David Stephens and Alison Broinowski (eds) The Honest History Book,

NewSouth Publishing, 2017, pp1-344, ISBN 9781742235264 (paperback)

‘Australia is more than Anzac – and always has been.’[1] The Honest History Book, recently published by NewSouth, is a compelling, at times confronting and yet convincing collection of essays by some of Australia’s leading writers and historians. The book makes a lucid, highly plausible case that Anzac is certainly part of our history. But only a part. Drawing on the theme of  “not only Anzac, but also” the essays seek to explore, dissect and ultimately downplay the nationalist ‘birth of a nation’ at Gallipoli myth, and suggest instead the broader, ‘honest’ historical reality of a much more expansive Australian history. The book therefore includes alternative and yet equally significant histories that have been swamped under and stifled (and occasionally silenced) by the khaki wash of Anzac. As the editors suggest, ‘…honest Australian history means both downsizing Anzac and upsizing non-Anzac.’^[2] Anzac is thus reduced to a more proportionate place whilst other, often neglected aspects of our history are brought into a more prominent light. One brief example; in her chapter on women’s actions during the conscription debates of 1916 and 1917 and their involvement in post war humanitarian organisations, Joy Damousi moves the focus away from Anzac and onto women. As she convincingly argues, ‘Anzac has been a mostly male story; a nation that claims a mostly male story as its founding myth devalues women and their contribution to our history.’^[3] The book is divided into two parts. Part one ‘Putting Anzac in its place’ suggests the need for ‘a quieter, more useful version of Anzac.’[4] Here, Gallipoli is placed into the wider context of World War One; light is shed on the forgotten role of Australian humanitarian assistance given to survivors of the Armenian Genocide and the importance of the Anzac Legend to our (supposed) sense of national identity is analysed in terms of ebbs and flows rather than as a static constant over the last century. There is also a re-evaluation of the words, deeds and intentions of both Charles Bean (founder of the Legend) and Ataturk (purported later propagandist of the Anzac) and a revision of the treatment of returned Vietnamese veterans. The ways in which Anzac has been used by various Australian politicians and Prime Ministers is also carefully considered, together with the politics and indeed economics of remembrance, museum funding and the teaching of history in the classroom. Looking at Anzac through these different lenses switches the focus somewhat and offers instead a quieter, softer version of Anzac history. David Stephens’ final chapter in part one confronts the notion of ‘Anzackery’ and the problem of the Anzac Legend. He thoughtfully suggests that Anzac and remembrance of our war dead should be mostly private, quiet and contemplative, as opposed to Anzackery which is brash and public with its marches, flags, speeches and tired, over used, sentimental sound bites. It is also drunk Anzac Cove tourism, the tacky memorabilia and knick-knacks, the wearing of the flag and a warping of nationalism and patriotism into bogan jingoism. It both simplifies our history by whitewashing the horrendousness of war, and by its prominence, contributes to other forms of forgetting too. Indeed, what other nation celebrates its 'national day' by commemorating the 'heroic' landing of troops, which ended in a truly disastrous military expedition on foreign shores? As this important book shows, 'lest we forget' the hapless Anzacs ‘who gave birth to the nation’ on that fateful day in April 1915 actually enables Australia to do a lot more forgetting besides; forgetting that 1788 was the start of an illegal and genocidal invasion by the British, forgetting that Aboriginal Australians have their war hero's too, forgetting that World War One actually bitterly divided the nation, forgetting that many returned diggers were damaged, deranged, disabled, disfigured or even excluded from post war society. Part two, ‘Australian stories and silences’ seeks to upsize the ‘non-Anzac’ themes of Australian history and explores ideas of nationalism, identity and belonging above and beyond Anzac.  It is a rich and fascinating collection of chapters addressing indigenous history, frontier conflict, immigration and multiculturalism, egalitarianism, economics and our relationship with the environment. There are also chapters examining the long and curiously enduring relationship with the monarchy and the relatively weak hold of Republicanism and Australia’s diplomatic and military role as ‘deputy sheriff’ of the United States in the southern hemisphere since World War Two. Republicanism may be a dormant issue in 2017 but it will probably surface again at some point; the Australian/US relationship in Asia is, as I write this review, currently being played out over North Korea. Some of these chapters read more like terrific opinion pieces than historical essays. That is certainly not a criticism, rather an observation. All are intelligent, nuanced, thought provoking and excellently executed. Others are moving and indeed, at times, point to some ‘inconvenient truths’ about our history. Larissa Behrendt’s chapter ‘Settlement or invasion? The coloniser’s quandary’ investigates why the word ‘invasion’ remains extremely contentious for some Australians today. We have still not dealt with the ‘invasion moment’ and its consequences and Behrendt suggests that unless we ‘bury the myth that Australia was ‘settled’ we can never become a country where all Australians see Indigenous history and culture as a key part of the nation’s history and culture.’