From the late 18^th century, Canada was divided into two British-ruled provinces known as Upper and Lower Canada. Lower Canada was part of the former French territory in the North Americas known as “New France”  – it was ceded to the British in 1763 following the Seven Years War (1756-1763). It included the present day French-speaking province of Quebec.

Although British ruled the sparsely populated province of Lower Canada, the majority of the population was French. In reaction to British rule, a “revolutionary secret society pledged to restore sovereignty to … settlers from France and their Canadian born descendants” was formed, led by Louis-Joseph Papineau and others.

The first rebellion took place in 1837, with a second one following in November 1838. The patriots, as the rebels were called, were no match for the British forces. They were outnumbered by the British troops, but nor were they well armed: weaponry included antique guns, pikes and scythes. The uprising was a failure.

Eventually, the ringleaders and others involved in the rebellion were captured and tried for treason.Those found guilty initially faced the death penalty. But by September 1839, the patriots who had not been hung were reprieved. Fifty-eight of the French-Canadian patriots were transported to Australia aboard the HMS Buffalo, along with prisoners from another rebellion in Upper Canada who were disembarked in Tasmania.

After a five month journey, they arrived in Sydney in February 1840. Two months later, convict transportation to New South Wales ceased, making them some of the last convicts to be transported.

It was initially planned that the rebel patriots from Lower Canada would be sent to Norfolk Island, but following the intervention of a local priest, they were sent to the Longbottom Stockade on the site of today’s Concord Oval. The stockade had previously been the half-way stopping point between Sydney and Parramatta, but had fallen into disuse and disrepair by the time the French-Canadians arrived to Sydney.

Although they faced prejudice and discrimination because of their convictions for treason and their religious beliefs (they were Roman Catholics), the convicts would make good through deed and character once in Australia.

They were sentenced to hard labour, set to work breaking rocks for road making. But as the commander of the stockade, Harry Baddiley, was corrupt, they were soon given privileges and found other ways to augment their income.

One of the most lucrative sources of alternative income was collecting shells along the foreshores of the Parramatta River, which were sold and used for making lime. Sydney was then undergoing a building boom, and lime was an essential ingredient for making mortar.

Despite making the most of their situation – the extra money they earned meant they could bake bread, make French stews and experiment with wine making – most experienced homesickness.

Within a year of living at the stockade, the convicts were assigned, meaning they could leave the confines of the stockade and work for private employers. By 1844, most had received their Ticket of Leave. Within ten years, all but three had returned to Canada – two had died, and another stayed on in Australia, marrying and raising a large family in the Illawarra.

Canada Bay, Exile Bay, France Bay and several street and park names nearby commemorate the French-Canadian exiles, and their link to Sydney.

On board the barque Tartar sailing out of Boston, USA was a cargo of ice, cut straight out of the frozen lakes of the American north.  250 tons made it through out of an original 400 and this was soon converted into ice drinks and iced punch for the Sydney summer crowd. 

The ice was a sensation in Sydney’s sweltering summer heat with crowds flocking to Thomas Dunsdon’s confectionary shop in George Street to get some of its cool goodness.

The frozen water trade was one of Sydney’s more usual imports of the nineteenth century.  However the long sea voyage also made it difficult and only two shipments made it in 1839 and 1840.  The ice that did get here though was sold as far away as Newcastle, Wollongong and out to Windsor.

In March 1853 another load arrived, 366 tons in all.  Newspaper advertisements proclaimed its benefits as a healthy additive, particularly in water.  Sydney has always been a party town, but that’s still a big effort for a cold drink.

By now the insulation on ships had improved so more ice got made it.  Once here, insulated cool rooms meant the ice survived longer, with the latest shipment lasting until late October.  Just two months later another ice ship arrived, just in time for Christmas, with enough for iced sherry cobblers, iced brandy smashers, iced lemonade and soda water all round. 

Curiously at least one ship returned with 250 tons of ice on board for sale in the San Francisco gold fields for the northern summer.

Still ice ships kept coming through 1854, 1855 and 1856, with possibly the first import of chilled fruit coming in the form of American apples in June 1856.  But by now there was serious competition from a new fangled contraption ­ an ice machine!

