered victim rather than an agent of their own destiny, and the public are characterised as chumps fed a homogenised diet dictated from London, New York and Hollywood’ (p.1). Copyright is, however, much more than a creator’s private property right or a tool for powerful corporations to control what creator’s produce and, by extension, what we consume. Bowrey provides an overview of copyright and offers a suite of important discussions on the practicalities of copyright and how some of the major changes, such as advances in different technologies, have contributed to the evolution of copyright laws. The international exploitation of copyright is also addressed. Some of this material stands alone as neat summaries, some material adds depth to the case studies that make up the bulk of this book. This is done through careful analyses of law, of opinions about the law and reviews of various business archives. Bowrey’s choices for her case studies are inspired. For example, in looking at Fred Fargus, writing as Hugh Conway, and his novel Called Black (1884), Fergus Hume’s The Mystery of a Hansom Cab (1886) and Arthur Conan Doyle’s A Study in Scarlet (1887), Bowrey explains that ‘copyright is not a thing owned by the author’. Rather, copyright ‘is a legal relation with many moving parts, linking the author directly to the producer and, indirectly, to distributors and consumers’ (p.29). These literary studies also unpack how authors are not always as badly done by as they claim. Hume famously sold his copyright for the fabulously successful The Mystery of a Hansom Cab for £50. This is, usually, where the story ends. Not anymore. Bowrey has completely disrupted the narrative of Hume’s financial misfortunate in re-writing this famous tale of copyright and a blockbuster whodunnit in a way that is as exciting as the original novel. Another compelling case study looks at the roles ‘of celebrity, women and consumer markets in the recording industry’. Focusing on the question ‘does a gramophone maker deserve a copyright’ and Dame Nellie Melba – a clever and talented woman – Bowrey unpacks issues associated with gendered understandings of business and of law (pp.8-9, 166). Other household names, including Margaret Atwood and Banksy, flesh out this work with examples that can make a traditionally dry subject very engaging. Some of the passages are necessarily dense. The history of copyright laws – including the ways in which these laws have been manipulated – has ensured that copyright has become a challenging area for creators and consumers, despite it being something we are influenced by every day. Yet, there is nothing in this book that is beyond the understanding of the average non-lawyer. Indeed, this work will be of value to students and researchers across a wide range of disciplines as well as to anyone who is interested in learning about copyright and wanting a more nuanced understanding than the most common conception that copyright equals: ‘death of creator, plus seventy years’. To buy this work in hardcopy is an investment, and it is sure to become a useful reference book on many library shelves. The eBook is more attractively priced for the individual and will suit readers looking for a certain case study or wanting to follow a particular thread. The volume also contains several handsome illustrations, extensive notes and a useful index. Copyright, Creativity, Big Media and Cultural Value is an exceptional piece of scholarship that Bowrey was uniquely qualified to produce. It is a fine example of what can be done when a leader in their field combines experience and knowledge with an innovative approach together with detailed and patient archival research.   Reviewed by Dr Rachel Franks, January 2020 For a preview of the book or to purchase online, visit the Routledge website here.   Visit the State Library of NSW shop on Macquarie Street, or online.