[5] Until we do, the chasm between indigenous and non-indigenous will remain wide open. Likewise, Paul Daley’s chapter ‘Our most important war; the legacy of frontier conflict’ is a haunting essay on massacre, memory and forgetting with the reluctance of many Australians to accept the violence of the Frontier. The Australian War Memorial refuses to acknowledge the thousands of lives lost in the wars fought on Australian soil. To be sure, Aboriginal diggers who served overseas are commemorated at the AWM. Perhaps less acknowledged in our histories however are the ‘black Diggers’ who returned from World War One to find no glory in the Anzac Legend; there were no wages, no pensions, no promised settler blocks and many were not even permitted to enter returned servicemen’s clubs. Other chapters explore further themes that are purportedly part of the Australian nation and character and those that have been wilfully forgotten – or at least ignored.  In her essay, Carmen Lawrence debunks the idea of the ‘fair go nation’ suggesting that egalitarianism as an Australian ‘value’ and a defining central strand of our national Australian story is merely a ‘comforting myth’ and unrepresentative of the reality of many people’s lives. Rather, it is politically confected to blind us to the growing inequalities of Australian society and the need to do anything about it. Gwenda Tavan’s chapter on immigration and multiculturalism is equally confronting in its examination of Australia as an immigrant nation, which refuses to accept that it is. But lets face it and if we are being honest, ‘Indigenous Australians excepted, all of us came here from somewhere else.’^[6] This ‘migration amnesia’ has undermined the centrality and indeed importance of immigration and multiculturalism to our national story. For our history to be ‘honest’ and therefore representative of who we are today, Tavan suggests we need to re-imagine the Australian community because this re-imagining acknowledges ‘the inherent worth and interdependence of all our inhabitants, celebrates all our achievements and fully realises the potential of our multicultural society.’[7] This book cohesively argues that Australia is ‘more than Anzac – and always has been’ with great aplomb.  Indeed, Australia and her national 'values' and identity have long been imagined, debated, contested, politically fashioned and re-invented. The convict colony became a gold mine, a working man’s paradise, the bushman’s arcadia, a ‘White Australia’ (actually Australia was never white, but hey), the nation was born on the shores of Gallipoli in it’s ‘Baptism of Fire’, a place to later ‘populate or perish’, the ten pound pom, the ‘New Australian’, assimilation, multiculturalism, Vietnamese boat people, stop the boats, Australian values today. Gah! Who we are has always been complex, multifaceted, contradictory, colourful and very messy. So much more messy than the Anzac Legend. This is certainly a timely addition to the national conversation given the visa/immigration/Australian ‘values’ political debacle of last week and the nearness of Anzac Day 2017. It is a challenging, engaging, at times fist pumpingly "you have nailed what is so wrong with Australian politics and history" sort of book. It also has moments when political spines will tingle and moral goose bumps will bump. Some chapters might begin to make you feel uncomfortable about being Australian, whatever that may mean. For anyone wishing to know what ‘Australian values’ once were, are not now, are maybe now, and might be in the future, I would suggest they should read this meticulously researched and brilliantly argued book. The authors and the publisher should be applauded for bringing this book to life and enriching our national conversations further, above and beyond tired sound bites from an Empire-centric yesteryear. Suggested readership? Everyone. To not read this book would quite simply be ‘Un-Australian’. Dr Catie Gilchrist April 2017 [1] David Stephens & Alison Broinowski (eds) The Honest History Book, NewSouth Publishing, 2017, p 293 [2] David Stephens & Alison Broinowski (eds) The Honest History Book, NewSouth Publishing, 2017, p 288 [3] Joy Damousi, ‘Hidden by the myth: Women’s leadership in war and peace’ in David Stephens & Alison Broinowski (eds) The Honest History Book, NewSouth Publishing, 2017, p 213 [4] David Stephens & Alison Broinowski (eds) The Honest History Book, NewSouth Publishing, 2017, 8 [5] Larissa Behrendt, ‘Settlement or invasion? The coloniser’s quandary’ in David Stephens & Alison Broinowski (eds) The Honest History Book, NewSouth Publishing, 2017, pp 238-9 [6] Gwenda Tavan, ‘From those who’ve come across the seas; Immigration and multiculturalism’ in ibid, p 152 [7] Tavan, ibid, pp 152-53  

