The Collection

STREET SELLERS

Sydney must have been a very noisy place when one considers the large number of street vendors that frequented the place from the earliest times – and most of them shouted their ‘cries’ to attract clientele.
Saveloys	Throat Cutters was the name given to saveloy sellers who would knife a slit down the saveloy and sprinkle it with vinegar.”What has become of the street cries we used to hear? Where is the muffin man? Where is the young lettuces, young eschalots and watercress? And last, but not least, the saveloy “All hot”? In fancy I hear the cry and likewise certain small voices which follow in the footsteps of the vendor to get that question. “What ya choke ya muther wid? And the reply would quickly come “Hot saveloys“.. From the Old Sydney Column by Old Chum. Truth Newspaper 1919
Pies	One pie seller had a little stove set up on his cart not unlike a ship’s portable galley. His street cry was: “Now then young ‘ens, wot’s for you? Tater? Sav’loy? Where’s your brown?“ Melbourne. Paddy’s Market. Bourke St. from The Aust Jnl 1868/69
Matches	“Wax matches! Wax matches!” Melbourne. Paddy’s Market. Bourke St. from The Aust Jnl 1868/69
Fine Wax Lights	“four boxes for a shilling” Melbourne. Paddy’s Market. Bourke St. from The Aust Jnl 1868/69
Oysters	“six pence a plate.” Melbourne. Paddy’s Market. Bourke St. from The Aust Jnl 1868/69
Cherries	“Cherry ripe, Cherry ripe, Fresh as daisies and sweet as sugar at tuppence a pound. Nothing finer in the markets. Come and taste ’em I say. As cheap as dirt – sold again!” Melbourne. Paddy’s Market. Bourke St. from The Aust Jnl 1868/69
Newspapers	“Daily Age, Daily Argus, Examiner, Star.. one penny. All the latest items by Panama mail – just arrived – all then latest news from Panama and New Zealand. Latest of the week.” Melbourne. Paddy’s Market. Bourke St. from The Aust Jnl 1868/69
Cakes	“Fine Banbury cakes and mutton pies. All hot and smoking. All piping hot.” From Sydney Scene 1962 referring to 1828 “the cries are pure cockney.. Perfect in the tune from the deep guttural to the shrill and plaintive cadence”.
Clothes	Clothes Props: “Clothes’ Props, Cloth Props, Per-rops!”Clothing and general goods “Must be sold – the property of a gen’lman as can’t keep hisself out of the work’us any longer.” “Selling off. Selling off… for the benefit of the poor to keep rich out of the work house” All Sydney calls. Aust Jnl 1867
Cress & Prawns	Sydney The Rocks 1910: “Cress and fine salty prawns” from the Mitchell LibraryTravellers arriving at Manly Pier around the turn of the century 1900 would hear: “Fresh cooked ‘arbour prawns. Sixpence a pint.” From Manly Daily 1971 as recalled by Capt Henderson.
Hot Cross Buns	“One a penny two a penny Hot cross buns Hot cross buns One for your daughters two for your sons Hot cross buns.” Sydney 1850s Cyril Pearl ‘Book of Bacchus’
Garden Honey	Street call of Billy Huntingdon who was also known as garden honey: “Garden honey. A shillin’ a bottle. Fine fresh garden honey.” from the Mitchell Library
Smokes	“A cigar and a light!” from the Mitchell Library
Daises	Grandma Duffy at paddy’s 1860s: “posies and nice fine roses” from the Mitchell Library
Soap	“The celebrated soap which will remove stains from all sorts of linen. An invaluable boon to the public – removes kerosene and oil of all sorts.” (Bourke St soap seller)
Lotteries	Sydney lottery seller” “All Prizes – no blanks – take a chance” 1867 Aust Jnl“Lotteries by a numbered ticket. The duck doesn’t care who wins.” RHS 1916 by Capt Grieves.
Cakes	DETAILS coming
Rabbits	Sydney streets: “Rabbits, Rabbits, Raaabits – two for one and sixpence, rabbits”
Alehouse	“Roll up, Roll up Roll up ladies and gentlemen… great novelties tonight and no extra charge – the same old refreshment – ticket – admission and a glass of the best ale or spirits for sixpence.” From Colonial Life a trip to Spring Creek, Victoria. 1850/60s
Bell Ringer	The Bell Man was common before the establishment of a government printer. He rang a bell and called out the government orders of the day. Sydney Gazette
Watchman	The Sydney Watchman called out the hour and “all’s well’ at midnight. He wore a special uniform and carried a long staff (to be used as a baton if necessary). Sydney Gazette
Town Crier	Town Crier of Sydney in 1839 was named Saville. His is recorded as crying: “Oyez! Oyez! here you peoples that this day a child has been lost in the scrub wearing a blue dress and hat with pink ribbons. Anyone giving information of its whereabouts to the distressed parents will be handsomely rewarded… God save the Queen.” From Old Times Magazine 1903.

STREET ENTERTAINERS AND BEGGARS OF EARLY AUSTRALIA

Northern Territory Times 14 Aug 1931

Brisbane (By our own Correspondent)

Probably the proximity of the Exhibition has something to, do with the army of street entertainers I encountered in Elizabeth Street the other ‘day. Standing on the comer of Edward, Street, this is what I saw. On one corner two men, both playing cornets with wonderful power; on the opposite a man playing a miniature organ, while beside him stood a bright looking young lad, and I am sure both heartily blessed the cornet men; then on another comer was a tall young man doing his best with a violin cello; and on the other corner was a man playing popular tunes on a gumleaf from which shrill notes sounded high up above the dim. He had the simplest and cheapest instrument, yet he was heard. A little further down Elizabeth Street I came upon an outdoor orchestra of which I am sure no theatre could be ashamed-violins, a cornet, a harp and a trombone all blending in perfect harmony. In Creek Street I passed a blind man who pathetically shook his tin box every now and then, whilst in Adelaide Street I encountered a man who loudly proclaimed the fact that he had no street licence but hoped somebody would throw him a penny. In order to convince his audience that it was worth a small coin he .sat a small brown dog on a case, tied a baby’s bonnet on its head, roughly pushed a cigarette into its mouth, left it there for a few seconds then pulled it oat of the dog’s mouth, placed it in his own and puffed powerful gusts of smoke round, the group Maybe to show that it a real cigarette. Thus it can be seen that it would require a small fortune daily to satisfy the pleadings of all these men and some are genuine, some doubtful and some frauds.
The Sydney Herald 18 Oct 1832

Mary Mahony, with a fine, rich, thick and tangible brogue, that might have been cut with a knife, was charged with being found supping in Kent Street, and entertaining her entertainers with “Oh say not woman’s heart is bought, With gold that empty treasures….”
When the unlucky staff bearer seizing her by the waist, walked her to the lock up. One month to the third class!

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The Argus 9 Feb. 1922

Busking for 37 Years – Street Singer’s Earnings.

A ‘busker’, or street singer, stated in the city court yesterday that he was not afraid of heavy work, but that he earned from 4 to 5 pounds a week singing in the street. William H. Smith, another street singers who lives in Latrobe Street, said proudly, “I’ve been a street singer for 37 years. I’m the oldest ‘busker’ about here.”
Smith was charged with having carried liquor about for sale in a public highway.
When Lewis stated how much he earned Mr N. Sonenberg (who defended Smith) exclaimed sharply, “For goodness sake be careful! Don’t you know that there’s such a thing as income tax!”

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The Mercury (Hobart) 26 August 1916

Surprise is sometimes expressed that so many itinerant singers and other musicians are allowed to attract crowds in the streets of Sydney. We have the ‘buskers’, the street bands – some of them good fiddlers, hand organs, and other music makers, and they seem to be increasing. One writer, evidently a nervous victim, describes them as ‘pavement pests’. It is quite true that the roving singers are a source of torment; they usually attract crowds that impede the traffic, especially at night, and their organs help to make life miserable, grinding out the most dismal tunes night and day. Men who work in offices over columns of figures are sometime driven to despair. The busker comes along, and gives a curious version of a popular song; as soon as he leaves the spot the street organist takes his place, and he is, perhaps, followed by another gentleman of the same profession. It is a terrible infliction upon the business people, and the authorities should take some steps to deal with it. The street bands are in a different category. They give the public good music, which is heard by this means, increasing an income which musicians find very small in these days.

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The Argus 89th June 1899

Street Musician.