The Astor Flats, Macquarie Street 1923, Building Magazine 12 Nov 1923, p3

Nestled at the Harbour end of Macquarie Street facing the Botanic Gardens is The Astor, the grand old dame of Sydney’s apartment blocks. Built in 1923, it was then Australia’s tallest residential building – at 13 storeys. Listen to Minna and Alex on 2SER here The Astor was always a prestigious address, and the building featured a café, retail, fruitshop, hairdresser, restaurant. Guests visiting The Astor would enjoy afternoon tea, listen to music, admire the lush views, lounge by the fish pool or in the roof garden. One of the Astor’s most beguiling aspects is the history of the residents themselves. Every room and apartment abound with scandals, tragedies, lawsuits and affairs; amidst a backdrop of fine art, antiques and collectibles. Many of the residents were modern independent women able to foster their careers, and political movements in a room of their own. Ruby Rich, feminist and pianist, lived with her mother there from 1923-1927. Ruby worked with Maybanke Anderson to open the Radical Hygiene Centre to help treat STIs in sex workers and their clients, and towards the first family planning clinic in Australia. Artists Portia Geach and Mary Alice Evatt painted and lived there; Jean Garling, physiotherapist, balletomane and philanthropist, was resident from 1963 to her death in 1998. Her entire estate was bequeathed to the State Library of NSW which she had also supported for many years. The great wealth symbolised by The Astor’s was also in stark contrast to the huge class tension and disparity of the time. The Depression was around the corner and the fight for working conditions was something the well-to do residents would have seen and heard from their lush roof top when monster trade union rallies took place on Sundays at the Domain in the 1930s. Within the building too many working hands made light work. The caretaker’s day began at about 5.30am and ended 11.30pm managing staff dealing with everything within the life of the building from the hot water boilers, cleaning, security, delivery of fine art and collectables and even the transportation of deceased residents from the building.

View from the lounge windows of apartment in The Astor 1938, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW ([PXA 1474/Item 1 )

Today The Astor is listed by Heritage NSW as rare intact example of an early 20th century prestige residential apartment building in the city. The prestige and price tag remains; in 2020 Cate Blanchett soldher apartment for $12 million. Further reading: Jan Roberts, Ed, The Astor, Ruskin Rowe Press, 2003     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 on the radio, tune in to 2SER Breakfast with Alex James on 107.3 every Wednesday morning to hear more stories from the Dictionary of Sydney. 

Drawing by Bradfield of Interior of St James' Underground Railway Station, Sydney 1926, reproduced in a supplement to Building magazine, 11 September 1926

There is nothing people like more than a secret tunnel. And while a lot of people have heard about the tunnels connected with St James Railway Station, few have been lucky enough to visit them... until now. Listen to Lisa and Alex on 2SER here But before we satisfy your curiosity, let me tell you why these tunnels even exist. The City Circle railway was conceived as far back as 1908, when JJC Bradfield submitted a design for the underground city loop to the Royal Commission on the Improvement of Sydney. Bradfield's concept was picked up by the state Labor government in 1910, and they tried to pass legislation to get the railway extension design approved, but conservative politicians condemned the infrastructure projects as "an orgy of extravagance". Bradfield was later invited to revisit his design in 1914-15. In the end the City Circle line took 25 years to build, in between WWI, the Great Depression, and WWII. As well as world events, party politics kept intervening so the infrastructure for modern Sydney was a real stop-start affair. The first stations to open were Museum and St James, branching out from Central. This was in 1926. Town Hall and Wynyard followed suit in the other direction, opening in 1932 just three weeks before the Sydney Harbour Bridge. The engineer Bradfield planned for multiple lines feeding into the city circle. At St James Station there was a planned line branching off to the eastern suburbs. At Wynyard, Bradfield designed an option for a line heading out to Balmain. The disused platforms are a testament to the grand plans of the 1930s railway network planned by Bradfield.

Unused tunnel at St James Railway Station 16 January 2016, photo by Beau Giles, via Flickr (CC BY 2.0)

If you ever have caught the train at St James station, you may have noticed that there are a couple of platforms that are joined and unused. This was part of the broader network plans. To the north and south of the public platform area, tunnels and platforms built during the 1920s for proposed extensions and lines of the city underground remain in place. The "ghost" platforms were designed in the same manner as the other platforms at St James, but were never completed. Steel doors deny access, and staff have used the platforms for storage. An interesting part of the history of these planned but not used tunnels is their repurposing during WWII. The unrequired tunnel excavated to the south of St James was converted into an air raid shelter. This section of the tunnel includes concrete blast doors and walls, as well as a range of graffiti. The air raid shelter areas in the southern tunnels are rare surviving elements of Sydney's WW2 defences. To the north a tunnel leads a short way and then stops in the dark, but a drip, drip, dripping is an aural cue for the underground lake that has formed beneath the botanic gardens. Years ago the Australian Railway Historical Society used to do regular tours of these abandoned tunnels, but these days it's pretty hard to get into them. But there are ways to experience them today.