A Scot by the name of James Harrison arrived in Sydney via Melbourne in 1860 to form the Sydney Ice Company with the engineers PN Russell and Company.  It only lasted a year but people saw the potential.  In 1862 the defunct company was bought out by a newly arrived French engineer Eugene Nicolle and his partners, the Wilkinson brothers.  They built a new ice plant in Darlinghurst (remembered in the name Ice Street), opening in early 1863.  Nicolle’s technique used a mix of ammonia and water, with a cooling effect produced as the ammonia was absorbed by the water.  The ammonia could be removed from the water by boiling and recycled.  Soon enough Nicolle was patenting his refrigeration machines and once he had convinced local auctioneer, engineer and pastoral financier Thomas Sutcliffe Mort of its merits, he had a wealthy backer. 

By now it was more than just ice for drinks.  Nicolle’s machines could potentially open up a whole new trade ­ frozen meat exports to England.  Australia by the 1870s had a lot of animals to sell and not enough people to eat them.  If refrigeration could be perfected, not only could excess meat be stored but it could also be sent by ship to overseas markets.  However Nicolle’s techniques were never fully adapted to work on board ship.  His machines leaked or corroded at sea, so his work was largely confined to the shore. 

Mort used this process to open a large cold store at Darling Harbour in 1875, supplied by his abattoir 100 miles away.  The carcasses were bought in specially refrigerated train wagons and frozen for export.  He also made ice on site and stored dairy foods.  It was a success but one neither Mort nor Nicolle enjoyed for long.  Mort died in 1878 and Nicolle retired the same year.

Interior views of Mort's meat-preserving establishment June 12, 1876

One last break through was yet to come.  Brothers Thomas and Andrew McIlwraith and their partner Malcolm McEacharn, who were graziers and ship-owners fitted a Scottish designed refrigeration unit into one of their ships out of Sydney in 1879.  Loaded with 40 ton of meat it sailed for London via Melbourne in December.  When it arrived in London in February the meat was perfectly fine; it was cooked and eaten at a celebratory lunch with well reported in the London press. It was the beginning of the meat trade for Australia and the rest of the world.

Now we all have freezers and fridges.  Ice water, cold beer, frozen meat, chilled fruit is part of the everyday for most of us.  It’s a bit amazing really and even more so to think it started by cutting ice out a frozen lake halfway around the world.

In January 1839 a ship came through the heads of Sydney with a cargo never before seen and one that would change the very fabric of the colonial society.  On board the barque Tartar sailing out of Boston, USA was a cargo of ice, cut straight out of the frozen lakes of the American north.  250 tons made it through out of an original 400 and this was soon converted into ice drinks and iced punch for the Sydney summer crowd.  The ice was a sensation in Sydney’s sweltering summer heat with crowds flocking to Thomas Dunsdon’s confectionary shop in George Street to get some of its cool goodness.

The frozen water trade was one of Sydney’s more usual imports of the nineteenth century.  However the long sea voyage also made it difficult and only two shipments made it in 1839 and 1840.  The ice that did get here though was sold as far away as Newcastle, Wollongong and out to Windsor.

In March 1853 another load arrived, 366 tons in all.  Newspaper advertisements proclaimed its benefits as a healthy additive, particularly in water.  Sydney has always been a party town, but that’s still a big effort for a cold drink.

By now the insulation on ships had improved so more ice got made it.  Once here, insulated cool rooms meant the ice survived longer, with the latest shipment lasting until late October.  Just two months later another ice ship arrived, just in time for Christmas, with enough for iced sherry cobblers, iced brandy smashers, iced lemonade and soda water all round. 

Curiously at least one ship returned with 250 tons of ice on board for sale in the San Francisco gold fields for the northern summer.

Still ice ships kept coming through 1854, 1855 and 1856, with possibly the first import of chilled fruit coming in the form of American apples in June 1856.  But by now there was serious competition from a new fangled contraption ­ an ice machine!

A Scot by the name of James Harrison arrived in Sydney via Melbourne in 1860 to form the Sydney Ice Company with the engineers PN Russell and Company.  It only lasted a year but people saw the potential.  In 1862 the defunct company was bought out by a newly arrived French engineer Eugene Nicolle and his partners, the Wilkinson brothers.  They built a new ice plant in Darlinghurst (remembered in the name Ice Street), opening in early 1863.  Nicolle’s technique used a mix of ammonia and water, with a cooling effect produced as the ammonia was absorbed by the water.  The ammonia could be removed from the water by boiling and recycled.  Soon enough Nicolle was patenting his refrigeration machines and once he had convinced local auctioneer, engineer and pastoral financier Thomas Sutcliffe Mort of its merits, he had a wealthy backer. 