In answer to the name of Dominico Caracillo, a very small boy, with a very large accordion, marched into the City Court yesterday and started open eyed at the bench. According to the statements made in court, Caraccillo, filled with dreams of wealth, arrived in Victoria six months ago, and having invested in a very large accordion, followed the example of others of his countrymen, and played music in the streets of Melbourne. But last Tuesday misfortune befell him, for while performing to a large audience in Swanston Street, and thereby obstructing the footpath, Constable Foley approached. In view of Section 3 of the Police Offences Act, the constable did not appreciate the music produced by the accordion , and took the boy to the watch-house. There he was charged with being a neglected child, and still accompanied by his accordion, was placed under care of Miss Sutherland for the night.

The father stated the boy was born in Chile, but the lad said he was a Spaniard.
Mr Panton (to the father) – How much money does the boy bring home every day?
The Father – 6d or one shilling.
Mr Panton – We will make inquiries into this case. In this man’s country begging is a profession, and they think that the same thing can be done here. I am very glad that the police are taking notice of it. I doubt whether the lad is this man’s son, for sometimes these boys are kidnapped.

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Argus 16 June 1899

A Street Musician.

Dominico Caracillo, the boy who appeared before the City Court last Thursday and was remanded for a week on the charge of being a neglected child, appeared yesterday, before Mr Paton P.M. and a number of J.P.s The father of the boy was given instructions that the lad must not be allowed to roam about the streets playing his accordion, for it appeared as if the father had been living on the money earned by the boy. Professional begging would not be tolerated in the Colony!

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The Argus 11 Dec 1893
A Street Musician Shot Dead.

Wilcannia, Sunday. A most deliberate murder was perpetrated here last night shortly after 8 O’Clock. I appears that a man named Fellowes. Aged between 50 and 60, who gained his livelihood by playing a violin in the street, came into Wilcannia from the White Cliff opal field yesterday at about half-past 7. He began playing his violin in front of the Royal Hotel, Reid Street. After playing there for some time, he proceeded across to the Punt Arms Hotel, where he played for a few minutes. From there he went down to the Cricketer’s Arms Hotel, in the same street. He was playing his violin in the front of the hotel when a son of the hotelkeeper, Myles McGrath, aged about 26, rushed out of the bedrooms with a double barrelled gun and, directing his aim from the door, shot Fellowes in the abdomen. Fellowes immediately cried out, “Murder, murder! My God, I’m shot!” and ran fully 60 yards, holding his violin all the time. He then dropped. He was at once conveyed to the hospital, but expired 10 minutes after his admission.

The police arrested McGrath shortly after the occurrence, He was found lying on the bed in one of the bedrooms in his father’s hotel. On the way to the lock up he admitted having shot Fellowes, and said that he only meant to shoot him in the legs. He further told the police that for several days past he had been ill and unable to eat or sleep, and was being annoyed by drunken men, and was determined to put a stop to it.

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The Argus 3 Nov. 1898

A Street Musician’s Death.

Happily it is seldom that any death is recorded with terrible word starvation given as a cause, but in that of a man, whose name is supposed to be Joseph De Leo, a complication of phthisis and insufficient food is believed to have led to death. The dead man, who was an Italian street harpist, had been living at taylor’s lodging house, at 322 Russell Street.

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Courier Mail 7 March 1934
STREET MUSIC

Sir,-
For a solid three hours, at least, on Saturday morning a street musician performed outside of the Criterion Hotel in George Street. This was pretty nerve-racking to the tenants of surrounding shops and offices. The usual street noises, to say nothing of rowdy shop proprietors who yell the price and quality of their wares, is surely sufficient without a musical (?) instrument being played for hours at a stretch. Of course, street musicians must earn a living the same as the rest of us, but could not their efforts at one particular stand be limited to, say, half an hour?
Think of all those other folks who are missing what we have ceased to appreciate after half an hour or so!! I am, sir, &c., “FRAZZLED.”

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SMH 28 May 1859
PROFANE SONGS IN THE PUBLIC STREETS. To the Editor of the Sydney Morning Herald,

Sir,-About a fortnight ago you inserted the letter of a correspondent, complaining of a profane parody on the Lord’s Prayer having been allowed to be sung in a public street. He was probably not aware that he might have given the offender into custody at once under the authority of the Vagrant Act, 15 Victoria, No. 4. Allow me therefore to request your insertion of the 5th section of that Act, which is as follows :
“Any person who shall sing any obscene song or ballad, or write or draw any indecent or obscene word, figure, or representation, or use any profane, indecent, or obscene language, in any public street,
words in a public street shall be conveyed before any justice of the peace; and that such offender being convicted in a summary way he or she shall forfeit any sum not exceeding five pounds, and in default of immediate payment shall be committed to the common gaol or house of correction for any period not exceeding three calendar months.” LEX.

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Mention of Wild Colonial Boy and Ten Thousand Miles away being sung – The Mercury, 20 Nov. 1889
Mention of the WCB – On the eve of the fight Mrs Jones gave her boy 6d to sing the WCB. Brisbane Courier Mail 27 May 1881

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Beggars and Homelessness

I live in Potts Point, a suburb which includes Kings Cross. It is also where the Wayside Chapel was established many years ago as an outreach service of the Uniting Church. The Wayside, originally run by Ted Noffs and now by an equally committed down to earth christian minister, Graham Long, does a remarkable job in assisting Sydney’s homeless and disturbed. Homelessness is a fact of life and a major social issue that needs understanding. Historical accounts show that were not always that compassionate. WF

SMH 18 April 1904

Fanny Fisher, 53, pleaded guilty at the Central Court on Saturday before Mr Payton H.M. on a charge of begging in George Street. A sentence of four day’s imprisonment with hard labour was inflicted.

SMH 20 March 1906

Thomas Robs, a tinker, convicted before G H Smithers S.M. at Central Police Court, upon a charge of begging alms on Elizabeth Street, was sentenced to 14 days imprisonment.

SMH 19 Tuesday 1909

An elderly man, named Edward Fahey, was yesterday at the Paddington Police Court, sentenced to seven day’s hard labour for begging alms in New South Head Road, on Jan 17th. Defendant had been begging from house to house, and also from persons in the street.

SMH 11 Feb 1909

Walter Hawkins, a fish hawker, was charged at the Water Police Court, before Mr Donaldson S.M., with begging alms in O’Connell Street. Constable Lennox stated that on Sunday night about 8 O’Clock he was on duty when he saw accused accost several persons, one of whom handed him something. When accused of begging in the streets Hawkins denied having done so. Accused, who said he only asked for matches, was sent to goal for seven days.

The Advertiser sat 25 May 1912

White-haired and meek-looking, nobody would have suspected that William Nancarrow, who stood in the dock at the Adelaide Police Court on Friday to answer a charge of having begged alms, had as many as 146 convictions against him. For years he has been constantly under the notice of the police, and on Thursday was arrested for having begged for coppers in Hindley Street. He had accosted people with the request for a few pence, because he said he was starving. A penalty of two months’ imprisonment was imposed.

The Argus. Tues 13 1911
Notes to Boys. Donald McDonald.

Begging boys. About the gates of many of the leading football grounds in Melbourne I notice every Saturday will be noticed a number of small boys,whose usual appeal is “Give us a penny, mister. I want threepence to get into the match.” Many of them seem to be well dressed and properly cared for, and their appeal amuses most men. This is a very bad and demoralising habit to encourage in young boys, and the football clubs apparently encourage them by charging threepence for children. Everything is xxx that comes to the football net. They would do a much better service to the boys , as far as their future and their character is concerned, by keeping them out of the grounds altogether. Every boy ought to be encouraged to play some sort of game for himself rather than to become a mere ‘barracker’ in sport.

The Argus Wed 9 March 1887

A begging vagrant. At the Collingwood Police Court yesterday, a blind phrenologist, from Sydney, named George Smith, was charged with vagrancy. He had been in the habit of going around begging and hawking, but when he got food instead of money he would throw it away. He was a well-educated man, and made a plausible defence, but was ordered one year’s imprisonment.

The Argus 12 June 1896

Three children, one of them just able to walk, were brought before the City Police Court yesterday with being neglected. They were begging in Collins Street when arrested. Two of them – Minnie Henley, aged eight, and James Henley, aged three – had been deserted by their father, and the mother, who was in court, stated that the girl Minnie used occasionally to bring money home. The reason why she had not been sent to school was because she had no boots. The arresting constable stated that Mrs Henley’s husband had a pension from the Imperial Government, and his whereabouts might be ascertained from the Pension’s Office. Mrs Godfrey, the mother of May Godfrey, aged five years, pleased extreme poverty, and the little money that the child brought home was very acceptable, and kept them in food.