Crowds leaving a shelter in Hyde Park after the 'all clear' has been given c1942, State Library of Victoria H99.201/3739

Sydney Trains gave artists Julia Davis and Lisa Jones exclusive access to the tunnels as an underground studio where the tunnels became both the muse and the medium for their art. The result is the exhibition "Thresholds" currently on at the Tin Sheds Gallery, University of Sydney. Ghostly tendrils of roots, cut off steelwork, muddy puddles all feature in the works. The centrepiece of this exhibition is an extraordinary three-channel HD video installation with surround sound. The exhibition is on until the 19th February, and it's FREE! so be quick to catch this evocative exhibition. Find out more on Sydney Uni's Tin Sheds page here: https://www.sydney.edu.au/architecture/about/tin-sheds-gallery/thresholds.html And if that wasn't enough, you can now do a virtual tour of the air raid shelter tunnels at St James. Sydney Trains partnered with Sydney Living Museums to create the virtual tour for a special online Sydney Open festival in 2020. And now we can all access the site! Head to the Sydney Living Museums page here. https://sydneylivingmuseums.com.au/sydneyopen/city/access-denied/st-james-tunnels   If you want to read more about the railway and its influence in Sydney, check out these articles on the Dictionary too: • Mark Dunn, Electrification of the Sydney Suburban Train Network, Dictionary of Sydney, 2017, http://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/electrification_of_the_sydney_suburban_train_network • Mark Dunn, City Underground, Dictionary of Sydney, 2017, http://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/city_underground • Bob McKillop, The Railways of Sydney: Shaping the City and its Commerce, Dictionary of Sydney, 2016, http://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/the_railways_of_sydney_shaping_the_city_and_its_commerce • Garry Wotherspoon, Transport, Dictionary of Sydney, 2008, http://dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/transport Dr Lisa Murray is the Historian of the City of Sydney and former chair of the Dictionary of Sydney Trust. She is the 20201 Dr AM Hertzberg AO Fellow at the State Library of New South Wales and the author of several books, including Sydney Cemeteries: a field guide. She appears on 2SER on behalf of the Dictionary of Sydney in a voluntary capacity. Thanks Lisa, for ten years of unstinting support of the Dictionary!  You can follow her on Twitter here: @sydneyclio Listen to Lisa & Alex here (skip to 135.25!) 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.   