By now it was more than just ice for drinks.  Nicolle’s machines could potentially open up a whole new trade ­ frozen meat exports to England.  Australia by the 1870s had a lot of animals to sell and not enough people to eat them.  If refrigeration could be perfected, not only could excess meat be stored but it could also be sent by ship to overseas markets.  However Nicolle’s techniques were never fully adapted to work on board ship.  His machines leaked or corroded at sea, so his work was largely confined to the shore. 

Mort used this process to open a large cold store at Darling Harbour in 1875, supplied by his abattoir 100 miles away.  The carcasses were bought in specially refrigerated train wagons and frozen for export.  He also made ice on site and stored dairy foods.  It was a success but one neither Mort nor Nicolle enjoyed for long.  Mort died in 1878 and Nicolle retired the same year.

One last break through was yet to come.  Brothers Thomas and Andrew McIlwraith and their partner Malcolm McEacharn, who were graziers and ship-owners fitted a Scottish designed refrigeration unit into one of their ships out of Sydney in 1879.  Loaded with 40 ton of meat it sailed for London via Melbourne in December.  When it arrived in London in February the meat was perfectly fine; it was cooked and eaten at a celebratory lunch with well reported in the London press. It was the beginning of the meat trade for Australia and the rest of the world.

Now we all have freezers and fridges.  Ice water, cold beer, frozen meat, chilled fruit is part of the everyday for most of us.  It’s a bit amazing really and even more so to think it started by cutting ice out a frozen lake halfway around the world.

want to read some more? Check the Sydney Journal out.

Fowles arrived in Sydney with his wife Emily and infant daughter in 1838, an immigrant onboard the barque Fortune, one of many immigrants arriving in the 1830s.  Sydney at the time was still a convict town, although one that was getting its act together, with wide regular streets, high street shops and some fine buildings.  However it still also had open sewers running through the streets, mud flats around the quay and other rudimentary features.

Still, Fowles was enchanted by the place.  He and his family rented a farm at Hunters Hill, growing fruit and vegetables which he would bring to market in his small sailing skiff.  Fowles was a keen sailor, documenting his little boat in his journal.  

Joseph Fowles in his boat on the way to market

Being an artist, Fowles made some money painting ships in Sydney, engaging with his two passions of art and the sea.  Racehorses were another passion and feature regularly in his work (indeed Fowles opened the first major racing stable at Randwick racecourse in 1861).

Fowles was in love with his new home, and was offended by the ongoing poor reports in the London press about Sydney’s convict past.  In 1848 Fowles set out to remedy this by using his talents to capture in fine architectural detail, the principal streets and buildings of Sydney in a series of etchings. 

Fowles, over months, presented the streets in series of elevations showing both sides of the street.  He said the purpose was to remove the erroneous and discreditable notions current in England, and to represent Sydney as it really is with spacious gas lit streets, sumptuous shops and a thriving population.

The publication was an instant hit in Sydney, with people buying copies of the street they lived in or worked in to send home to relatives in England.  The press puffed up with civic pride, possibly for the first time about their city.

Pitt St in Fowles' 'Sydney in 1848'. His fine details are still referred to by historians and architects.

Fowles’ reputation as a fine artist was secured.  With his book in place, he was soon after to begin a teaching career in drawing that took him through to the end of his life in 1878.  Teaching at private schools, at the Sydney Mechanics School of Arts and then as drawing master for the Board of National Education and the Council of Education (forerunners of the NSW Department of Education), Fowles was referred to as the father of drawing in Sydney.  His textbooks that he wrote for his course were adopted by the public school system and used well after his death.

There is much more to say about Joseph Fowles, and normally I would tell you.  But this time I direct you to the Dictionary of Sydney, a large and growing online history of all things Sydney (which we also like to contribute to).

 Half the fun is the venue.  Have you noticed how many modern cinemas have little architectural touches that look a bit retro or even art deco?  My guess is they are trying to capture some of the romance of the picture palaces that once dominated Sydney’s entertainment scene.

 The first cinema experience forSydney residents was in November 1894, when an enterprising entrepreneur set up 5 of Thomas Edison’s fabulous kinetoscopes in his shop onGeorge Street.  The kinetoscope was basically a box with a viewer, that you could look into and see a 35mm film in continuous motion.  A bit basic but it did the trick and projected the first moving images anyone had witnessed.  22,000 visitors over 5 weeks saw such classics as ‘The Boxing Cats’, the ‘Blacksmiths Forge’ the ‘Cock Fight’ and the ‘Shaving Match’.

 In 1896 a new wonder arrived; Lumiere’s Cinematographe direct fromParis.  A Monsieur Marius Sestier converted a shop front into a temporary cinema in September to show the first projected film in Sydney.  Accompanied by the Lyceum theatre orchestra, crowds were delighted at scenes of London’s changing of the guard, workmen demolishing a wall and a train coming into a station.Sydney’s love affair with the movies was born.