Louis Nowra, Woolloomooloo, A Biography

New South Publishing, University of New South Wales, 2017, pp1-334, ISBN 9781742234953 (paperback)

Local histories of suburbs or villages can be yawningly dull and somewhat parochial. What is of interest and deep meaning to the writer is often of unremarkable and seemingly everyday ordinariness to the non-local reader. Louis Nowra’s latest book, Woolloomooloo, A Biography is not one of these dreary suburban histories. Rather, it is a deeply rich, riveting riot of the history and daily life of a remarkable part of Sydney. Nowra has written an incredibly engaging, lively and vivid portrait of the ‘Loo with its 63 streets, its industrial history of the dockside wharves (and later the motor car industry) and its plethora of eccentric pubs and brothels – both low level and upmarket which dotted the streetscapes, together with the bawdy boarding houses, the crumbling terraced houses and the derelict slums. In essence the ‘Loo was an unkempt, shabby landscape and long typified as a place of ill repute. Certainly this small yet crowded residential district has famously had a sordid, seedy reputation and a dubious, indeed, at times, disturbing history of violence, vice and criminality. So much so that in 1905 a Woolloomooloo Renaming Committee was formed to campaign to change the name in an attempt to disassociate the area from its ‘evil repute’.[1] In urban histories the ‘Loo is remembered and characterised by sex and scandal, crime and corruption, pestilence, plague and poverty. To be sure, there is plenty of all this in the book and the author does not gloss over the dark and the macabre incidents and inhabitants of the area, past or indeed present. Yet in Nowra’s hands Woolloomooloo is also so much more than this; it becomes instead a beautiful, deeply flawed and yet fascinating space where people, place, history and belonging collide, and where diverse, different, and sometimes desperate neighbours have somehow forged a strong and enduring identity. At the heart of this book are the people who have lived and worked in the ‘Loo.  The biography is bursting with an absurdly eclectic melting pot of characters and along the way we meet sailors, razor gangs, larrikins, madams, tradies, artists, designers, European immigrants, depressives, cross dressers, conmen, Chinese hawkers, alcoholics, activists and American tourists to mention but a few.  Some were barking mad, others just plain bad - but most were and indeed are, simply flawed people trying to live the best life possible. The book interweaves Nowra’s own observations from the bar and the friendships he has forged as a regular at the Old Fitzroy Hotel, Dowling Street, with a very well researched history of the area. As such it is part history, part observational, and also part private memoir. Nowra’s personal chapters reflect on the colourful, the sometimes bonkers, sometimes profoundly tragic stories of his own encounters with the people of Woolloomooloo. Rather than detract from the historical content of the rest of the book, they add beautifully to it, and flesh it out in a real, heartfelt, tangible way. And so the part history/part memoir genre, as a literary technique, works exceptionally well, engaging the reader by vividly portraying a colourful mixture of the past with the present. As an avid reader of Sydney’s history, it also seductively and easily hooked me in to keep turning the pages, wanting to know more. The history chapters chart the district from its Aboriginal origins, to early colonial settlement and its rapid residential development by the middle of the nineteenth century. There were no planning or building regulations and the area soon became a warren of lanes and alleyways where pubs and brothels proliferated, ossifying the Loo’s reputation as worse ‘than the teeming slums of Calcutta or Bombay’.[2] Nowra also explores the Larrikin menace of the late nineteenth century, the razor gang era of the 1920s and 1930s, the war years and the fights over redevelopment in the 1960s and 1970s. The remaining terraced houses that dot the ‘Loo today were saved from the behemoth of redevelopment by the Green Bans Movement and Local Action groups. The finger wharf, threatened with demolition in the 1990s, was renovated in 1999 with $300 million and turned into 345 apartments. Today it adds glamour and glitz to the suburb, yet it is also an enduring reminder that Woolloomooloo was once a bustling port, the place where troops boarded ships during the First and Second World Wars and the main passenger wharf for newly arriving migrants in the 1950s and 1960s. My one (academic) criticism would be the lack of footnotes. There are none and the bibliography is also rather limited. Nowra has clearly made extensive use of art, literature, film and history but also crime reports and coroners inquests held into sudden deaths (usually drownings, murders and suicides) – and yet there are no references to back up the historical material. There is however a large grateful nod to TROVE at the National Library of Australia. Overall, this book made me want to get off the sofa forthwith, go to Woolloomooloo and become the ‘flaneur’ which Nowra has styled himself on; to leisurely stroll round this eccentric and curious area of East Sydney with a pit-stop at the Old Fitzroy Hotel and maybe a few more in one of the numerous historical pubs along the way. It is, as the author suggests, a place to explore from the street; to observe, to experience, to discover its ‘pockets of beauty and charm and small enclaves redolent of the past unnoticed by others’.[3] Looking for Woolloomooloo’s past in its streets and narrow alleys and how it has imprinted itself on the present is captured brilliantly in this new and inventively written book. It is also quite possibly the perfect activity for the Easter long weekend. Dr Catie Gilchrist April 2017 [1] Louis Nowra, Woolloomooloo A Biography, New South, 2017, p11 [2] Louis Nowra, Woolloomooloo A Biography, New South, 2017, p123 [3] Ibid, p 9

A direct north general view of Sydney Cove c1794 Courtesy Dixson Galleries, State Library of New South Wales (a795001 / DG 60)

When do you think Sydney got its first theatre? (Hint: it's earlier than you might think.) 

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Sydney was still a fledgling penal colony when the first theatre was constructed in 1796. Yes, that's right - 1796. This fact reminds us of the importance of popular culture, even in the earliest days of a penal colony. Our first theatrical productions were given by permission of His Excellency the Governor John Hunter. He appreciated the importance of social customs and entertainment. Sydney's first theatre opened on 16 January 1796. Lieutenant-Governor David Collins, who wrote a journal of his time in early Sydney, recorded his impressions of it. It had been built by 'some of the more decent class of prisoner' and the convicts had 'fitted up the house with more theatrical propriety than could have been expected, and their performance was far above contempt'. Collins expresses mild surprise at the accomplishment of the building and the actors. Such back-handed compliments were common fare as the penal community banded together to provide themselves with the familiar social customs and culture that they enjoyed. That said, our first theatre was a simple structure. A basic rectangular hall, constructed of timber, with a pit formed by a stepped floor, and a front box and gallery. We don't know exactly where this first theatre was. It was down around Circular Quay or the Rocks, possibly in Bent Street or George Street.