Kathy Mexted, Australian Women Pilots: Amazing true stories of women in the air

NewSouth Books, November 2020, p/bk, 272pp, ISBN: 9781742236971, RRP: AUD$34.99

Thanks to the determination, grit, and spunk of the ten women Kathy Mexted chronicles in her first book Australian Women Pilots, the career opportunities now available to women aviators in Australia are as diverse as the landscape itself. Inspired to write after hearing aviator Patricia Toole recount her emergency landing in a river bed deep in the New Guinea Jungle in June 1953, the text spans almost 100 years of Australian aviation history. Fittingly the book begins with the extraordinary account of the ‘darling of Australian Aviation’ Nancy Bird, the first Australian woman to work under a commercial pilots licence. Mexted then goes on to tell the story of Mardi Gething, the only Australian woman to fly with the Air Transport Auxillary (ATA) during WWII, ferrying aircraft from factories to locations for the RAF. In her time Gething, like Bird, achieved celebrity status for her aviation pursuits. Shortly after finishing her service with the ATA she toured Australia as part of the crew of the Lancaster Bomber G for George that is currently interned in the Australian War Memorial. Aviation also provided opportunity for international travel for Mexted’s next study, Patricia Toole, who moved to New Guinea to take up a position in WWII RAAF fighter ace Bobby Gibbes' company Gibbes Sepik Airways. The same may be said for Gaby Kennard who, inspired by Amelia Earhart, whilst ‘juggling a job, two children and a mortgage’, was the first Australian women to fly around the world solo. Marion McCall was also called to travel internationally having won the Duke of Edinburgh’s Dawn to Dusk three times. However her achievements may be attributed to home turf as McCall – a singer, teacher, and conductor – learnt to fly to assist her bishop husband in his vocation after they became empty nesters. The account of Lyn Gray, flying instructor and ferry pilot, requires uninterrupted reading time to allow for Mexted’s narration of Gray’s dramatic ‘ditching’ in the Pacific. The same may be said of the story of Deborah Lawrie (Wardley) Australia’s first commercial airliner pilot who cleared the path for women pilots in the airlines with her unprecedented win against Ansett under the Equal Opportunity Act in 1979. The physical demands of flying are typified in the narratives of Georgia Maxwell, an aerial application and firebombing pilot, and Nicole Forrester, a city girl from Brisbane who donned an Akubra and moved to a remote property in outback Northern Territory. Forrester later developed a taste for aerobatics and became a pilot in the RAAF. The final account belongs to Esther Veldstra who in spite of numerous challenges achieved her dream of flying for the Royal Flying Doctor Service (RFDS). Mexted’s text provides countless examples of the universal struggle faced by the modern women – whether to, or not to, have a family – and the compromises demanded by both family and career. These questions are well explored in the accounts of Bird, who abandoned her professional aviation pursuits after getting married, and of single mothers, Kennard who put herself through flying training aged 33, and Veldstra, who adhered to the unpredictable and demanding hours of the RFDS. Mexted also doesn’t shy away from honestly discussing the challenges brought to the industry by the aversion to women aviators that was faced by many of her subjects to varying degrees, and as typified by Kathy’s account of Reg Ansett's battle with Lawrie (Wardley). The extensive interviews conducted by Mexted add new details to historical accounts. These are also bolstered by helpful references to contemporary events, terms, and culture. Similarly aviation jargon is explained in laymen’s terms, while there is just enough technical detail to satisfy pilots without boring those of us without wings. As endorsed by top gun and aerobatic champion Matt Hall, the book should be passed onto any and every young woman ‘who has a dream’, as between its covers are examples of ten of her predecessors who overcame diverse challenges, and from whose stories she may draw strength. Likewise, those with an interest in the history of aviation in Australia and stories of the unbreakable Australian spirit will thoroughly enjoy the read.   Reviewed by Anna Gebels, January 2021 Anna Gebels is a PhD candidate at the University of Sydney. Her research is focused on the collected heritage of the Empire Air Training Scheme in Australia in an attempt to ascertain what we have, and what we need in order to tell an inclusive account of the Scheme. By day Anna is a museum curator and educator who has worked in quarantine, military aviation and medical museums. By night Anna enjoys singing for and with military veterans, transporting them to yesteryear with the sweet harmonies of the WWII era with her vocal group Company B.   Visit the State Library of NSW shop on Macquarie Street, or online here.