Mr Panyon P.M. said he was pleased to see the police were giving attention to the matter of mendicancy in the streets, and if they kept their eyes open they would find plenty of instances of this begging nuisance. On the previous afternoon in Collins-street, near the Block Arcade, he had observed an old woman begging from every foot passenger she met, and no notice was taken of her by the police.

The children were remanded for a week in order that the police should make further inquiry concerning them.

SMH Wed 30 April 1844 (From Chambers’ Journal.)

Perhaps no social feature of our country has been more changed since George 1V was King, than that of begging. In my early days, this set of people, generally old and disabled: some went on crutches, some sailed along in things like bowls, a small select number were carried on from door to door in hand-barrows, and a precious set of tyrannical old men of the sea these were by the way: for, if a servant grumbled at their weight, or stopped too long to rest from it, they never scrupled to make hearty use of both tongue and stick. nor were they ever known to give any thanks for the trouble taken with them. There were, indeed, a very few of a respectable sort of beggars, who came half us volunteer guests, and were of such delicacy and propriety of behavior that they frequently sat with the master and mistress. Generally, however, the beggars former days were a poor, humble, and despicable sort of people, trusting to their very wretchedness for a means of exciting the compassion of the public. Now, when everything has been so much improved, begging has been improved too, only in a far greater degree than anything else. In fact, begging has taken its place amongst the political and economic arrangements of our land. ¡ The greatest people resort to it, and the most wonderful things are done by it.

It is very remarkable how a science of such capabilities should have been allowed to slumber so long in an undeveloped state amongst the mere outcasts of society. Some one has remarked of printing, that it remained as Guttenberg made it for the first four centuries. But then took a sudden start, and went through a series of splendid improvements, terminating in the first cylinder machine, all in the space of thirty years. Somewhat similar has been the history of begging A poor sniveling employment for the first 6000 years of the world’s history, but at length expanded to one of magnificent system and detail in the course of about half an ordinary life-time. Both facts form striking proof’s of the condition of the human mind down to a recent period. Men dreamed long ago. They are now awake. There lies the difference. It would be absurd, however, to suppose that begging is oven yet a pet feet science, or generally understood. It is going on well, but it is not at all what it might be made in the hands of thoroughly skilled and active men, women, and young ladies; and there is a vast portion of society who know as little of it as they do of printing. With a view to promote the advance of the science, I beg to submit a few of its fundamental principles to general consideration. “

The first great principle concerned in begging is, that one has always a chance of obtaining a thing by seeking it. Few things fall swoop into one’s mouth like Ben Tibb’s friends. Most things require to be asked for, sought for, or grasped at; but when this trouble is taken about them, they are very apt to be got. So truly is this the case, that, theoretically speaking, there is scarcely anything in this world which may not be had for the asking that is to say, had in some sort of way or degree the sleeve if not the gown.

Many rebuffs, many failures, much grumbling and groaning, may be encountered in the course of the requisition; but some share of success will also be sure to accrue. The world, let my readers depend upon it, is divided among those who seek it. Nor is it, after all, difficult to sea how this should be; first, the seeker is the man ready to take, the catches what occurs, while others not on the outlook let things pass. Then it is far more pleasant for any one who gives, to give to one who seeks, than to one who does not seek, for he is sure of being appreciated, j and is always getting quit of a trouble in the person of the petitioner. Modest merit, sitting, quietly behind backs, ought, no doubt, to be encouraged; everybody owns that; but then | modest merit can wait, and does not get angry | for being put off a little longer. So even let the pestilent fellow have what he wants and be done with him, and thus he takes the spoils of fortune, whose only claim upon them is his making his ‘claim so pertinacious; while simple worth sits quietly by, with only the empty reward of good opinion. A second great principle is the habit of the courtesies of society. An honest unthinking gentleman, who pays his bills, read the news-papers every day, goes occasionally out to dinner, and performs in a decent way all the other duties of a respectable person, is informed in his dressing-room, between ten and eleven one morning, that two ladies have called for him, and are sitting in the parlour. As soon as he can get himself properly trimmed, he goes down to see them, and finds two very gentle-women-like persons in possession of his two arm-chairs, they rise at his entrance-he greets them, and desires them to be seated. The beauty of the morning, and the unpleasantness of the weather of Thursday last week, are fully admitted on both sides. He thinks they may be wishing to inquire respecting the character of a servant, or something of a similar nature : no matter, he is by habit a gentleman, and of course converses civilly. At length, after a few remarks on miscellaneous subjects, one of them draws forth a book from her muff or reticule, and addressing him on the merits of a scheme for furnishing shoes and stockings to the women of the Blackfeet Indians, begs he will have the goodness to subscribe to it.

Now, really, he thinks this is a most preposterous affair; but on the other hand, these poor ladies have no personal interest in it; on the contrary, under the pure influence of charitable feelings, they are taking a great deal of trouble, and exposing themselves to many collisions of a disagreeable nature, in order to promote an end which they think good. He cannot, then, but still treat them kindly, however annoying he may think their application. He therefore enters into an amicable argument with them, and, in the politest terms, endeavors to excuse himself from a subscription; there are feet requiring shoes and stockings nearer home. He has many things to subscribe for ; only yesterday, lie put down his name for a sovereign to the three burnt-out families. He really cannot afford much in these days of reduced interest. Ho had a monument last week; has just himself been getting up a testimonial for a friend, and is looking for the soup kitchen ever day. How can he be expected in these circumstances to disburse to the Blackfeet ? Well, they hear his objections, but they never appear one whit affected by them: for always, after allowing that what he says is true, they immediately glide back to the matter of their book, and at him again. At length it becomes a fair matter of calculation. A crown buys him off genteelly, the alternative is coining to a harsh or rude point with these fair petitioners. Being a man of courtesy, he prefers keeping up his usual | tone with them, strangers as they are ; and so he twitches out his five shillings with the best grace he may. They then rise to take leave; he sees them to the door; good morning on I both sides; all ends well. The Blackfeet, the shoe sand stockings, and the gentleman has preserved his self-respect. The whole affair shows how forcible manner the imposture of good genteel appearances in begging. A really poor object, half fed, half dead, half soaked, (to use Burns’s vigorous words)-gets only a copper, though he would require at least three or four, to purchase him a supper and a bed, and keep him off the streets for the night. But two well-dressed Indians are quite another thing, and their object becomes almost vanishing beyond the horizon of human sympathies. With them polite observance must be kept up, while a growl is but a proper accompaniment to the copper. In this respect, begging is like business in general. The bare-footed waitress of a w ay side ale-house is well rewarded with a penny; but the elegantly dressed attendant of a third rate hotel would be underpaid with a shilling. The dross and undress in these matters is every-thing’, and this brings us to the

Third principle, which is simply that faculty of our sentimental system called love of approbation, or desire of standing well with, our neighbours. People in general do not like to be thought shabby, or even suspected of shabbiness ; therefore they give. They like to see their names in a respectable subscription list, and that, for a respectable sum, and therefore they give, and that liberally, in comparison with their means. The application is always felt as a thing involving two interests -first, that of the object of the application; second and chief, the personal feelings of the party applied to. What will be expected of me ? What will look fair as my donation ? These are questions asked almost before the necessity of the case is thought of. Even Byron, with all his enthusiasm for that Greece in whose cause he lost his life, wrote to a friend that, with regard to the philhellenic subscription, he did not think he could get off under four thousand pounds. There are, indeed, some of a sufficiently stoical constitution to be able to resist all weak impulses : these are the men who ” never give upon principle,” but like the wise in all ages, they are but a limited exception to a great rule. You are tolerably sure of a man when you can bring him under the compulsion of his wish to stand well with the (world, or even the individual applicant. Lastly, there is such a thing as a favorable disposition to particular objects calling for contribution. Each man has some bent or prejudice on behalf of which ho will yield cash, when the application is properly made. Every man may be said to have his mendicable side call it his weak one or not as you choose. Some are tender of heart toward widows and orphans ; others delight in local improvements, and will subscribe for pieces of causewaying, when their hearts would be found already paved if attacked on any softer subject. Oppressed patriots interest some, they will bleed for nobody who has not been tried for h s life, or suffered at least a year’s imprisonment. It is necessary for a petitioner to know the parties who have predilections in behalf of the matter in question : for if he were to speak of widows and children to a patriot, or of captive martyrs to a man who only delights in getting streets widened, and pavement laid down where no pavement was before, or only a bad pavement, lie would probably be wasting his charms upon the deaf adder. On the contrary, when he assails the proper persons, all is easy and smooth, and he accomplishes his task in a surprisingly | short space of time.