Playbill from the Theatre, 30 July 1796 Courtesy National Library of Australia (nla.aus-vn4200235)

The theatre was known simply as "The Theatre" or "Sidaway's Theatre". Robert Sidaway, who opened operated the theatre, was a convict and baker.  It seems that he got a bit of a taste for the arts and became something of a philanthropist for Sydney's culture. When he died in 1809 the Sydney Gazette recorded "He was one of the first inhabitants of this Colony; during his very long residence in which he ever supported the reputation of a true philanthropist, and in all other respects a valuable member of society, in which he was universally respected." What is extraordinary is that an advertising handbill survives from the theatre. It is held in the National Library of Australia and is one of the earliest forms of advertising in the colony. The play to be performed on July 30, 1796 was Jane Shore, by Nicholas Rowe, a tragedy first performed in 1714 in Drury Lane. Doors opened at 5.30pm with the play to commence at 6pm. The playbill was printed by the first Government Printer, George Henry Hughes, on a small wooden screw press and type which came out with the First Fleet. Hughes, the Government Printer, was also, as it turns out, an actor! His name along with others is listed on the handbill. Sadly, the theatre only lasted a few years; temporarily shut down by Governor Hunter and then permanently by Governor King in 1800. The Governors became suspicious of the theatre, and objected to nefarious behaviour that it seemed to encourage, such as convicts robbing houses while their occupants attended the theatre. The original document is currently on display as part of the National Library of Australia's exhibition The Sell: Australian Advertising, 1790s to 1990s. But be quick if you want to see it, the exhibition wraps up in a couple of weeks. The Sydney Theatre playbill for Jane Shore, 30 July 1796, was inscribed as item no.36 on the Australian Register of the Memory of the World in 2011 (here). It is a very historic playbill indeed. To read more about Sydney's theatrical past, take a squizz at Ross Thorne's 2016 article Sydney's Lost Theatres and Ailsa McPherson's 2008 article Theatre. You can also read more about the playbill and the performance in Gillian Russell's 2011 book The Playbill and It's People.   Listen to the podcast with Lisa & Tess here, and tune in to 2SER Breakfast with Nic Healey on 107.3 every Wednesday morning at 8:15-8:20 am to hear more from the Dictionary of Sydney.

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Deborah Beck, Rayner Hoff: The Life of a Sculptor.

NewSouth Publishing, NSW: 2017 272 pages. Ills. (B/W and sepia) ISBN: 9781742235325 (paperback); 978174228080 (ePDF). RRP A$49.99

As ANZAC day approaches on 25 April 2017, commemorative services will be held around Australia. Many will attend solemn gatherings at the ANZAC Memorial in Sydney’s Hyde Park, and at the Australian War Memorial in Canberra, the national capital. At these and in other city locations, those who look around are likely to see extraordinary sculptured figures, busts and friezes, all the inspired work of the sculptor, Rayner Hoff (1894-1937). Deborah Beck’s excellent biography of Rayner Hoff: The Life of a Sculptor, reveals important insights and ‘the untold story’ of Rayner Hoff’s life and his work. She covers his early life on the Isle of Man, his obvious and precocious artistic talents, his work with his stonemason father, his pre-war training at the Nottingham School of Art from 1910, his war experiences, and his post-war training at London’s Royal College of Art. And then, importantly, she deals with Hoff’s life and his works in Australia. With his war service in mind, it’s worth recalling that Rayner Hoff, now celebrated as Australia’s greatest sculptor, enlisted in the British Expeditionary Force Army in 1916. One hundred years ago, in April 1917, he was seconded to ‘a special branch of the Corps of Royal Engineers (RE)’. On the basis of his artistic skills, Hoff was promoted to ‘Sapper Draftsman (Topographical) - Skilled’, utilising his fine drafting abilities producing highly detailed trench maps for use by British troops and allies on the Western Front during horrendous battles, including Passchendaele and the Somme. He was in France at the war’s end in November 1918. Hoff was demobilised in October 1919. Years later, he stated that he ‘had seen too much of war to glorify it’ (p. 44). While his statement was undoubtedly truthful, his sculptures in war memorials and sanctuaries, as elsewhere, are glorious in their classical figurative forms, emotional and sensual bodies. The Great War spared him and provided him with an ex-service award that allowed him to attend London’s prestigious Royal College of Art where he studied sculpture and modelling from 1920 until his graduation in 1922. Beck tells of Hoff’s ambitions, his family and family ties, his travels in Europe, his mentors, friends and teachers, his exhibitions and international awards, and his valuable time spent in Rome in early 1923 having won the prestigious Rome Scholarship in Sculpture and the Prix de Rome.  All this the talented Rayner Hoff achieved before he turned twenty five. Then, surprisingly, Hoff left England for Australia with his wife Annis and baby daughter Sandra, having accepted an offer to work in Sydney as a teacher of Antique Drawing and Sculpture at the East Sydney Technical College in Darlinghurst. The Hoffs arrived in Sydney in July 1923. As Beck remarks, ‘England’s loss was Australia’s gain as [Hoff] went on to influence the Australian art world in a profound way’. (p. 75). Rayner Hoff loved Sydney. He loved its beaches, the artistic challenges waiting for him, the city itself, his talented friends and colleagues and his students, the exciting commissions he won, and the opportunities for travel to exotic locations in Australia. Hoff was both a creator and an initiator. In short, Hoff loved his work, he loved his family and he grasped every opportunity to promote sculpture and sculptors. Hoff was part of the formative group responsible for the naming and establishment of the National Art School in 1926. He nurtured the talented. Throughout his life, Hoff worked with bureaucrats, administrators, government officials, future Prime Ministers, philanthropists, collectors, as well as students, many of them women, police constables, car manufacturers, artists, poets, writers, architects, designers, surveyors and civic personages. These connections are illustrated and explained. This biography is lavishly illustrated with photographs providing strong visual context to support the biography’s fluent and chronological narrative. Beck has provided useful footnotes, a detailed bibliography and an index. Hoff’s sculptural works, held in public and private collections around Australia and beyond, are a testament to his own enormous talent. He left a strong and lasting legacy. His life ended abruptly and tragically in 1937 with a painful and fatal attack of pancreatitis. He was only 42 years old. Beck remarks that ‘Rayner Hoff has not been forgotten by the art world in Australia, but 80 years after his death, his name is not known among the general public.’ (p. 242). That may be so in name, but anyone who has ever owned a Holden car or seen one parked in a street will be familiar with the ‘Lion Rampant’ insignia and badge that has sat proudly on Holden bonnets. Would many realise that the original design and bronze cast was created by Rayner Hoff for the Holden Motor Company in 1926? The pressed metal replicas were fixed to every vehicle from 1928 to 1939. The design has been updated, yet ironically, as Beck observes, ‘this iconic emblem could possibly be one of Hoff’s most visible works …’ (p. 150). I enjoyed this important biography and having my consciousness raised. I will now look much more carefully at Rayner Hoff’s sculptures in familiar and unfamiliar locations. Deborah Beck has provided art lovers and the general public with a highly readable biography of Hoff’s interesting and inspiring life, his connections, his talent and his work. This is a highly recommended read. Postscript: For those who missed a recent two-week exhibition held in March celebrating the work of Rayner Hoff curated by Deborah Beck for the National Art School in Sydney, you can read John McDonald's article on it for the Sydney Morning Herald here. © Dr Suzanne Rickard 30 March 2017 Deborah Beck's entries on the National Art School and Sydney's artists' balls for the Dictionary of Sydney can be found here.