Nosey Bob, the common hangman, The Bulletin, 31 January 1880, p4

Today is the anniversary of the death of Robert Rice Howard, the hangman for New South Wales from the 1870s until 1904, who died on 3 February 1906. Listen to Rachel and Alex on 2SER here Less than two years earlier, Howard had given up his post as executioner, and a good salary of £156 per annum (roughly equivalent to $150,000). After a quiet, if short, retirement Howard passed away at his home in Bondi 115 years ago from endocarditis and senile decay. Howard was buried at Waverley Cemetery with his wife, a child and a grandchild. His death certificate states he was 74 years old and lists his occupation as a ‘retired civil servant’, but everyone knew that he was a hangman and had dispatched felons on scaffolds across the state for around 28 years. When you think about hangmen, it’s hard not to speculate about the sort of person who would sign up to do that sort of work. Even when the felons presented to the executioner to be ‘sent off’ are known to have committed atrocious crimes, it makes no sense to respond to violence with more violence. So, what type of bloke puts their hand up and says: ‘I will do this, I will send people through a trap door to hang by the neck until they are dead’? Well, in the earliest days of the colony it really was about finding someone who was willing to do it, even if they didn't want to. A man could escape the gallows himself by becoming the hangman. Over time, not all the hangmen were pulled from the ranks of convicts but there was no escaping the fact that it was the most reviled job in the colony. The work itself, and  the associated ostracism from all levels of society, saw many hangmen turn to drink. The stereotype of the drunkard executioner was well established by the late eighteenth century. Some of Nosey Bob’s predecessors were also violent on and off the job, a few were committed to lunatic asylums, some died young or in extreme poverty on the streets, others simply disappeared. The man known as Nosey Bob was different. Having lost his nose - hence Nosey Bob - after an encounter with a vicious horse in which he came off second best, he lost his successful cab driving business. What’s an unemployed man with a wife and six children to support to do in Sydney in 1876?  Howard started off as an assistant executioner and was soon promoted. He did the worst job in the colony, but he appears to have tried to retain the best of himself. In his mid 40s when he became a hangman, Nosey Bob made an effort to stay a family man, raising his children as a single dad after his wife passed away in 1878. He was not known as a violent person (although when someone attacked his pet dog in 1882, he did strike back with the leg of a chair). He stayed sane and while he did enjoy the occasional beer or gin, he was never accused of being drunk at work. Though not extremely wealthy, he was a landholder with property in Bondi and Richmond. He drew a pension and voted in elections. A man who liked to potter in his garden and go fishing, he also had a reputation for being kind, and helping those who had found themselves down on their luck. He was also good to animals. He was quick to defend his dog, and he rescued a horse from the old Woollahra Pound and trained him to make a return trip to a local establishment. The horse carried a billy with sixpence in it to the pub, and then – walking more slowly – a billy full of beer home. Despite being an executioner Howard was, really, kind of ordinary. Would you have Robert Howard as the headline speaker at a careers day? Probably not. But if you wanted to catch up with one of the great identities of colonial Sydney, you could do worse than sit and have a drink with Nosey Bob.   Head to the Dictionary to read Rachel's entry on Nosey Bob here. She's also working on a biography of his life and the history of capital punishment in the late 19th century in New South Wales that will be published by NewSouth Books. Dr Rachel Franks is the Coordinator of Scholarship at the State Library of NSW and a Conjoint Fellow at the University of Newcastle. She holds a PhD in Australian crime fiction and her research on crime fiction, true crime, popular culture and information science has been presented at numerous conferences. An award-winning writer, her work can be found in a wide variety of books, journals and magazines as well as on social media. She's appearing for the Dictionary today in a voluntary capacity. Thank you Rachel!  For more Dictionary of Sydney, listen to the podcast with Rachel & Alex here (skip to 135.3!), and tune in to 2SER Breakfast with Alex James on 107.3 every Wednesday morning to hear more stories from the Dictionary of Sydney.        

Waratah Spring Festival parade, College Street 1960s, City of Sydney Archives SRC18259

Celebrating Spring, and named for the state's floral emblem, the Waratah festival ran for 18 years from 1956 to 1973. It was replaced by the Sydney Festival in January from 1977. Listen to Lisa and Alex on 2SER here The Waratah Spring Festival was organised by Sydney City Council and the Sydney Committee, which was made up of council, state government and city business representatives. The aim of the festival was to enliven the city each spring. It was a bit twee, and now might be considered a bit un-PC , but sixty years ago it was a time of joy for Sydney families. Sydney Town Hall, Hyde Park and the harbour were the focus venues of the festival. The park hosted floral displays, an art competition, wood chopping, and open air concerts. There were also garden competitions held across Sydney, state band championships, fishing competitions, dancing, a sailing regatta. Over the years the festival spread into the suburbs. And as the festival evolved various themes were applied to the festival: naval, calypso. It was a week of revelry and noise. At one point there was serious consideration given to the distribution of whistles to every child in the city.

Glenice Hill, the Waratah Princess in 1959,glowing with the sparkle of Sydney in Spring, Australian Womens Weekly, 21 October 1959, p5