Not that he should be scrupulous in addressing only favourably disposed parties, if there be need to go further; for even amongst the disaffected ho has always the first three principles to come and go upon; and possibly upon one of these he may strike down his bird; but if certainty is true, that it is by far the kindliest work when you have the prepossession of the party in accordance with I your object, it is taking things with the grain. By favour of one or other of these principles, or of all together, it is wonderful how potent a thing is begging. Few persons have, as yet, I the faintest idea of it; it is a great power known only to, and practised by, some scattered individuals’, who themselves, not with Handing their success, are, perhaps, not fully aware of the virtue which resides in it. Almost fear to go further in developing the philosophy of this great subject, like the wife of Swanky Bean, the Forfarshire cannibal, who said that if people were generally aware of the delicious nature of human flesh, they would all wish to eat of it, and of nothing else. It seems much to be apprehended that the pursuance of the mediatory principle becoming better known, we shall find more persons taking advantage of it, and the world made almost intolerable ; the time for such fears is past, and the only hope for those who at present do not beg is to begin to beg too. It seems as if we must all be beggars together, merely to stand on equal terms with our neighbours.

On this ground, it cannot be anything but right and generally understood, as by no other means can any one cope with and defend himself from those around him ; and clearly, when once it comes to a fair stand-up fight of box against box, book against book, we may all expect to be computable once more. A man will then take his subscription paper with him when he walks out, as he takes his umbrella or great coat, or a gentlemen long ago took a pistol or bludgeon in their pockets. It will be his deeds and his safety and his distinction; young ladies in bonnets and veils cruising about, book in muff, for money to furnish school books; the slave children of South Carolina will come to know that such and such a gentleman has one for a silver cup to the chairman of the county committee for the fox hounds, and will give him a wide berth accordingly. People will come to have a respectful dread of each other’s ruled paper blunderbusses, and none will then be-come prey but the silly fools who have not the sense or wit to take the trouble to keep weapons offensive and defensive of the like nature. Viewing the matter in this light, I believe I am doing nothing but good service to mankind in impressing upon their, the great power of begging, and instilling into them a knowledge of its fundamental principle. They may be assured that it is a science as yet only in its infancy. Thirty years ago, it thought of no-thing above copper. It afterwards rose through silver to bank notes.

Now it collects its hundred« and thousands, or occasionally, by way of a great stack of work its hundreds of thousands Once it was a solitary ragged vagrant; then it became a single, lady or gentleman; now it is a regiment. But begging may yet be mi occupation for an army, a crusade, and for hundreds of thousands it may yet gather its millions. Only organise a proper force, and it might rival taxation in its results. There may yet be a central office in London, for a mendacity mission, which overspreads the world, collecting alike from the Esquimaux and the Terra del Fuegans, the Japanese and the Kaffirs. The way is clearly open for these and other such operations, for man is not only a begging animal. He is formed by nature to give to him who strenuously seeks; to give for the sake of fair reputation, and for the sake of doing good. He therefore lies fairly exposed to the begging power, ready to yield it the richest crops when-ever the proper means are taken, just like a field which has as yet been in a state of nature, but could give seventy tons of turnips per acre if properly tilled and” drilled. Some inconvenience may be experienced by individuals, while things are going on to this pass, for some will naturally be more ready than others to take up the new weapons; but at length all will be fully armed and accoutered, and of course, on a perfect equality in point of mendacity redoubtableness; so that no one will have anything to complain of beyond his neighbours, while the funds so realised will be producing effects of a kind heretofore undreamt of, for the general benefit of mankind.

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The Mercury – Hobart 20 Nov. 1906

A CONCERTINA CONCERT.
RECORD BAND CONTEST. !

At the Crystal Palace, Sydneham, on the occasion of the National Band Festival early in October last, over 200 bands waged musical war, representing six thousand performers, and prizes amounting to £2,000 were awarded. The concertina competition attracted at least 4,000 “persons. A great many people expected to eo amused. The concertina, being associated with Italian beggars and Margate excursion trains, has long been regarded as a comical instrument. The effect produced by twenty concertinas, modulated in tones ranging horn those of soprano comets to double basses, was extremely beautiful and astonished the audience.

Australians colloquially refer to a trip to the lavatory as ‘going to the dunny’. They also say ‘going to the John’, ‘the bog’, ‘the outhouse’, ‘the shed up the back’ ‘visit the smallest room in the house’, and ‘the shit house’ (sometimes described simply as ‘shouse’. On their arrival they ‘point Percy at the porcelain’ (Barry Humphries), ‘have a slash’, ‘have a piss’, ‘do number one or two’ (two being rhyming slang for ‘poo’), ‘take a crap’, ‘shake the wife’s best friend’. A visit to the toilet is also referred to as ‘going to the dike’ or ‘the loo’ or ‘going to the can’ – however such use is limited to the toilet block being used as a urinal. Dike was first documented in 1923 ‘Le Slang’

A dunny is essentially a toilet out the back of a house or public building, never inside. In the nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth century, most Australian houses had the lavatory strategically placed at the rear of their house, and usually in the garden. It was usually a pit or can toilet and, understandably smelly, which, obviously, was a good reason to build it separate from the house.

The word dunny appears to come from the French word Dunegan meaning privy – Dunnakin.

The first Australian print reference was in 1952. T. A. G. Hungerford in ‘The Ridge & the River’: “Right now there might be a Shinto under every bush, and me stuck out like a dunny in a desert.”

The outhouse building gained a reputation as being identifiably Australian – Paul Hogan, the Australian comedian, was once described as being as ‘Australian as a slab off a dunny door.”

Dunnies came in all shapes and sizes and are now considered an important part of our architectural heritage. Songs have been sung about them (The Redback on the Toilet Seat/Slim Newton. ‘The Pub With No Dike’ /Fahey), poems and songs composed, and books have documented their unique designs.

TWO DUNNY COLLECTIONS

There was a story that dunnies were built specifically so Chokos could grow over them. The choko is a pear-shaped vegetable (originally from South America) that grows easily over fences and outdoor structures. It is either despised or favoured and was an important part of family meals during the Great Depression. It can be stewed, baked and eaten as a sweet or vegetable. Legend has it that we’re still looking for the person to admit planting a choko vine! Chokos seem to especially like dunnies and have been known to cover them inside and out!

Dunnies also lend themselves to humour and curious design including the double seater ‘honeymoon model’– obviously designed for the upper classes.

Dunnies were seen as frail buildings that could be blown apart (by a fart or high wind) however, when toilets started to be built with brick the term ‘built like a brick shit house’ referred to a particular solid structure.

Toilet paper is referred to as dunny paper however, in the early days, most paper was actually torn up sheets of newspaper. Toilet paper is called ‘bum fodder’ and relates to any publication only worthy as an ‘arse wiper’.

Dunnies were notorious for attracting blowflies that were referred to as Dunny budgies because of their large size and sound.

The man who collected the sanitary cans (or pans) was referred to as the Dunnyman or, sarcastically, the ‘pilgrim of the night’ because of his early morning shift. His vehicle was called a ‘dunny cart’.

Interestingly, a 1907 Paddington Council Annual Report cited that in the year 1906 there were 5000 registered houses in the neighbouring suburb of Woollahra and 4000 of them had cesspits.

The streets of Paddington, and other inner city, high density housing areas, still have what were known as ‘dunny lanes’. These were walkways that allowed the dunnyman to collect the pans. They create quite a problem with ownership as many developers, particularly in the 1960s and 70s, encroached on these public lanes when building.

Dan, Dan, the dunny man
Washed his face in a toilet can
(children’s ditty)

Each Christmas the dunnyman would leave a card – usually with some doggerel verse like the following:

A merry Xmas to you all
With plenty of good cheer
And may you have prosperity
Throughout the coming year.

And though the police keep order
There’s no more useful man
Than the chap who calls at daybreak
And juggles with the can.

We leave your pan quite clean
And try not to make a mess
We leave our verses every year
And wish you all success.
Signed: Your municipal dunny man.

In return we would leave half-a-dozen bottles of beer. No one dared not leave a gift as the consequences could be a frightening thought!

The word dunny is not used much these day however the word has entered our vocabulary and here are a couple of examples:

It stuck out like a dunny in a desert, (very obvious)
All alone like a country dunny. (very lonely)
Carry the can – do the dirty work.