 As technology improved, more venues opened.  The first permanent cinemas appeared in 1907 in converted theatres, with the first purpose built cinema opening in George Street in 1909.  Throughout the 20^th century, the cinemas were drawn to George or Pitt Street, taking advantage of the trains, trams and buses that converged there.

 With one cinema, came two, then more and more.  By 1916 there were 22 in the CBD (all in George and Pitt), 12 on the fringes around Darlinghurst, Surry Hills and Paddington and another 97 in the suburbs.   A few owners were also involved in movie production, such as the Pugliese family who ran the Alhambra in George Street. Most theatres had a capacity of over 1000 people, so that was a lot of bums on seats.  Many of the earliest suburban cinemas were actually open air, with a screen and bench seats enclosed by a fence.  These were later roofed over to make cinemas.

 In the 1920s and 1930s as Hollywood began to grow and the glamour that went with it spread to Australia, new architecturally designed cinemas began to be built, reflecting the fantasy world of the movies.  Huge picture palaces with the latest art deco design, the best sound, comfortable seats, candy bars and other modern features appeared. 

The largest were being built by cinema companies such as Greater Union, a Sydney based cinema group formed in 1912 through the amalgamation of 4 smaller companies Greater JD Williams, Spencers Ltd, Wests Ltd & Amalgamated Pictures,  their rivals Hoyts from Melbourne, or smaller operators like Kings who ran suburban cinemas.  Greater Union built the ultimate survivor of this era, the State Theatre.

Kings Bondi Beach cinema with its art deco stylings, now sadly gone.

 Going to the cinema was a regular event in a time when there were not as many entertainment options.  All the cinemas had live music to accompany the action before the talkies or later to introduce the session and play between the shows.  The ticket price included a newsreel (essential in the years before the TV news), a cartoon or short, often a weekly serial (mostly cowboys or gangsters) to keep the punters coming back and then the main feature.  The last remnants of this style of experience remain at the Cremorne Orpheum with its fantastic Wurlitzer Organ. 

 Although the cinemas have struggled in recent years, with competition from TV, DVDs, games and downloads, as well as the homogenising effect of the big chains, there are still a few independent and small operators around that value the experience as much as the movie.  And if you go to these on the right night, to see the right movie you can glimpse for a few moments the glory days of the picture palace.

Construction on Long Bay Gaol, late 19th Century (Randwick Local Studies Library)

One of the features that made Long Bay Gaol unique was that it was planned – and built – as separate male and female institutions. The complex was designed by the NSW Government Architect, Walter Liberty Vernon, and was the physical expression of Captain Frederick Neitenstein’s ideas about prison reform. Neitenstein, as the Inspector-General of Prisons from 1896 through to 1909, oversaw prison administration in NSW during this period.

Entrance to Long Bay Gaol before the 1950s (Randwick Local Studies Library)

Compared to earlier 19th century gaols, Long Bay was designed to improve the physical comfort of the prisoner – the cells were larger, there was electric lighting, and the sanitary arrangements were more hygienic.

Neitenstein, who had earlier worked with male juvenile offenders on the Vernon and Sobraon industrial school ships, advocated the principle of “restricted association”. This meant that prisoners ate their meals alone in their cells, but were allowed to associate during work, exercise and at church services. It was a departure from the Separate and Silent Systems favoured previously.

Associated with “restricted association” was the classification and separation of the prison population. For example, young first-time offenders and drunkards were to be separated from hardened or habitual criminals. Neitenstein also believed that work was central to reform. As a result, Long Bay Gaol had extensive workshops, with prisoners carrying out a range of jobs from baking bread to mat making.

The first building at Long Bay Gaol housed female prisoners and was known as the “Female Reformatory”‘. Construction on it began in 1901 and it was ready for occupation in 1909. The first prisoners were transferred from Biloela on Cockatoo Island, and Darlinghurst Gaol. The male prison was completed five years later, in 1914. Although Neitenstein retired just months after the gaol first opened in 1909, the legacy of his reforms in the NSW prison system continued over the 20th century.

By the mid to late 20th century, Long Bay was becoming increasingly overcrowded  – it was the principal prison and remand centre in NSW. To ease the overcrowding, female prisoners were moved to Mulawa at Silverwater in 1969. Around this time, planning was underway for a maximum security block to be built within the Long Bay Gaol complex which was built in secret.