One of the annual highlights of the festival was the street parade, with floats representing many Sydney businesses and government departments. (This was in many ways a continuation from Labour Day parades; and has since been superceded by the Mardi Gras parades.) The floats on trucks - numbering between 100 and 200 - were colourful, frothy spring affairs, with plenty of flower motifs. There were also marchers on foot, and multiple bands. On average about 300,000 people lined the streets to watch the Waratah Festival Parade. The parade opened with the Waratah Princess float. Waratah Princess finalists were selected each year from the lunchtime crowds in Hyde Park. The talent scouts sought girls that "glowed with the sparkle of Sydney town in spring". Finalists were then interviewed by the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress, who together crowned the Princess. The winner, along with several finalists, were featured on the City of Sydney Waratah Princess float at the head of the parade. In all, 18 festivals were held; the final festival was in 1973 in conjunction with the opening of the Sydney Opera House. It was replaced by the Sydney Festival, which has taken place each January since 1977.   Dr Lisa Murray is the Historian of the City of Sydney and former chair of the Dictionary of Sydney Trust. She is the 20201 Dr AM Hertzberg AO Fellow at the State Library of New South Wales and the author of several books, including Sydney Cemeteries: a field guide. She appears on 2SER on behalf of the Dictionary of Sydney in a voluntary capacity. Thanks Lisa, for ten years of unstinting support of the Dictionary!  You can follow her on Twitter here: @sydneyclio Listen to Lisa & Alex here (skip to 135!) 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.         

Billie Barlow as Jack Grist in 'Puss in Boots' 1901, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (P1/106)

This week on 2SER Breakfast, Alex and Minna were treading the boards of the old Tivoli Theatre in Castlereagh Street looking for some Christmas time theatrical scandal.  Over 100 years ago, the Tivoli was the venue for pantomimes, live dancing and musical shows, especially at Christmas. The Victorians thrived on pantomime - musical retellings of fairy tales and children's stories, that combined slapstick, spectacle and the subversion of gender with lavish costumes. One well-known pantomime star of yesteryear was Billie Barlow, an English burlesque actress who started her career in early Gilbert & Suliivan works and toured the world. Only in her mid teens when she began her career in the chorus of the London company Opera Comique as Minnie Barlow, during a tour to America other company members gave her the nickname Billie and it stuck. As well as singing and variety entertainment, Barlow specialised in ‘breeches roles’, in particular as 'principal boy'. In the days when most women's bodies, and their lower limbs in particular,  were comprehensively covered up in public, these roles provided an opportunity for an actress in the 19th century to wear a costume revealing the legs covered only in tights, potentially increasing the size of the audience. Collectable cigarette cards & carte de visites of the day show the range of her theatrical guises and outlandish costumes. Barlow visited Australia several times over the course of her career and was billed as 'the English Queen of Burlesque'. The Evening News described her in 1892 as 'the pretty little lady…with the sunny curls, laughing eyes, and saucy nose.' However the costume she wore as the Principal Boy, Jack Grist, in the production of Puss in Boots at the Tivoli at Christmas in 1900 caused quite a stir. Puss in Boots was an English work licensed to Harry Rickards by Barlow's husband Everard Menzies Stuart. It was amended to include references for local audiences and was, in the main, very well received. One reviewer described it being as much about 'the funny man as the legs and the limelight'.  Barlow had previously performed the role in Britain and in America, where no adverse comments about the costumes had been made. A Melbourne reviewer of the production when it toured there in February commented that 'she looks very fine and large in very tight tights, and goes through her part with plenty of spirit. The masculine attire of pantomime suits her better when she dilutes with a flowing cloak behind, than when she dons it neat and leaves nothing to the imagination' but an earlier review in The Bulletin went further. The Bulletin had published several reviews during the Sydney season, none of them overly enthusiastic, and on 12 January 1901 declared that: '...one becomes more and more impressed by the riskiness of Billie Barlow's first costume. It is a costume that doesn't simply suggest the "nood" in an ordinary sense; it rather suggests that Miss Bill has taken off her flesh and is wandering about clothed in her naked soul' The same review ended in 'The ballet in the marble hall contrives to look as it it was a trifle sinful as well, and the public likes sin. The man who can invent a perfectly new sin will make a fortune'.