Australian Museum, College Street, Sydney 1860-63 by William Hetzer Courtesy Powerhouse Museum 87/1019-8

Last Thursday it was the 190 years since the Australian Museum was established so today we thought we'd have a very quick look at the long history of our oldest museum. Listen now On 30 March 1827 the British Secretary of State for the Colonies, Earl Bathurst, wrote a letter to the Governor Ralph Darling, authorising the sum of 200 pounds per year for the establishment of a ‘Publick Museum at New South Wales, where it is stated that many rare and curious specimens of Natural History are to be procured.’ Originally named the Colonial Museum, its focus was initially only on Australian flora and fauna. As the expertise of its staff increased over the decades, the museum expanded to include anthropological, geological and palaeontological collections. It received its current name, the Australian Museum, in 1836. The museum’s collections were displayed in a range of locations around Sydney until the late 1840s when the Colonial Architect, Mortimer Lewis, was commissioned to design the sandstone building opposite Hyde Park on College Street. It would take more than a decade from when Lewis first commenced work on the design before it was opened to the public in May 1857. James Barnet, a later Colonial Architect, expanded the building in the 1860s.

Blind students at a lecture, Australian Museum Magazine, Vol 1 No 3, December 1921, p 90, via the Internet Archive

The original exhibition displays conformed to the ‘cabinets of curiosity’ style of displays seen in museums across Europe since at least the 16th century. The dioramas showing habitat groups were installed in the museum in the 1920s and 1930s, and the Lord Howe Island diorama, featuring seabirds nesting is Australia’s oldest surviving natural history diorama. My fellow guest historian, Lisa Murray, has spoken before about the tragic fire of the Garden Palace in 1882, which saw the majority of the museum’s ethnographic collection destroyed. The curator, Edward P Ramsay would spend the next 20 years gradually rebuilding the collection. He also employed research staff, meaning that there was a shift in the organisation from just a collection to a research & education centre as we know it today. In the 1950s, the museum’s galleries and exhibitions were overhauled, a process that continues today. One of the more intriguing innovations took place in the 1970s, when the museum launched one of its earliest outreach projects to bring its collections to regional communities. On 8 March 1978, the Australian Museum Train was officially launched at Central Station by the then NSW Premier, Neville Wran. The train featured two dedicated carriages which were renovated at the Eveleigh Railway Workshops and contained natural history exhibits and a teaching space. The service continued to run until 1988.

Children looking at bones, Australian Museum, March 1950 by Brian Bird Courtesy Mitchell Libtary, State Library of NSW (a3267002 / ON 180/57)

  Further reading (remember to click on the links above too!): The Australian Museum, by Laila Ellmoos on the Dictionary of Sydney The Australian Museum blog, Museullaneous Our History, Australian Museum Rare and Curious, An Illustrated History of the Australian Museum 1827 - 1979, by Ronald Strahan   Listen to Nicole & Nic on the podcast here, and tune in to 2SER Breakfast with Nic Healey on 107.3 every Wednesday morning at 8:15-8:20 am to hear more from the Dictionary of Sydney.