Drawing by Patrick Cook during the movement to close Katingal, titled "A Big Country" (National Library of Australia)

Officially named Katingal but generally referred to as the “Electronic Zoo”, it was completed in 1975. The building was designed for violent prisoners, including top protection cases. Prisoners were locked up to house in special cells without any windows or natural light, and without the programs or privileges available to prisoners at other gaols. They were constantly monitored by cameras. All the doors were electronically operated, food was passed through hatches and prisoners were not allowed direct contact with prison officers. Katingal closed in 1978, just three years after it opened, as a result of the Nagle Royal Commission. It was finally demolished in 2006.

From 1929, with the collapse of world markets and the onset of the Great Depression social and political tensions increased.  In NSW unemployment reached a massive 31% in 1931 and people began to genuinely fear there might be a revolution, like had already happened in Russia and almost in Germany. 

The question was from which side of the political spectrum would it come-the left or the right?

Both the left and the right had their groups of fighters. 

However, while the left had paramilitary groups such as the Workers Defence Corps, the Australian Labor Army, the Ex-Service Men’s Defence Corps and the Unemployed Workers Movement, their numbers were never more than a few hundred up to a couple of thousand and the threat was more perceived then real (although the ALA did manage to get 30,000 workers to a rally in the Domain in March 1931). 

They did however encourage right wing paramilitary groups to emerge. 

 From soon after the end of WWI, ex-soldiers, officers and prominent financial and business men were involved in the organisation of a series of groups that culminated in the most public manifestation- New Guard. 

A forerunner of the New Guard was known (unsurprisingly) as the Old

Jack Lang as seen by the New Guard's magazine, The New Guard, Jan 1932.

Guard.  Formed in Sydney in 1930, the Old Guard was a secret paramilitary organisation established in direct response to the re-election of the Labor Government of JT Lang in NSW.  The Guard saw Lang as a dangerous communist who was threatening private property, people’s bank savings and taking the state towards a communist regime. 

The Old Guard rarely came out in the open, preferring rather to use their political influence, remain vigilant and be there for the police if a situation got out of control.  Many did however arm themselves and carried out military training on the rural properties of its members.  Old Guard groups grew in all the major cities in NSW as well as larger regional and rural centres until an estimated 30,000 were involved.

Eric Campbell leading the New Guard at Sydney Town Hall, Feb 1932

While this was going on, in Europe the fascist party of Mussolini in Italy and the Nazis in Germany were gaining strength.  Many on the right in Australia looked to them as an inspiration in the tough times and sought to emulate them.

Out of this grew the New Guard, formed in February 1931 by Eric Campbell, a disgruntled ex soldier and Old Guard member.   Within three months it claimed 20,000 members, and the end of 1932 boasted up to 50,000.  In Sydney they were spread across 93 suburban branches with a particular focus on the North Shore, the Eastern Suburbs and the Parramatta area.  The organisation was arranged on military lines with Sydney was divided into 4 zones of control.  The Guard’s enemies thought they were getting ready for a coup.

Things began to hot up and fall apart in 1932.  In February, 40 cars with 200 guardsmen attempted to break up communist meeting in Bankstown, only to be driven off by picnickers at a nearby Labor carnival and several hundred local residents.  This was followed in March by Francis De Groot riding through the official party at the opening of the Sydney Harbour Bridge to cut the ribbon before Premier Lang had the chance. 

Although many saw it as an odd stunt it was an act of very public defiance by a man dressed in military uniform. 

A disillusioned member, GD Treloar, then claimed that the New Guard was planning to overthrow the state, which in turn led to police surveillance being upgraded.  This threat appeared to be materialising in May, when members of the secretive Fascist Legion, an elite strike force of the New Guard, bashed Jack Garden of the Australian Communist Party and close associate of the Premier. 

The New Guard's Fascist Legion as depicted in the 'Labor Daily' newspaper, May 1932

These thugs were a little too close to the street brawlers of Hitler’s Nazi party and the increasing militancy of the leadership spooked many members and those remaining Old Guard.

A claim of a plot to kidnap members of Lang’s Government and imprison them in Berrima Gaol led to further disenchantment, increasing public hostility and a series of police raids.  Inevitably perhaps it was internal fighting that split the group, this and the dismissal and then electoral defeat of the Lang Government in June. 

With the New Guard looking increasingly like a fascist organisation (Nazi salutes at rallies and identification armbands didn’t help), Campbell toured Europe in January 1933 contacting British, Italian and German fascist leaders. 