Sydney Sportsman, 3 April 1901, p6

The suggestion that the costume was indecent was not appreciated, and Barlow (using her legal name of Minnie Menzies Stuart) promptly sued the publication for libel, saying such an inference would damage her international career. The colourful court proceedings that followed over the next few months were lapped up by the public, and a delighted media that indulged in all their most risque and derogatory comments about women on the stage. The Bulletin was represented in court by soon-to-be Australian Prime Minister George Reid, who did not hold back: He asked the members of the jury 'to remember that the stage could be made an engine for the greatest evils' and suggested 'It was no wonder that poisonous influences were spreading amongst the community where divorces were becoming notoriously frequent, when such exhibitions were popular and the person that was the party to them could come into court and ask for £5000 in damages'. The jury and judge visited the theatre just to make sure what they thought of the costume (with their wives apparently, something that gave rise to even more lewd comments in the press), but despite her protestations of artistic integrity, found The Bulletin was justified in its description. Barlow tried to appeal but the request was denied. The case was reported with glee across the country. The Clarence and Richmond Examiner observed this type of scandal as inevitable because “Theatres in which the sensual passions pandered to by immoral song and indecent dress or posturing are a decided curse. The harm they do is almost calculable." Although she was supposed to pay court costs, Barlow left the country on the next leg of her tour before doing so. On her return to Sydney in 1912, The Bulletin followed it up, and when she paid, apparently gave the amount to charity. The scandal is a good reminder that theatre has always been a space where gender roles are questioned, satirised, subverted. Drag, cabaret and burlesque comedy remain with us today and we hope to see it come back to life in 2021.     Other reading: Dictionary of Sydney: Harry Rickards's Tivoli Head to the Dictionary to explore everything under the subject Theatre! Kurt Gänzl: Kurt of Gerolstein AROUND THE WORLD IN TWENTY YEARS: Years One to Twelve: A husband from Hell ... or merely the theatre? (2020) Nigel Ward, The Conversation, ’A brief history of the pantomime – and why it’s about so much more than ‘blokes in dresses’ (2016) G&S Archive: The D'Oyley Cart Opera Company - Billie Barlow 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 on the radio, tune in to 2SER Breakfast with Alex James on 107.3 every Wednesday morning to hear more stories from the Dictionary of Sydney. 

Sydney Harbour: A souvenir c1897, National Gallery of Australia (Acc No: 46598)

The enthusiasm for painting outdoors, embraced by the Impressionist movement in France, hit Sydney in the 1880s. A handful of artist camps were established around Sydney Harbour in the last two decades of the 19th century, leading to a prolific creative outpouring of landscape paintings that includes some of my favourite paintings of Sydney. Where were these camps? Well, two of the most famous ones were at Balmoral Beach and Little Sirius Cove. Listen to Lisa and Alex on 2SER here The one at Balmoral Beach centred around a weekender built by Bulletin cartoonist Livingston Hopkins (aka Hop) and was established in the 1880s. Among the artists who frequented this camp were Julian Ashton, AH Fullwood, Frank Mahony, John Mather and Frederic Schell. Living and painting outdoors gave artists new subjects and challenges. All the artists involved in the camps pursued new subject matter, exploring maritime scenes and contrasting the city with the still, idyllic bushland and coves of the north shore. Melbourne artists Tom Roberts and Arthur Streeton came up to Sydney in the 1890s and they were captivated by Sydney Harbour. They spent considerable periods painting around the harbour and formulating different views of Sydney from across the water. Roberts and Streeton were associated with the Curlew Camp at Little Sirius Cove (below today's Taronga Zoo). There is a wonderful photograph in the Dictionary from the State Library's collections (see below), showing Streeton in action, crouched by the water, shirt off, painting en plein air. The camps were popular with male artists because of the camaraderie, creativity, bohemian freedom and cheap living. It is worthwhile noting that women artists did not stay at the camps, but were frequent visitors. Many women were also bitten by the plein air bug and became enthusiastic landscape painters. The Mosman artists' camps were relatively short-lived, petering out in the first decade of the 20th century. But their artistic output and influence made an extraordinary contribution to landscape painting and Sydney's art scene.