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Billy Blue 1834 by JB East Courtesy Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales (a928634 / ML 560)

29 March 2017

Lisa Murray

A few weeks back, we looked at the early history of Americans in Sydney. At the time, I mentioned someone who is still referred to in our landscape, Billy Blue.                     Listen now

Billy Blue came to Sydney in 1801 as a convict after stealing raw sugar for his confectionary business in London.

There are conflicting accounts of his origins and age in the historical records, but he was probably born in the suburb of Jamaica in New York City and may have been an ex-slave. He claimed to have served in the British army in the American War of Independence (1776), which would explain how he got to the UK.

He was sentenced to seven years transportation but after spending several years in the prison hulks in England, had less than two years left of his sentence by the time he arrived in Sydney before being freed. It seems Billy had the gift of the gab. After serving his sentence he married, lived in the Rocks and worked as a waterman on the harbour, where he became known for his genial manner, wit and light-hearted banter. As a waterman he operated the kind of service we know today as a water-taxi, taking fares to ferry people across and around the harbour and Sydney's other waterways, like the Parramatta River.

Chinese export ware punchbowl depicting Sydney Cove before 1820, showing Billy Blue's home at Sydney Cove Courtesy Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (a281002 / XR 10)

Billy's passengers included Governor Lachlan Macquarie and his family. He became a favourite of the governor, who appointed him Harbour Watchman and Constable in 1811. The appointment included a home for him and his family in a little octagonal building in the area we now think of as East Circular Quay. This was included in the spectacular panorama of the city on the Sydney Punchbowl (left). In 1817 Governor Macquarie granted him 80 acres of farmland on the North Shore promontory, where he built a villa and had a farm. It became know as Billy Blue's Point and is still to this day called Blue's Point. From here Billy established a regular ferry service and operated several boats. Macquarie light-heartedly dubbed him 'Commodore' and Billy Blue became known around town as 'The Old Commodore'. Billy Blue raised the ire of other settlers - such as Edward Wollstonecraft  and William Gore - due to his success and his entrepreneurial ferry service that dominated the north shore. He was also convicted of harbouring a prisoner and smuggling rum, but managed to maintain a hold on his farm and ferry service. Billy Blue died in 1834 at his North Shore home. Obituaries, like this one in the Sydney Gazette (below), recalled his humour and valorised him as a key Sydney character who opened up the North Shore.

Billy Blue, the Old Commodore, 1834 by Charles Rodius Courtesy National Library of Australia (nla.pic-an6016496)

At least three portraits of Billy Blue exist including this etching (left) by convict art teacher Charles Rodius from the National Library of Australia and the oil painting by JB East above, which is held in the State Library of NSW. It shows him down at Mrs Macquarie's Chair and was exhibited shortly after his death. Go to the Dictionary of Sydney for more!   Listen to the podcast with Lisa & Nic here, and tune in to 2SER Breakfast with Nic Healey on 107.3 every Wednesday morning at 8:15-8:20 am to hear more from the Dictionary of Sydney. The Dictionary of Sydney needs your help. Make a tax-deductible donation to the Dictionary of Sydney today!   Further reading: Dictionary of Sydney: Billy Blue Australian Dictionary of Biography: Billy Blue, by Margaret Park State Library of NSW: Billy Blue - Stage 2 Learning Resources North Sydney Council: Billy Blue's Villa, Blues Point      

Sydney Gazette, 8 May 1834, p2 via Trove

 

View from pulley-wheels of north side creeper-crane looking into box section of south side arch, Sydney Harbour Bridge May 1930 by Ted Hood, Courtesy Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (hood_02964 / Home and Away 2964)

Last Sunday was the 85th anniversary of the opening of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. ‘The Coathanger’ has been a source of inspiration for Sydneysiders since construction began in the 1920s. Let’s take a look at its history on the Dictionary of Sydney!

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The Sydney Harbour Bridge was built to join the north and south sides of the Harbour and at the time of its completion in 1932, was considered the epitome of modern bridge design and a feat of engineering.

Proposals to join these sides of the Harbour with a bridge were actually first put forward in 1815 by the convicted forger turned talented architect, Francis Greenway.

Proposed Sydney Harbour Bridge c1903 by Norman Selfe, Courtesy Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (a1528191 / ML 1401)

Greenway’s was the first of many bridge plans, but none were realised until 1900 when the NSW Government called for a worldwide competition to design a bridge across Sydney Harbour. The engineer, naval architect and inventor, Norman Selfe, was announced the winner, however the project stalled in 1904 and Selfe never saw it come to fruition as he died in 1911. The engineer Dr John JC Bradfield reworked the designs between 1912 and 1929, and  in 1922, in conjunction with Ralph Freeman, the consulting engineer for Dorman Long (the British company responsible for building the bridge), the overall final two-hinged steel arch design was approved. Construction began in 1925. Granite for the piers and pylons was quarried at Moruya on the NSW south coast, and just over 20 per cent of the steel was produced in Australia. Over 2,000 people were employed to work on the bridge, including the approaches and surrounding roads. Over the eight years of construction, 16 men died on site due to workplace accidents, with many others injured due to the hazardous nature of the job, for example, the job of the rivet cooker involved throwing red-hot rivets to the rivet catchers, who caught the rivets in buckets and then hammered them into place.