Campbell returned to Australia and forced out any moderate members of the New Guard.  He even complained to the German Embassy that his signed photo of Hitler had not turned up as promised. However with the Lang Government gone and the worst of the Depression now over, the movement stalled and then faded away. 

By 1935 it had all but disappeared.  Still it’s a scary idea to think NSW was on a path that included the likes of the New Guard.

 If you want some more in depth history on the subject, check out Robert Darlington, 1983, Eric Campbell and the New Guard, Kangaroo Press; Andrew Moore, 1989, The Secret Army and the Premier, NSWU Press; Keith Amos, 1976, The New Guard Movement 1931-1935, Melbourne University Press.

North Head – named because it is the northernmost headland at the entrance to Sydney Harbour – was chosen as a quarantine ground and hospital because it was relatively isolated. Although difficult to access by road, one of the reasons for choosing this site is that it had water access, and a place where ships could berth.

From the 1830s, any ship entering Sydney Harbour with infectious diseases on board – either suspected or diagnosed – had to be quarantined at North Head for up to 40 days. The Quarantine Station was intended for the containment and treatment of people who had infectious diseases as well as those who came in contact with them. Once cleared of disease, the new arrivals were able to move into society.

In the period from 1788 through to the 1820s, the quarantine of ship stock, crew and passengers in NSW had been at the discretion of the Governor. Its application had been ad hoc and informal, largely because most of the ships coming to Sydney were convict transports. This all changed when free settlers arrived to NSW in greater numbers.

In 1825, the English Parliament had passed quarantine legislation which automatically became law in NSW. But in 1832, NSW passed its own Quarantine Act. With this new legislation in place, quarantine became a statutory requirement for all ships entering Sydney Harbour.

The new legislation streamlined the process for preventing the spread of infectious disease through quarantine. This was a time when most of the ships arriving to Sydney carried either free settlers or commercial cargo, and delays in disembarking passengers and cargo meant lost time and money. The shipping companies sought to recoup these losses by charging a compensation fee known as demurrage.

North Head Quarantine Station 1909 (National Archives of Australia)

NSW maintained its  policy of quarantine for identifying, separating, containing and treating those with an infectious disease, or those who had come into contact with them, throughout the 19th century. In comparison, quarantine was phased out in England as a public health measure during this time.

This difference in practice was largely because the only way to travel to Australia was by boat in the 19th century. The long travel time from England or Europe meant any shipboard diseases could be detectable. The types of diseases prevalent in this period included whooping-cough, typhoid, smallpox, measles and cholera.

Doctors & nurses at Quarantine Station dressed for protection in 1919 (Manly Local Studies Image Library)

As commercial shipping to NSW increased over the 19th century, and as more people immigrated here, the Quarantine Station at North Head expanded to meet the need. In 1909, quarantine became a Commonwealth responsibility, and two years later, the Quarantine Station at North Head was transferred to the ownership of the Commonwealth Government.

There were a number of outbreaks of infectious disease in the early 20^th century, which added to the pressure for space at North Head. These included the annual outbreaks of Bubonic Plague from 1900 through to the early 1920s, a smallpox epidemic in 1913-16 and the Spanish Influenza pandemic of 1919.

From the early 1920s until the mid 1980s, there was a dramatic drop in the number of people sent to the North Head Quarantine Station, even though arrivals to Australia had increased. This change was in part due to a better understanding of the aetiologies (or causes) of infectious disease, and how its spread was related to hygiene and sanitation. As well, vaccines had been developed for some infectious diseases by this time. In more recent times, travellers to Australia arrived by plane. Between the 1830s and 1984, around 580 vessels were quarantined at North Head, as compared with only four ships between 1946 and 1980.

North Head Quarantine Station was closed in 1984, and the land and buildings here reverted to the ownership of the National Parks and Wildlife Service. A fancy hotel and conference centre now occupies the former quarantine buildings, and there are regular nightly ghost tours, if that sort of thing takes your fancy…

Although it is now associated with area like the Hunter Valley, the Barossa or Margaret River, the industry started and for a long time flourished, in Sydney.

 The first vines came with Governor Philip on the First Fleet. With no home grown wine industry in Britain, the Colonial authorities were keen to see the development of wine growing in the new colony. Phillip planted his vines close to the Government House near present day Macquarie Street. Although the soil was not great, and the proximity to the harbour made the vines susceptible to fungus, the vines were the basis of the Australian wine industry.

