- Sydney Past & Present - - The City Of Sydney - - The Stories Of Its Growth -
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Chapter XII.
Sporting In The Forties.
From time to time during the course of this chronicle a glance has been taken at the sports of the people, and the progress of horse-racing, yachting, etc., among them noted. Early cricket was also touched upon, as seen then, in a rather crude and incomplete condition; but during the forties more interest was taken in cricket than at any prior period. It may, indeed, from that time be said to become the Australian game par excellence. Some years ago Mr. Harry Hilliard says: “There were perhaps, in this year (1843) 100 cricketers in Sydney. Messrs. W. and R. still were both fine bats, as was also a gentleman named Palmer, connected with banking. I myself was also accounted an excellent bat. Rowley, a cabinetmaker, was the crack bowler, underhand, of course. His bowling had a natural break of five or six inches from leg. Oh! I can tell you that Rowley would have puzzled a lot of our modern bats—for a while, anyhow.” Of course, in these days there was no foot ball; horseracing seem to have gone much out of favour, and yachting was not very popular. Therefore, cricket throve amain, and clubs sprung up everywhere. There was the Currency, composed entirely of colonials, and to which Mr. Hilliard belonged; the Union, Victorian, Albert, and Australian.
The matches of importance were played in Hyde Park The city teams, too, then, as now, went inland to Parramatta, Liverpool and Windsor. And about one of these country matches Hilliard used to tell a curious little story:
The Australian Club, it appears, went to Windsor to play the locals for whom Hilliard stood umpire, whilst Mr. Saddler performed the same office for the visitors. Among the Windsor players were two brothers named Bushell; and Saddler gave one of them out “leg before.” The batsman, however, stoutly contested this decision, backed up by his brother, who exclamed. “Don’t ‘ee go out, Bill and if t’ umpire tries to put ‘ee out, knock him down with ‘ee bat.” And, finally to avoid a free fight, another innings had to be given to Bushell. Evidently country cricket was a thing to be taken very seriously in the forties.
“We used” says Hilliard, “to have great trouble to keep the wickets anything like decent. You see there was no supervision of the ground and even the clubs would fight among themselves for the possession of a choice pitch. Sometimes we would send up boys to hold a pitch for us from daybreak on the morning of the match. A device we had to keep the people off the grass was to tar the underside of the top rail of the fences. The tar hung down in drips, and as intruders came through it would smear their clothes.” None of the Governors except Sir William Denison, according to Mr. Hilliard, took any interest in cricket, although some of the young aides, and others of the staff, used occasionally to have a game. Sir James Martin, as a youngster, played a great deal, but never attained much, proficiency. In Mr. Hilliard’s opinion the real father of New South Wales cricket was Mr. Tunks. “It was he and I who put the first spade into the present Domain ground. He kept a publichouse in those days, but always encouraged the cricketers to drink tea. Whenever we had a match, we had tea with good old Mrs. Tunks. Also, Mr. Driver, a solicitor, and an M.P., and the son of the proprietor of an hotel called the Three Tuns, which stood at the corner of King and Elizabeth streets, just where Temple Court now stands, was another great patron of the game, but he was never much of a player, though he was always ready to help us with his money.”
Hilliard was one of six Currency lads, who played in the first intercolonial match with Victoria, and he says most of the team fielded barefoot. This was in 1856, and was won by New South Wales by three wickets. Then, in 1857, the Melbourne men came to Sydney, and met in the Outer Domain, being again beaten. The excitement was intense, the Governor and all sorts and conditions of people being present, to the number of 10,000. The match lasted two days and a half. Scores: New South Wales, 80 and 86; Victoria, 63 and 38. Slow bats and cautious in those days, with a top score (Gilbert) of 31. His batting, said the newspapers, “was the theme of universal admiration.” Well, truly times have changed since that stonewalling era, and the papers of to-day would doubtless comment on such a performance somewhat differently—unless the 31 were made in as many minutes.