Dunnies also lent themselves to cartoons and practical jokes. Many kids has scared the bejesus out of casual visitors to the dunny by planting ‘double bungers’ (a loud explosive fire cracker now banned) alongside its walls, or, worse still, thrown one into the space.

It’s probably a good thing the loo moved into the interior of the house.

ENTERTAINMENT IN SYDNEY

[From The Sydney Morning Herald, 8th November, 1878.]

Amusements: A large and varied programme of amusements is advertised for the Prince of Wales Birthday (Saturday), and should the weather prove fine, the day will be almost universally devoted to festivities. The races at Randwick will prove attractive to many holiday folks. Lovers of aquatic sports will have their tastes provided for by the Balmain Regatta, of which a full racing card for both rowing and sailing boats is announced. The first event is to be started at half-past 10 o’clock. Another feature of the day’s amusements will be the annual grand picnic of the German Association at Correy’s Tea Gardens, Botany; the German Band will be on the ground, and dancing and sports of various kinds will take place; omnibuses are to ply every few minutes from 9 o’clock in the morning, returning from Botany from 4 p.m.

The City Band of twelve performers has been engaged for the new pavilion on the grounds of the Sir Joseph Banks Hotel, Botany. The whole of the pavilion is to be thrown open for dancing purposes. The original Australian Blondin is to give some high-rope performances, and besides Barry O’Neill and a Star Company are to give an open-air theatrical programme ; so that Botany will probably attract a large gathering. As usual there are to be numerous harbour excursions. A popular family picnic is advertised to take place at Chowder Bay.

Five or six steamers are to ply from the Circular Quay and Woolloomooloo Bay during the course of the day, and on the pleasure grounds the excursionists are to be entertained by the Australian Wizard, Barker’s New Variety Troupe, the Star and X.L.C.R. Minstrels, and the Parramatta Volunteer Band. Among the more private picnics will be one under the auspices of the Young Men’s Christian Association to Vaucluse, the first steamer leaving the Circular Quay at 9 : and another in connection with the Bathurst-street Baptist Sunday-School to Pearl Bay, Middle Harbour, the first steamer leaving the Quay at 8 o’clock.

For Manly Beach, Clontarf, Watson’s Bay, Fern Bay, and other waterside localities, steamers are advertised for the conveyance of excursionists. Those who are fond of cricket will have an opportunity of seeing the Alberts and Warwicks play on the Association ground at Moore Park.

A cheap excursion train to Bowral leaves Sydney at ten minutes to 8 o’clock in the morning, and the excursionists will have an opportunity of taking part in a grand bazaar in aid of the new Wesleyan church at Bowral. The fine new steamship Richmond is advertised to take excur-tionists to Sans Souci, George’s River. In the evening the theatres and other places of amusement will be open to the public.

There is to be a gathering on the Albert Ground under the auspices of the auctioneers Richardson and Wrench, who are to dispose of by sale a piece of ground that has formed, and might have continued to form, a park and breathing space in close contiguity to those very “delightful and healthy” suburbs of Redfern and Waterloo. Preparations for pleasure are being made at Botany, both on the grounds of the hotel and the Tea Gardens. There is to be an excursion trip to Newcastle, sports at Coogee Bay, special trips up the Parramatta River, and a moonlight excursion to Manly

SONGS ABOUT THE SYDNEY HARBOUR BRIDGE

Under instruction from 1927 until 1932, when the official opening took place on March 19, the Sydney Harbour Bridge had a number of songs to commemorate the construction and finish written by various Australian songwriters.

Australians often refer to their native country as ‘God’s Own’ or, to use slanguage, ‘Gawd’szone’. It is indeed a beautiful and surprising country and one we should celebrate. Many songs were composed in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries to celebrate Australia’s progress from a penal settlement to a ‘respectable’ place for emigrants and citizens. Many were cliche or doggerel and pointed to our emerging ‘sophistication’.

Whilst there is still a tendency to wave our hands in the air singing ‘We are, you are, we are Orstralian’, we have a long history of seeing ourselves as gawky bushies and even today in the 21st century, we retain a bit of that confused identity.

The Argus 13 Nov. 1937
WHAT IS OUR NATIONAL TYPE?
Round the Continent in Search of True Sons of the Austral Pan
By J. M. HARCOURT
(Mr. Harcourt is a young Australian author who has travelled widely through
the Commonwealth. He has written several books and many magazine articles.)

THE spirit of a land expresses itself in the types of humanity it pro-duces. In the course of time, from a multiplicity of types, one emerges, steps out from the ranks as it were, and stands forward as a symbol of the land, a vial of its quintessential essence. John Bull appears in England, Uncle Sam in the United States. Australia is too young yet to have evolved a human symbol, but there are men in whom one seems to catch a glimpse of the symbol that is to be.

I met him at the recent Melbourne Royal Show. His face was thin, his features aquiline, and his lank, lean body as tough as whipcord. His straight gaze was half cynical, half pitiful, as if he had known hardship and treachery, but had not been broken by them, only scarred. And-no, he was not a farmer. He was a tramp, the spiritual descendant of the original sundowner.
But none of your ordinary tramps who hump a bluey between shearing-sheds or cut up a farmer’s woodheap for a hand-out, though he has done those things, too.

“Why pound the hoof with a bluey on your back when you can travel first class in comfort?” he inquired. “Nobody looks for tramps in first-class carriages. A man gets to know where ticket inspectors are likely to get on trains and just slips into the lavatory, or maybe, if the other fellers in the carriage look a bit human, under a seat. I walk when I feel like it and I don’t when I don’t.”

YOU think this is Australia,” he said moving his hand in a gesture which embraced the whole Royal Show. “But it isn’t. It’s only a part of it. You’ve got to be a tramp to know Australia – a tramp with seven-league boots like me. Australia isn’t Henry Lawson and Steele Rudd, boundary riders and drovers, and Dad and Dave. And it isn’t the Sentimental Bloke either, if you know what I mean. There are Dads and Daves and Sentimental Blokes, and maybe they’re typical enough, but they don’t make up the whole of the people of Australia. “I put up matilda when I was a bit of a kid -17 or thereabouts- and I’ve been waltzing her ever since. Sort of long-distance dancing competition! When I began I didn’t know anything, so I walked and did all the things the common run of tramps do. When I was hungry I’d go up to a farmhouse and beg a meal or offer to chop wood in exchange for it.

“I dug spuds for the Irish in Bungaree, picked grapes for Scotsmen round Stawell, and swung a pick for the Water Commission in the Mallee. And they were all as different as chalk and cheese, and I’ve found ’em just as different in other places I’ve been. Australia’s a Tait like a crazy quilt-all sorts of little patches of all shapes and sizes, and it’s only when you take it in from a distance, like, that you sort of see the pattern that’s really in it.
“There’s Australians that can’t speak English – and that ain’t a crack at the Orstrylian accent either!
“Up in Gilgandra, in New South Wales, I struck a farmer named Mackenzie, who was born in South Australia, but could speak only German. He had a Scottish name, but his people were Germans. I suppose his forebears migrated from Scotland to Germany, and then some of them came out with the crowd that began the German colony in South Australia. Anyway, that was where this Mackenzie came from-South Australia. But he couldn’t speak English.

“He looked like an Aussie, too. . . . have you noticed that Australians don’t look like Englishmen; that you can always tell ’em apart? But how often do you meet a Jugoslav that you can tell on sight? There’s plenty of them out here, but you don’t notice them particularly, because it’s only when you hear them talking in their own lingo that you know they’re foreigners. The Australians I’ve said that to don’t like it much, because they sort of look down on Jugoslavs. But we look like ’em all the same. You can tell an Aussie from an Englishman, or from an Irishman, or a Scot, or a German, or a Swede, for that matter. But you can’t tell him apart from the average Jugoslav.

“I was talking about Australians who can’t speak English. There are plenty of them up in Queensland, round Halifax and Innisfail, where the sugar cane grows. ‘Little Italy,’ they call it. Italian schools for kids born in Australia. Whole Italian towns. But them Italians, like that Mackenzie feller, look like Australians, look like Jugoslavs. “I knew a writer bloke in the west once. Peter Hopegood was his name. He had an idea that every country was inhabited by a sort of genii who was an artist, a sort of sculptor, like, who took hold of everything new and remodelled it ac-cording to his own ideals.

“This Hopegood bloke reckoned everything Australian looked alike. D’you get what I’m driving at? That there’s a sort of similarity between all the birds and animals and trees and flowers. And human beings, too. He thought this genii – he called him Austral Pan – got to work on migrants as soon as they came here, and in a generation or two changed them so that their mothers wouldn’t know them.