 Phillip saw the potential, if a little before its time, when he wrote in his journal: In a climate so favourable, the cultivation of the vine may doubtless be carried to any degree of perfection and should no other articles of commerce divert the settlers from this part, the wines of New South Wales may perhaps, here after be sought with civility and become an indispensible part of the luxury of European tables. (Norrie:1990, p19)

With the move of agriculture west to Rose Hill (Parramatta) later in 1788, cuttings from Phillips vines went as well and were soon planted on the Government farm as well as the early estates. By 1791, the vines were producing fruit, and by 1800 some wine had been made, although of fairly ordinary character.

The main problem seems to have been a lack of experienced wine makers. To remedy this, two French prisoners of war were transported to NSW to make wine, but their boasts were bigger than their skills and no decent wine came of it.

Vineyard at Gladesville ASylum c1900

Despite this, the popularity of wine among the gentry meant that most colonial farms included a vineyard. Vines were planted extensively on George Johnston’s farm Annandale, on James Bowman’s Lyndhurst Estate at Glebe, at Vaucluse House, on Gregory Blaxland’s Brush Farm at Ermington, at the Gladesville Asylum and in the Botanic Gardens. The Botanic Gardens vines were planted by James Busby from cuttings he collected all over Europe. Busby transferred some of his Chardonnay collection to his Hunter Valley property, which started the industry there.

It was in western Sydney however that the most successful colonial vineyards grew. From at least 1794 John Macarthur was growing vines at Camden. Although more closely associated with the development of the Australian sheep industry, Macarthur and his son William, were instrumental in Sydney’s early wine growing.

Macarthur and sons realised that a lack of experience was holding them (and the rest of Sydney) back, and so in 1815 undertook a European tour through France and Switzerland to study wine making and vine growing techniques. By 1828 Macarthur had sent samples to be tasted in England (although his rival Gregory Blaxland had sent some in 1822) but it wasn’t until the mid 1830s, when William brought out 20 German families to tend his grapes that anything resembling a decent drop was produced.

In 1851 William sent bottles to the London Exhibition, included a verdelho and a riesling and followed this with the Paris Exhibition in 1855. In Paris, with William there to spruik, the wines finally achieved success, with judges unexpectedly praising their quality. Queen Victoria, in attendance, ordered some bottles be sent to her table. When this was reported in the London Times, the success of William’s wines and Australian wines in general was assured.

William and other colonial growers were overrun with orders and by the close of 1855 25,000 gallons of Sydney wine was being exported into the UK.

Picking the vintage at Minchinbury, 1939

By the late 1800s, disease and the opening of the Hunter had seen Sydney’s industry largely disappear, but not totally. In 1990 there were eight vineyards still producing wine in Sydney’s west. Camden Bridge Farm, established by one of William’s Germans, was still producing, Gledswood at Camden which had planted grapes as early as the 1820s was still going, while the Minchinbury estate, first planted in the mid 1860s was still going strong until 1978, after which a fire destroyed the Cellar complex in 1987. The name survives as a suburb, as does one other-Vineyard near Windsor.

Today six vineyards continue to produce wine around Camden, Luddenham and Windsor. So next time you go wine tasting head west for a historic tipple.

Gambling was very much a feature of the Industrial Revolution. It was reliant on working people having a disposable income to spend and the leisure time in which to spend it. The many types of betting and gaming that became popular in the 19th century in Australia, England and America included fan tan, pak-ah-pu, bingo, black jack, cards, horse racing, greyhound racing, and games of chance.

Harlem Blackbird Nat Cole playing a poker machine, 1955 (State Library of NSW)

But those in authority tended to have an ambivalent attitude towards gambling, teetering between toleration and punishment. For the most part, gambling was considered to be a social problem usually based on a dim perception of the working classes and what they got up to. But while gambling was generally condemned, not all its forms were declared illegal.

But to the topic at hand: poker machines.

Poker machines can trace their history to the ‘slot machine’ invented in America by Charles Fey in the late 19th century. They were also called ‘fruit machines’, ‘jackpot machines’ and ‘poker machines’, and were nicknamed the ‘one armed bandit’ because of they way they were played.

Poker machines offers the player a  game of chance: a machine has three reels with up to 10 pictures on each which spin when a coin is inserted, and a lever is pulled or a button is pushed. The machines ‘pay out’ or ‘jackpot’ when three pictures to line up vertically.

Although poker machines were illegal in NSW until 1956, some of the first poker machines were imported here from Chicago  in 1929 by Lionel L Smith of Automatic Machines Ltd. The machines were installed in various pubs and hotels around Sydney, and protection money was collected from the publications as immunity from prosecution. When the poker machines were removed from these drinking establishments – they were outlawed under both the Liquor Act and the Gaming Act – the Hospitals Commission was approached.