Arthur Streeton at the camp at Mosman c1892-1893, Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (P1/1707)

Robin Tranter's article in the Dictionary about the artists camps is prolifically illustrated with paintings. Read it here. You can also experience the harbourside beauty of Sirius Cove for yourself on the Curlew Camp Artists' Walk developed by Mosman Council and Taronga Zoo. The walk is about 1.6km, follows the route around Little Sirius Cove used to access the artists' camp in the 1890s, and there are interpretive signs along the way. A detailed map is available from Mosman Council's website here. And there is a beautiful retrospective of Streeton's work at the Art Gallery of NSW on exhibition now until 14 February 2021. Find details 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.   

Amanda Laugesen, Rooted: An Australian History of Bad Language

NewSouth Publishers, 2020, 314 pp. ISBN: 9781742236636, p/bk, AUD$32.99

'Oh, that book is for Rachel.' It was a statement. A bit like 'it’s started to rain' or 'it’s time to put the kettle on'. There were no requests for volunteers. There was no polite squabbling at the allocation desk, it was obvious that I would be delighted to review a book on swearing. Rooted: An Australian History of Bad Language, by Amanda Laugesen, is an absolutely fascinating social history of swearing. Laugesen has focused her efforts on a country in which people are well known for letting not just the odd curse, but an incredibly diverse* array of words, just ‘slip out’. Sometimes for emphasis, sometimes as part of everyday conversation. Aboriginal Australians have their own bad words (p. 42), but the focus of this work is swearing in English in Australia since 1788. This is the story of how bad language – elegant, ordinary and downright offensive – is entrenched in the modern Australian narrative. I have some very good friends who I have never heard swear. In contrast, I might swear a little bit too much. For me, fuck is an all-purpose word. Acknowledgement. Dismissal. Exhaustion. Fear. Frustration. Oops. Ouch. Surprise. Thirsty. Triumph. It’s also a very useful piece of punctuation when I can’t decide between a comma and a semi-colon. In 2020, as I really struggled with an overload of technology, muttering 'fuck it' became a staple component of my working from home routine. A bit like breathing. I like, too, some of the F-word’s classic variations (fuckwit and fuckwittery are personal favourites). As Laugesen notes: 'While it is probably hard to argue that we swear more than others, we do our best – and we try to be inventive in the process' (p. 2). There are some words that I would never say or put into print. For example, words that are blatantly misogynistic or racist. Some people might use these terms, as Laugesen points out, as acts of reclamation (p. 14), but I think using some words gives them too much power. Or worse, some words can be normalised through usage and so we end up, inadvertently perhaps, rejecting the hurt particular words have caused. It can be as if the most controversial words do not matter, and neither do the people they have crushed. Of course, all of these words are important, and it is crucial – in a world where communication is routinely identified as an essential skill – that we understand different types of words and their context. Laugesen shares her expertise as a lexicographer to unpack the histories of individual vulgarities and how some of these words, like any fashion, have fallen in and out of favour. Indeed, 'profanity, obscenity and bad language are never absolutes – what a society considered offensive at one time may be quite different at another' (p. 3). One of Laugesen’s most interesting arguments considers swearing as power, and what she refers to as linguistic subversion. The exertion of, and resistance to, power is seen very early on in modern Australia with multiple accounts of insolence focused on how ‘convicts used bad language as a way to challenge authority. Their defiance runs through these insults, even when they were liable to be punished' (p. 32). Another vital thread in the text is how ideas of language and class run through our history. The language that we use can serve as a label, with bad language deployed to promote but also able to blur the boundaries of a class system imported from England. So, there are the convicts who were 'much addicted to swearing' (p. 21). There are, too, 'the ‘educated of the middle classes, and many of the upper classes’ [who] were just as likely to indulge ‘in strong and sometimes blasphemous language’ [with some restraint]' as the working class (p. 112). Also covered are more recent debates about political correctness (pp. 245-48). If you’re interested in how, and why, many Australians speak the way they do (or you just want to up your linguistic subversion game), then put the kettle on, pick up a copy of Rooted and settle in for a fascinating, and often surprising, history of bad language.  

*Laugesen covers a very long list of bad words. If readers can make it through the index in a single sitting, they may never blush again.

  Reviewed by Dr Rachel Franks, December 2020 Visit the State Library of NSW shop on Macquarie Street, or online here.