“I can’t pay that genii idea myself, but I reckon there’s something in this country that changes the people that come to it-turns ’em into Aussies. Because wherever you go the Aussie sort of face is the same. It can be dark or it can be fair, and it can be round or long and fat or thin, but there’s always some-thing about it that you can recognise. “Anyway, I’ve seen it everywhere. “Gumsuckers are different from Cornstalks, Cornstalks from Croweaters, and Croweaters from Sandgropers. You can almost tell ’em apart. Yet you find the sort of thing I’m talking about in all their faces-something Australian.

A man’s possie in life or his morals don’t make any difference. I knew a bloke in Western Australia. He was one of the big wigs. Owned properties all over the place, and businesses and things. Used to have agents on the immigrant ships before the depression set in to sign up Pommies for his farms at 10 bob a week and tucker. Posed as a sort of philanthropist. Soon as he’d worn ’em out he’d sack ’em. “I was hanging round an employment bureau in Perth one day when a message from this chap came through. It looked like his look-’em-outs on the ships had fallen down on their job, because he said:
‘Send me up a truck-load of Pommies, will yuh, so’s I might be able to pick a farm labourer out of the bunch.’ “

He was an Aussie. He wasn’t the kind I’ve got any time for, but he sort of symbolised a “brand of arrogance some Aussies have got; you know – reckon they’re better than Pommies – though they aren’t all bad who feel like that. This chap had the Aussie sort of face, too, though his father was a Pommie. Inland they’re all Aussies – the blokes on the cattle stations. You could almost see where this Austral Pan had carved the lines in their faces, as I sup-pose he’s carved them in mine, and drained the colour out of ’em like and made ’em his own. But they weren’t Japs and Koepangers, of course. They were whites. It doesn’t seem to matter what country they come from if they’re whites.

Then at Wyndham when the meat-works open and the blokes come from all over the place for the killing. It’s good pay at the meat-works. There’s men there from every quarter of the earth, yet pick one without an Aussie face and ask him and you’ll find he’s new been up once or twice before, perhaps – but that’s all.

My mate fell silent. Then presently he yawned and said he had to go. He had a date with a bloke out at the aerodrome who was going to put him wise to jumping a plane for Sydney. He’d never jumped a plane before, but he thought it ought to be a good lurk. Nobody would look for tramps in a plane. I bade him good-bye and he walked off unhurriedly, a son, if there ever was one, of that Austral Pan, in whom he refused to believe.

BEST LITTLE SPOT ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH Written, composed and sung by Skipper Francis I’ve travelled East; I’ve travelled West, And of all the lot, I love the best, My dear old home, so far away, Where loved ones wait for me day by day. In North and South, I’ve tried my hand On desert plain and fertile land, My heart is sad through roaming round, How happy would I be homeward bound. THE Chorus There’s a dear little spot across the sea, It mightn’t please you, but ‘twill just suit me; If once you saw it you’d ne’er want to roam, And I’m thankful I can call it ‘Home Sweet Home’. The dear old folks are waiting there. With a light burning brightly by the old arm chair;> I’m going back to joy and mirth, To the best little spot on the face of the earth.

NEW SOUTH WALES (NSW) – SYDNEY OBSERVATIONS

Portahomes

Sydney from earliest time had portable houses that were wheeled to new suburbs. Poor people lived in these portahomes.

Silent Night

It is said Sir Edward Hallstrom heard a young girl singing the carol. He named his new refrigerator after the song.
   Reported Woman’s day June 1957

HEADS OF THE PEOPLE

1848 periodical

May Day was ushered in with the usual festivity. The murky sons and daughters of the soot bag, with their faces and handed washed, and their outward furniture glittering like a rainbow, attended by fife and drum, danced through the streets of Sydney to the delight of many a native. There are but few chimney sweeps in Sydney; but of sweeps of another sort, not clean-handed, there are too many; and we could not help thinking that if they were all decorated and dancing through the streets, we would have considerably more sweeps than chimneys.

SYDNEY POST OFFICE CLOCK

Smh May 4 1891

Cast in England in 1890 “the castings have come out remarkably successful, possessing very rich tone, especially the 5-ton tenor bell. Its fine, full resonance being greatly admired. Canon Cattley (Worchester Cathedral who blessed it) expressed high approval. He said they are certainly the best bells ever sent out of England. The first quarter bell is 2ft 9in in diameter, the note C sharp, and weight 81/2 cwt.; the second, 3ft in diameter, B 111/4cwt; the third, 3ft 4 in diameter, A 143/4 cwt., the fourth, 4ft 4in in diameter, E 30cwt, and the tenor bell, 6ft 6in in diameter, A weighing 5 tons. Each bell has the imperial crown and monogram VIR with the words ‘General Post Office, Sydney 1890.

The following lines from Tennyson’s ‘In Memoriam’ are inscribed on the bells, one line on each, commencing with the largest.
Ring out the false, ring in the true
Ring out the feud of rich and poor
Ring in redress to all mankind

Ring out false pride in place and blood
Ring in the common love of good

Cast by John Taylor of Loughborough designs by lord Grimthorpe.

The initials of Henry Parkes also appear H P

Epitaph St John’s Parramatta

Grave of Benjamin Burrow

View me all you that pass by
As you are now once was I
But as I am so you must be
Prepare yourself to follow me.

To which someone added
To follow you I’ll not consent
I am not sure which way you went!

REMINISCENCES OF ANNA FRANCES WALKER

Recorded 1905.

1830-1913 was daughter of Commissary Thomas Walker,
his wife, ANA, daughter of John Blaxland.

Tom Walker’s happiest days were spent at Rhodes Hall, with his two bachelor cousins, the de Brokes, who, being too poor to marry, remained in bachelorhood. Here at Christmastime, as in other old-fashioned homes, the wassail cup, which was a large silver one, was passed round amongst the guests, and the mummers came into the kitchen.


General and Mrs. M were an amusing couple. Rumour said he was a very bad tempered man and was in the habit of speaking roughly to his lady, so it was arranged between them that when he was in his study and she wished to ask him a question, she would go to the door and throw in her bonnet. If he were in good humour he would let it be, but if a bad one he would kick it out!

SINGING AROUND THE WORLD

Memoirs of David Kennedy
London 1887
Book.

David Kennedy was a well-known Scottish singer born 1825 and toured Australia 1873

SMOKING PIPES

F Fowler 1859

The ‘cutty’ is of all shapes, sizes and shades. Some are Negro heads, set with rows of very white teeth – some are mermaids, showing their more presentable halves up the front of the bowls, and stowing away their weedy fundaments under the items. Some are Turkish caps – some are Russian skulls. Some are Houris, some are expressions of the French, some are Margaret Catchpoles. Some are as small as my lady’s thimble – others as large as an old Chelsea teacup. Everybody has one, from the little pinafored schoolboy to the old veteran who came out with the second batch of convicts. A cutty-bowl, like a Creole’s eye, is most prized when blackest. Tobacco, I should add here, is seldom sold in a cut form, Each man carries a cake about with him, like a card case; each boy has his stick of Cavendish, like so much candy. The cigars usually smoked are manilas, which are as cheap and good as can be met with in any part of the world. Lola Montez, during her Australian tour, spoke well of them. What stronger puff could they have than hers?

What first took my attention in Sydney, after I had sufficiently recovered from the bites of mosquitoes to show myself in public, was the air of well-to-do-ness, which characterized every thing about me. The carriages passing through the streets were quiet and elegant; the people were well and soberly dressed; the cabs on the ranks looked more like private carriages than public conveyances; even the cabmen swore and swaggered less, and chinked their money more – having, I suppose, more money to chink – than I ever noticed the fraternity chink, swagger and swear elsewhere. It was London in good spirits, as if every man had tuned up a nugget or two in his back garden.

(this was when I arrived: when I left, the roseate light had somewhat mellowed.

J R Godley – 1853:

We observed nothing very remarkable in our walk, except that there were two tamed Emus at the gate of the Domain, which the soldiers at the guardhouse were feeding with bread, and all the people, especially the women, whom we met, seemed to be smartly dressed.

J Askew – 1857:

Goats are also very frequent in Sydney, but more especially in Sussex Street, where they may be constantly seen bounding about, with their kids bleating and skipping after them.

THE GREENWAY DOCUMENTS

MSQ397 AUSTRALIAN CHRONOLOGY
Francis Greenway (Architect)
1825 Dixson private manuscripts and letters.