The plan was  to install the ‘fruit machines’ in the State’s hospitals as a way of raising funds. This plan soon came unstuck and it led to a royal commission into  fruit machines and greyhound racing, and NSW Premier Jack Lang’s policy of  raising Government funding through revenue from gambling. But after 1956, when poker machines became legal, they became a socially acceptable form of gambling and the associated stigma faded. Today, the NSW Government rakes in millions of dollars from the proceeds from gambling, around 75% from clubs and the rest from pubs.

Greyhound coursing in NSW during the 19th century ( Illustrated Sydney News c1875, NLA, nla.pic-an9653862)

One of the main promoters of greyhound coursing in Sydney was Walter Lamb, a businessman and pastoralist. He introduced a more regulated form of coursing in the 1850s, called Plumpton coursing, named after his estate near Rooty Hill. In this type of coursing, the dogs competed against each other in a rectangular field, and the judge presided from a tower set at one side of the track. This change in the rules meant that coursing became more of a ‘spectator and gambling’ sport. And in 1906, in a bid to regulate gambling, coursing was restricted to licensed grounds and there were a limited number of racing dates. These restrictions were also applied to trotting and racing horses.

Monkeys ride on the backs of greyhounds as they jump the hurdles at Shepherd's Bush Greyhound track at Mascot, Sydney, 1928 (NLA, nla.pic-vn3308231)

In 1927, so-called mechanical ‘tin hare’ racing was introduced to NSW by the shady figure of Frederick Shaver Swindell. The American born impresario was more commonly known as  ‘Judge’ Swindell. The ‘tin hare’ had been invented by Owen P. Smith in 1910, and was popular in America and England following the First World War.

Instead of the dogs chasing a live animal, they instead chased a mechanically propelled lure which was mounted on a track. The greatest change to the sport was that it became a race, not a hunt, with up to eight dogs competing against each other.

With the introduction of mechanical lures to replace live hares in 1927, greyhound racing became an immensely popular working class pastime.  Former Premier of NSW, Jack Lang, called the greyhound the ‘working man’s racehorse’. For breeders and trainers, the greyhound was easy to keep in small backyards in the inner city, the dogs were cheap to feed, groom and train, and they offered the opportunity of wealth to the everyman. For animal welfare groups, the innovation let the rabbits and hares off the hook.

Swindell formed a propriety company, whereby shareholders received profits, to promote the new sport. The first race using the ‘tin hare’ lure was held ‘under lights’ at Harold Park in May 1927. It proved immediately popular, attracting crowds of up to 30,000 people, with over 180 bookies on the grounds to take bets. In 1928, a second greyhound track was opened at Mascot, known as Shepherd’s Bush.

Greyhound racing, especially evening race meetings, appealed to the largely working class crowds because it didn’t eat into their work hours. Moreover, there were no toffee upper classes in attendance to ruin their fun,  the admission prices were cheap and punters were able to bet in small amounts.

Greyhound racing at Wentworth Park, 1949 (NAA A1200, L12271)

But this ‘sport of the masses’ quickly drew critics. For the conservatives, this criticism was based on moral outrage at the gambling habits of the working classes, although the Australian Jockey Club were none too pleased by the competition with its audience for horse racing.

In October 1927, the incoming Bavin government made gambling after sunset illegal which meant that there could be no evening greyhound races. The government also restricted the number of licensed venues in Sydney. The sport languished somewhat, although it is likely that unofficial coursing was taking place throughout Sydney. Jack Lang was re-elected in 1930 and legalised gambling at greyhound race meetings.  But his government’s associations with Swindell, who had been implicated in allegations of bribery and share manipulation in his proprietary company, led to a Royal Commission in 1932 into both greyhound racing and fruit machines.

Lang was dismissed from office soon after, and although the new goverment vowed to crack down on the gambling associated with the greyhounds, the sport continued and became increasingly popular. A second greyhound track was opened at Wentworth Park in 1938. Between the 1950s and 70s, the race meetings at both Harold Park and Wentworth attracted crowds of up 8,000.

The last greyhounds were raced at Harold Park in 1987, when operations were moved to Wentworth Park.  Although a large grandstand was built here in anticipation of ever increasing crowds, the legalisation of off-course betting – which meant that you didn’t have to go to the track to place a bet – meant that the crowds vanished almost overnight.

While you won’t see the crowds of yesteryear at the ‘Wenty Dogs’ these days, the sport of greyhound racing continues to put over $50 million into the NSW state coffers each year.  Pity they are nicer to the dogs!