'New Guard Officer 'Opens' Bridge With Sword, And Is Arrested' 20 March 1932, Sun News Pictorial (Melbourne) March 21, 1932, p 1

The opening ceremony on 19 March 1932 was not without its controversies. The NSW Premier of the time, Jack Lang, had planned to cut the ceremonial ribbon himself, but just as he stepped forward, Francis De Groot, a member of the fascist, anti-Lang organisation, the New Guard, rode across the bridge on horseback and slashed the ribbon with a sword shouting, ‘in the name of common decency I declare this bridge open’ in front of the 750,000 onlookers. De Groot was taken away by police and the ribbon was held in place again for Lang to cut it Finally, a few snippets of other interesting Bridge information to close: the pylons are just for show, they were added to give the public confidence in the bridge’s stability; the bridge witnesses about three marriage proposals per week; and in 1932, there was an increase in babies named Archie and Bridget! Check out the Dictionary of Sydney here for articles about the Sydney Harbour Bridge by City of Sydney historians Laila Ellmoos and Lisa Murray, and writer Jim Poe. The National Film and Sound Archive of Australia has an online exhibition featuring videos and sounds from the bridge’s history here, and you can listen to some oral history interviews with builders of the bridge (and help to transcribe them too!) at the State Library of New South Wales here. Listen to Nicole & Nic on the podcast here, and tune in to 2SER Breakfast with Nic Healey on 107.3 every Wednesday morning at 8:15-8:20 am to hear more from the Dictionary of Sydney.  

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A bird's eye view - Sydney Harbour Bridge c1931 Courtesy State Records NSW (12685_a007_a00704_8731000053r)

St Patrick's Day in the new land 1880, Illustrated Sydney News, 20 March 1880, p5

A few years ago the Dictionary of Sydney worked with the Consulate General of Ireland in Sydney to produce a fantastic suite of entries on the impact of the Irish community on Sydney's history, and a free walking tour about the Irish in the the city which is you can download onto your mobile device via our app. The essays trace the paths and legacies of the thousands of Irish people in Sydney whose legacy is marked out across Sydney in monuments, buildings, schools, societies and festivals. Perry McIntyre’s article on the Irish Famine Memorial at Hyde Park Barracks looks at the history of the 2,214 young women brought to Sydney from Ireland’s orphanages and workhouses during the period of the Famine is a poignant one. Not everyone came to Sydney destitute  of course. Anne Cunningham describes the arrival of John Hughes and his parents in 1840 on passage assisted by the colonial government. Hughes become one of Sydney’s most prominent philanthropists raising £8,000 for the building of St Canice’s Church, Elizabeth Bay. The Irish community in Sydney has always covered a broad spectrum of society according to Dr Richard Reid‘s article, Irish in Sydney from First Fleet to Federation. Two of the first arrivals to the new colony were Irish convict Hannah Mullens and Surgeon-General John White. Immigrants who arrived as ‘felons or rebels’ didn’t always remain so; many did well for themselves creating a life of opportunity in their new country. Few would know that the Statue of Queen Victoria in Druitt Street spent years languishing in County Offaly before being ‘transported to Sydney’ in 1986. Peter Moore explains why. Nor, as Michael O’Sullivan explores, would many be aware that the Wicklow Chief, Michael Dwyer, is buried under the 1798 Memorial at Waverley Cemetery. The Irish National Association, whose colourful history is recounted by Anne-Maree Whitaker, maintains the memorial. Both the INA and the Aisling Society have a long history of fostering Irish culture and heritage in Sydney. As Jeff Kildea relates, the Aisling Society began when three learned friends met for a drink at Pfahlert’s Hotelin Sydney in 1954. Their love of Irish literature, history and culture has kept generations of Irish-Australians connected to their heritage. A history of the Irish in Sydney wouldn’t be complete without mention of St Patrick. Jeff Kildea tracks the changing mood of the Irish community in Celebrating St Patrick’s Day in nineteenth century Sydney. The exuberant revelries of 1795 and ‘acts of excess and violence’ of 1814 find a surprising counterpart in the Temperance tea parties of 1843. You can see a list of all the entries here, and find more information about the app here - it's free! Our thanks go once again to the Consulate General of Ireland for supporting these projects and making it possible to add this content to the Dictionary, and to all of the writers & contributors.

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http://home.dictionaryofsydney.org/project/old-irish-sydney/  

Gas works, Millers Point. 1873 by Samuel Elyard, Courtesy: Dixson Galleries, State Library of NSW (DGD 5, 14 / a2085014)

Energy supply and gas has been in the news a lot lately, so I thought it would be timely to take a look at Sydney's gas history.

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The first gas street lights in Sydney were lit on 25 May, 1841, along with illuminations to mark Queen Victoria's birthday. The Sydney Herald the next day was delighted: 'We have at length the pleasure of congratulating our fellow-townsmen upon the actual commencement of that long-looked for improvement in their concerns - the application of gas as an agent of light. Australia is the first country, and Sydney the first city, in the Asiatic world - and, indeed, in the southern hemisphere - into which this beautiful art, justly denominated "one of the most important inventions of modern times," has been introduced ..........it is seldom that the first night of gas lighting passes off without some interruption, some check to the general joy ; but. in Sydney, more than fifteen thousand miles from the manufactories whence all the machinery was procured, every thing went on with perfect regularity. The gas was ready at the appointed hour; and no sooner had the sun left the world to darkness, than this new luminary burst forth in the silver radiancy so peculiarly its own.' The Australian Gas Light Company's growth helped to drive the development of Sydney, both through providing access to energy and the associated industrial infrastructure and developments that shaped our suburbs. The suburb we now know as Mortlake is very closely associated with our energy history. AGL had purchased 32 hectares in the area in the early 1880s and established the gasworks there in 1886. This location enabled gas mains to be extended across to the north shore. By 1890, Mortlake was the largest and most densely populated area in the Concord municipality.  Within four years the gasworks had attracted: "Mr Sturt's hotel, several large stores, an eating-house with the sign 'all meals 6d' in large letters; the Concord Working Men's Club, ... an Anglican and a Congregational church, a large number of working men's cottages".