The Greenway documents tell of Sydney street names, Sydney characters and also of his personal fight with the Government over fees.

• In the chronology he mentions the death of John Justice who was the colony’s Town Watch for 11 years. Died 27/04/1804
• William (Billy) Blue is advertised as the Port’s only licensed Waterman –
  2/8/04
• Under 16/8/07 he details how jams Underwood, Henry Kable and Sam Lord were sentenced to a month in gaol for sending Governor Bligh an insulting letter.
• Under 1/12/1810 he provides the original street names at the time of changeover:
  
  High St
  aka Old Spring Row
  aka Sgt Major’s Row George St Windmill Row Prince Barrack St York Pitt’s Row PittChapel Row Castlereagh Back Row East PhillipBell St HunterBell RowBligh

• It was also at the time that Hyde Park was so named. It was originally The Common, Exercising Ground, Cricket Ground and Race Course
• The Main Sydney Court was built on public subscription.
• 20/2/1819 The Macquarie Place obelisk was completed by Edward Cureton who was paid forty-five pounds.
• 21/4/24 Dollars and Dumps. ‘We understand the pierced dollars, with their children the dumps, now safely lodged in the Military Chest, amount to about five thousand pound sterling. What is their destination has not yet transpired, but we believe the pierced gentlemen are not to be permitted to resume their travels in the Colony.’
• 15/05/1830 The corner of Kent and King street was commonly known as ‘Dust Hole Run’ – being a very steep slope to the cliffs at the waters edge where refuse is dumped.’
• 19/11/34 The New South Wales Temperance Society held its first public meeting on the 17^th – 200 souls present. It was called for 7pm about which time a heavy thunderstorm commenced which lasted two hours’. 

Greenway had a very public fight with Major General Macquarie over the architectural agreement. The following is an extract from a FG letter.

The town of Sydney, in the course of a few years, will most likely extend round Woolloomooloo by Surry Hills to Anson’s Point and join the land of Captain Piper. If we are not crippled by the narrow and contemptible notions of false economists, which proves more destructive to society than ever extravagance with all its evils, real economy I admire, because it is only another name for liberality, which defines every ‘private individual’, and is the basis of the real glory and success of every nation.


Greenway was given 800 acres of land as ‘remuneration for his service’ however Greenway claimed this ‘a mockery that wouldn’t even cover his travel expenses of 150 pounds. The land was at Coal River – near Newcastle.

OUR ANTIPODES

Ltn Col. Godfrey Charles Mundy
1852
Published in 3 volumes, London


“A man must be leading in Europe a very sad, solitary or unsatisfactory existence, who can, without many a pang of regret, many a sigh of painful separation, gird up his loins, shoulder his wallet, and clutch his staff, for a pilgrimage to Australia.”

“That picturesque animal, the goat, by-the-by forms a conspicuous item of the Sydney street menagerie – amounting to a pest little less dire than the plague of dogs. Nearly every cottage has its goat or family of goats. They ramble about the highways and by-ways, picking up a haphazard livelihood during the day, and going home willingly or compulsorily in the evening to be milked.

Bread 4p

Fowls 2/6 or 3/- for a pair
Turkeys 7/–9/-
Bottled English beer – 14/- a dozen.
Mention is also made of Van Diemen’s Land hay

The day-labourer of Sydney are notoriously idle, drunken, and dissolute. Earning 3/- or 4/- a day, they will work perhaps four out of the seven, and during the remainder squander their gains in drink and riot, leaving their wretched families to fend themselves as they can.

MEMENTOS OF OLD SYDNEY

scrapbook with clippings and hand-written entries.
1830

The Cabbage-Tree Mob

There are to be found all round the doors of the Sydney Theatre a sort of loafer known as the Cabbage-Tree Mob. The Cabbage-Tree Mob, are always up for a ‘spree’ and some of their pastimes are so rough an order as to deserve to be repaid with bloody coxcombs.”

Female factory

One of the great yards of the factory was devoted to laundress work. Squads of women were up their elbows in suds – carrying on the cruel process of wringing. The townsfolk may have their washing done here at 1/6 per dozen, the money going to the expenses of the institution.>

Street Cry

Stich, stich, stich,
In poverty, hunger and dirt,

Sewing at once with a double thread
A shroud as well as a shirt.

Mention is made of a storm known as ‘The Southerly Burster’ (his spelling)

Oysters were extremely popular. ‘Every inch of rock from Sydney to the Heads is thickly colonized by the delicate shellfish that is, every inch would be so peopled, but for the active extermination incessantly going on”

SMELLY OLD SYDNEY – “ON THE NOSE”

© Warren Fahey 20009

Old Sydney had a stink about it that many baby boomers will no doubt remember. Some smells were definitely, as the old-timers used to say,  ‘on the bugle’, and others full of delight and intrigue.

Firstly allow me to offer a warning to my fellow boomers: sad to say but a scary loss of smell (and taste) occurs normally with aging. This is mainly due to a degeneration of the nerves that control smell but modern lifestyle also throws the dice: nasal and sinus problems, certain medications, cigarette smoking and even head injury can also contribute to your snout’s ability to smell effectively. Once you hit fifty it’s all down hill for your olfactory nerves and taste buds, and by eighty, you’ve reduced both by half.

Come with me on a nostalgic tour of old Sydney and sniff the pongs that were high on the olfactometer register.

I spent a good deal of my youth living at Ramsgate, on Botany Bay, and if forced to nominate one single smell from those days it would be the hot potato chips sold at the Ramsgate saltwater swimming baths known by us kids as ‘Pem’s Piss Pools’. Arthur ‘Pop’ Pemberton opened the complex in 1924 and ran it for forty-five years combining swimming pools, dance venue and, believe it or not, a mini zoo. The chips, and we never called them fries, always had the accompanying smell of wombat, dingo, roo and monkey poo. They tasted delicious and were my earliest memory of takeaway food.

In those days Botany Bay hadn’t turned to sludge. ‘Bing-eye’, the local fisherman, and his family trawled most mornings and would display their catch on the beach. Dad and I, refreshed from an early morning swim , often bought bream or flathead for breakfast. The smell of fresh fish frying is hard to beat. You wouldn’t dare eat anything from Botany Bay today.

The big stink night of the year was May 24th, ‘Bonfire’, ‘Cracker’ or ‘Guy Fawkes’ Night, celebrated around Empire Day. We hauled wheelbarrows of inflammable crap up to the beach on Grand Parade and competed to see which street could mount the highest bonfire. We guarded it night and day so the ‘enemy’ didn’t pinch anything or, worse still, set it alight. Old tyres stank the most and sent up piles of horrid black smoke. It was the firecrackers themselves that we really smelt. It seemed to us that each one had a particular and distinctive smell. Double Bungers were the loudest and smelliest and Jumping Jacks smelt of gunpowder, or so we thought. Catherine Wheels were considered woosy, Tom Thumbs rat-a-tat-tat noisy and Roman Candles and Fairy Wands smelt like old farts.

Going to the corner store was also an olfactory expedition. There were very few delicatessens but there were plenty of ‘Ham and Beef’ shops. These peculiar outlets were glorified sandwich shops where all sausages were called ‘garlic sausage’ despite having hardly any garlic. Devon, mortadella and ‘fancy’ ham were sliced and eaten with Kameruka or Coon cheese on ‘tank’ loaf (because it was shaped like a water tank) or Vienna ‘high top’ slices of white bread. Strong-smelling mustard pickles were a must!

One of Sydney’s sweetest smells came from the inner-city suburb of Camperdown where, bounded by Parramatta Road, Lyons Road and Pyrmont Bridge Road, from 1891 several biscuit manufacturers ‘baked on the premises’. The most famous was Weston’s, makers of the famous ‘Wagon Wheel’ and ‘Chocolate Wheaten’, who moved there in 1951. A mere suburb away, in Balmain, your nose would have itched with the all-invading stench of soapsuds manufacturer Lever and Kitchen.

When I was a young lad my big sister often took me to Maroubra beach. My job was to walk half a mile to the small shopping strip and order takeaway lunch – usually three or four baked rabbits, depending how many were in the days surfing safari. I can still smell that shop and those stringy, gamey rabbits prepared with oregano by an elderly man known as ‘Peter the Greek’. I had hardly seen a Greek let alone tasted oregano. This was in the fifties when roasted chicken only appeared on very special occasions, like Christmas or birthdays.

It wasn’t until the early 1960s that I smelt a real delicatessen . My mother often took me to the monumental Anthony Hordern’s department store in Goulburn Street, Sydney, to shop and, if I was lucky, to the top floor cafeteria, where there were more smells than you could poke a fork at. Around the corner in Hay Street, near the wonderful Capitol Theatre, was Cyril’s Delicatessen. Opened in 1959 this cornucopia of European delight sent my nose whirling. Here I smelt smoked salmon with dill, pickled herring, exotic stinky cheese and strings of sausages that looked like nothing I had ever seen or tasted. There was also black sour bread with caraway seeds – the reason for my Jewish mother’s visit. Cyril’s is still in the same place, still smells wonderfully European, and still worth a visit. The David Jones store Food Hall was another bewildering experience for my nosey nose as I sniffed a cavalcade that included pastries, seafood, smoked meats, cheese, cakes and groceries. Later on one of those darned American-styled ‘cookies baked on the spot’ arrived and their sickly sweet smell took over most of the basement.

Another city destination was Nock and Kirby’s store on George Street. I think my mother had a thing about Joe the Gadget Man, who was quite a Sydney celebrity. The smell of this gigantic emporium of hardware was overwhelming. I sniffed nails, paints, strange woodwork tools and bibs and bobs whose function bewildered me. It was then on to The House of Hoffnung, an old fashioned wholesaler of everything and anything. They sold tobacco, golf balls, Manchester and 78 rpm recordings – and everything in between and spanned a retail history from 1852 to 1952.

The most intoxicating smell came from the window of the old Coles store in the city near King Street. It had a donut machine that was straight out of Willy Wonka as it scooped up batter and plunked them into boiling oil and we stared gob smacked as the submerged donuts sprang to life and floated merrily queuing on a metal conveyor belt headed for their multi-coloured icing. I often wonder where this extraordinary contraption ended its life. The sweetness of the donut counter followed us down the street and into our dreams.

Other city smells high on the register were the two men’s clothing stores Palmer’s (‘Palmers Will Suit You’) and the very posh Peape’s near Wynyard. Strong textile smells mixed with cigar and pipe smoke as men with bristle moustaches and blue shirts with button braces whispered, “Are you being served?”

Central Railway station was also a smelly place. Steam, fuelled by mountains of black coal, hissed and spurted along the station tracks and smelt absolutely intoxicating with its promise of travel to Terrigal, Goulburn and the Blue Mountains. In the station there was another delight under the massive sign ‘Railway Refreshment Room’. This cafeteria-style restaurant was always full of country bumpkins, over-dressed city folk and uncomfortable, rowdy children. The food was exciting for kids including the famous round railway pies, sausage rolls that looked like small house bricks, red and green jelly trifle, and the smell of strange coffee made with chicory.

Back home in Ramsgate we lived in Pasadena Street between Monterey and Hollywood Streets (I think the Town Planner had been to Los Angeles!). These were the last days of horse-drawn door-to-door deliveries where ‘John the Chinaman’ delivered fruit and vegetables so fresh the smell of celery, tomatoes and radish jumped out at you. As kids we had all been involved in ‘raids’ on the local Scarborough Park and nearby Brighton-le-Sands Chinese gardens. We squiggled down muddy canals, past cabbages and celery until we reached the holy grail – carrots – which we grabbed and hot-footed it  – out of there before the Chinese gardeners sprayed us with saltpetre bullets. Carrots never smelt or tasted sweeter. Incidentally, my father, probably to dissuade us kids from our attacks on the Chinese gardens, always told us that they used ‘night soil’ on their vegetables. It took me quite a while to work out what ‘night soil’ actually was.

For children raised chanting disgusting rhymes like ‘Captain Cook’ this probably is par for the course.

Captain Cook did a poop,
Behind the kitchen door,
His brother came and ate it up,
Then he did some more.

And there were rotten smells. I’m not sure where the colloquial expression Dutch Oven originated but all kids raised in the fifties will know it refers to that dreadful game where everyone farts under a blanket to see who can stay under the longest! And when someone broke wind the common response was: “Who flung dung?”

It is not surprising that one of our most interesting smellathons came with the annual Royal Easter Show when it was staged at Moore Park. We would run from cows to horses, chooks to pigs, pinching our noses yelling which one smelt the worst. The old showground also offered some wonderful aromas and none could beat the smell of the Tasmanian Brownell Potato Chip outlet or the Showbag Hall which simply screamed out ‘Sugar!” Sydney Showground also hosted seasons of stockcar racing on Saturday nights and the grimy exhaust smoke melded finely with the aroma of saveloys and tomato sauce that, for the curious, were not called hot dogs!

Back at Ramsgate the baker delivered daily and the smell wafting from his van was always magical, especially when the Easter hot cross buns arrived. The baker’s arrival was usually marred by my father loudly yelling, “Quick Warren!” and I knew to race with the sugar bag and shovel, chase the horse and cart, collecting the precious manure for our garden, before my chief manure competitor, Mrs O’Connell scooped it up. These were hard times for a kid.

As an older, adventurous young lad my nose led me on a merry dance through the streets of Sydney. Rowe Street’s Lincoln Coffee Shop, a favourite bohemian haunt, and nearby Penguin Bookshop were intriguing but the old Adyar Bookshop next door to the Bligh Street Art Cinema was overwhelming with incense befitting a shop that had books on fairies, astral travelling and pictures of Krishnamurti and Madame Blavatski. It was quite some years before I encountered a bookshop with so much characteristic smell and that was Bob Gould’s Goulburn Street emporium where hundreds of thousands of books precariously hung to the walls threatening to topple down on innocent readers, and the ever-present Gould, resplendid in his Bombay Bloomer floppy shorts and braces, surrounded by the smell of mostly dead people’s books.

When older I was obviously no wiser as I followed my nose into some dubious eating establishments. Repin’s Coffee Shop near Wynyard was a regular meeting place for my friends before we went to the Youth Hostels Association meetings in Clarence Street. Repin’s, a small chain, had an espresso machine before they were common. It was always “Cappuccino and Black Forest Cake”; both smelt very adult. Next were visits to the Cahill’s chain of theme restaurants: Dutch Inn, Bavarian Hofbauer House, Tudor Inn, Swiss Inn and a strange tropical island theme that I never quite understood. The food and accompanying smells I did understand since the menus were essentially the same with staff in different uniforms. A schnitzel is a schnitzel whatever you call it. Far better dining was available on ‘Greek Street’, as Elizabeth Street opposite Hyde Park was known. The Minerva was my favourite and, in the 1960s, I would sit down to aromatic stews and roasts full of garlic and oregano, strong-smelling fetta (which they served with Kalamata olives and a whole quartered onion) and finish with rose water infused custards. Delicious. The Hellenic Club offered similar delights and is still there with similar dishes.

Chinatown had enticing smells too. The old Dixon Street strip was so exotic with smells that confused red glossy roasted ducks with weird drain stench, fresh market greens with strange bundles of pungent herbs. This was heady stuff for any adventurer. One favourite was the Malaya Restaurant when it was on George Street and resembled a railway tunnel, complete with brown walls and enough spicy smells to tease any appetite. 

When I eventually moved back to Paddington in the late nineteen sixties, the nearby suburb of Darlinghurst had a peculiar smell that took me some time to nasally navigate – it was the Sergeant’s Pie Factory. A massive complex on Liverpool Street, this was the home of those then familiar round pies beloved of genuine Aussie pie eaters. Rich in gravy and chewy meat these pies smelt heavenly, as did their factory. I was born in Paddington and lived there most of my working life. It had a history of smells, mostly unpleasant, that reflected its terraced housing with outdoor dunnies, which were too close for comfort, and its past as a centre for small industry. The overriding smell up the Paddington nose in the fifties and early sixties was, like much of the inner city, that of coke – the black fuel  – not the white stuff. Bags of coke were delivered into the suburb for heating and hot water systems and the stench permeated the surrounding suburbs.

Another local smell was burnt snags and steak for this was the grand period of the 1960s and 70s when Paddo’s pubs had beer gardens open to the sky, and cooking your own meat on the pub’s BBQ was almost a sport. You’d buy your steak, snags and chops and compete with two-dozen other determined ‘self cookers’. Great fun but all banished (along with jazz, poetry and folk music) when the hotels went all posh, closed in their gardens to make ‘restaurant dining areas’ and installed dull-sounding recorded music. And if that didn’t stink I don’t know what does!

Most of these old Sydney smells have disappeared up exhaust fans or been replaced by even nastier smelling chemically charged room deodorisers. The smells are gone but the memories linger on.