Unloading coal at AGL (Australian Gas Light Company) wharf, Mortlake. The photograph appears on the cover of 'Service : the house journal of Australian Gas Light Company', October 1951 Courtesy: Canada Bay Connections (AGL/City of Canada Bay)

The Darling Harbour works continued to operate until 1922, when the company's entire gas-making operation was transferred to Mortlake. After the process of carbonisation to obtain gas from coal was discontinued on 31 December 1971, natural gas from the interior of Australia was piped to Mortlake. There it was given an odour for safety reasons and distributed to consumers throughout the Sydney area. The gasworks finally closed in 1990 and the land once occupied by the Mortlake Gasworks was redeveloped, becoming the new suburb of Breakfast Point. AGL wasn't the only gas company established in Sydney. The Manly Gaslight and Coke Company was founded in 1883 to supply gas to the Manly area, and the Parramatta Gas Company was formed in 1872, operating for nearly a decade before it was bought out by AGL. The Natural Gas & Oil Company was formed in the 1930s to extract gas from the old coal mine in Balmain, but after a series of fatal accidents and lacklustre results, folded in 1950. You can read all about the AGL gasworks and how it functioned at Mortlake in our article on the suburb of Mortlake by Gregory Blaxall here, or, for a poetic piece that explores the history of the first gasworks, why not listen to "Death at the Gasworks" from These Walls Have Ears: My Place 2013 on the Dictionary here.  This is a tale of three deaths at The Rocks and a silent killer. The backdrop is the city’s first gasworks. A neighbour to houses and schools, the gasworks gave its power - and industrial pollution - back to its community, and keeps on giving today, long after its smokestacks stood tall. For a comprehensive institutional history of the Australian Gas Light company in Sydney check out the book First light: 150 years of gas by​ Rosemary Broomham. Listen to the podcast with Lisa & Nic here, and tune in to 2SER Breakfast with Nic Healey on 107.3 every Wednesday morning at 8:15-8:20 am to hear more from the Dictionary of Sydney.  

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Mary Reibey c1835 Courtesy: Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW

Today is International Women’s Day and its also Women’s History Month, so with Rani at the helm at 2SER, let's take a look at one of the Dictionary of Sydney’s most famous ladies - the convict turned wealthy businesswoman and familiar bespectacled face on Australia’s twenty-dollar note, Mary Reibey.

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Mary Reibey was born Molly Haydock in 1777 in Lancashire, England. At the age of 14 she was arrested for horse stealing, a crime she committed while disguised as a boy. She identified herself as James Burrows, a boy she'd known who had recently died, and it wasn’t until her trial that she was unmasked. The penalty for horse stealing was death; she escaped this due to her age, but was sentenced to seven years’ transportation to the colony of New South Wales, arriving in Sydney in October 1792. When she arrived, she wrote to her aunt, a loving letter which survives at the State Library of NSW, saying that from the deck of the ship Sydney ‘looks a pleasant place’ but that it grieved her to think of her seven-year sentence. Despite this, she wrote: ‘But I will make myself as happy as I can’. Over the next 60 years Mary did indeed make the most of her new life and, despite her desire in 1792 to return to her extended family in England, she would eventually revisit her homeland not to settle, but to tour as a wealthy and respectable woman of colonial society. At the age of 17 Mary married Thomas Reibey, a 25-year-old free settler and junior officer for the East India Company’s ship, Britannia. The couple operated an early, very successful cargo business on the Hawkesbury before moving back to Sydney and building a house and trading in what is now Reiby Place, off Macquarie Place at Circular Quay. In 1811 however, Thomas Reibey died, leaving Mary with seven young children and a business to run. The recently widowed Mary opened a new warehouse in George Street in 1812, expanded her shipping fleet and by the age of 40 in 1817 was estimated to be worth about £20,000 (roughly equivalent to between two and three million Australian dollars today, but with much greater purchasing power!). Mary never married again and single-handedly managed her large family and growing business and property interests over the next four decades. Mary Reibey died at her extensive country estate in Newtown on 30 May 1855, aged 78, having outlived five of her seven children and also a number of her grandchildren. She is remembered today on Australia’s twenty-dollar note, which is a depiction based on the tiny miniature at left, which is held at the State Library of NSW and is the only known portrait of her in existence. View the original article by Catie Gilchrist at the Dictionary of Sydney here. Listen to the podcast of Nicole & Rani here, and tune in to 2SER Breakfast with Nic Healey on 107.3 every Wednesday morning at 8:15-8:20 am to hear more from the Dictionary of Sydney.

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