The group portrait of New South Wales Rifle champions marks an interesting stage in the Australian volunteer movement, and particularly in that branch of it which has for its object the making of marksmen. The picture illustrates an account of the first intercolonial rifle match held in Australia, and, appropriately enough, the contestants were New South Wales and Victoria, whose representatives since then have met in many friendly shootings, with varying fortune. The mother colony proved victorious at the first trial of skill at the targets, and there is no doubt that the wider field of fame opened up to riflemen by this intercolonial meeting did much towards establishing the present satisfactory state of affairs. From beating the men of his own colony the champion began to covert honors further afield, and ultimately the pinnacle was reached when he was sent home to meet the best shots in Great Britain. The idea of the first match originated with the members of the Victorian Rifle Association, and, although all the colonies were invited to take part, none of them could see their way clear to accept the invitation. The conditions governing the match were that each colony should contribute £50 per annum for three years, for the purpose of purchasing a challenge shield which had to be won three times in succession before passing into the possession of any colony. In consideration of the first meeting being held in Melbourne, the Victorian Association donated a further sum of £50 to the successful competitors in the first year. Bona-fide volunteers alone were eligible, and the use of any rifle with a trigger pull of 3lb was allowed. Each competitor had ten shots at each of the respective distances of 200, 300, 500, 600, 700, 800, and 900 yards, making seventy shots in all, Hythe position, and Wimbledon system of scoring. Ten of the best shots in New South Wales were selected by the association, and a like number was chosen by the Victorian Association, from their shooting in four special practices. The two teams met at the Melbourne butt on November 3, 1862, when, after a keenly contested match, especially up to 700 yards, the men from the parent colony won with 64 points to spare. Their superiority over the Victorians was principally apparent at the long ranges. In these days of shooting with uniform weapons, it is almost impossible to compare with any degree of fairness present scores with those of the match of 1862. Still, the scores made in that contest were undoubtedly good, for shooting had not been reduced to the fine art it is now. The scores on the New South Wales side were: Corporal Lynch 182, Trooper Sharp 177, Private Rayner 168, Sergeant Webb 152, Private Wyndham 150, Lieutenant Campbell 144, Sergeant Strong 140, Sergeant-Major Hellyer 134, Private Dickson 125, Captain Windeyer 125; total, 1497. On the Victorian side the total was 1432 points, made up as under: Private M’Naughton 175, Sergeant Wright 154, Sergeant Douglas 154, Sergeant Sleep 152, Private Cole 151, Captain Radcliffe 141, Sergeant Templeton 140, Private Peterson 132, Private M’Ewan 124, Private Frost 109. A banquet in the evening wound up the event, and on the following day the Sydney men embarked for home on the City of Sydney. On the way up the coast she was wrecked near Green Cape (November 5, 1862). Fortunately, all lives were saved, but uniforms, private effects, and valuable small-bore rifles were lost.
A Mr. Davis, of Bourke- street, Melbourne, photographed the victorious ten, of whom six belonged to the Sydney Battalion Volunteer Rifles, one to the suburban battalion, and one to the country corps (West Maitland). The Mounted Rifles furnished the other two—Sergeant-major Hellyer and Trooper Sharp. Captain Harbottle, S.B.V.R., accompanied the team as captain, and Sergeant-major Lees, of the Staff, acted as marker.
If ever there was a nondescript sort of a city in these forties it was Sydney. And, yet, as every visitor allowed, it bore a pre-eminently English aspect Writes one in particular: “Sydney is, I think, more exclusively English in its population than either Liverpool or London. Were it not for an occasional orange tree in full bloom or fruit in the backyard of some of the older cottages, or a flock of little green parrots whistling as they alight for a moment on a house top, one might fancy himself at Brighton or Plymouth.” This would require a rather fervid imagination, one fancies; and our author gets nearer the mark when he says, “it might be Waterford or Wapping, with a dash of Nova Scotian Halifax.” Indeed, he and many others like him, seem to have been very considerably puzzled to find comparisons. But old pictures will thoroughly bear out his remark, that the “construction of the buildings is blameably ill-suited to a semi-tropical climate—barefaced, smug-looking tenements, without verandahs or even broad eaves.” Nor, indeed, is it necessary to consult contemporary views to see the justice of this criticism, inasmuch as, at the present day, you can see, in places, the same “smug, barefaced,” old houses still standing, forlorn, disreputable, blistered by the sun and rain of many years.
Goats were still a conspicuous feature of our streets. “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 to be milked at night. Woe betide the suburban garden whose gate is left for a moment unclosed… In an instant the bearded tribes rush in, and, in a few seconds roses, sweet peas, carnations, stocks, etc., are as closely nibbled down as though a flock of locusts had bivouacked for a week on the spot; and the neat flower-beds are dotted over with little clover feet, as if ten thousand infantine devils had been dancing there—a juvenile sabbat.” The man who wrote that wrote feelingly, and one can see that more than once his garden-gate had been left open, even as they still are, and with the same results. Like the poor and the unemployed, the goats we seem fated to have always with us.
Pitt-street, even half a century ago or more, appears to have been noted for its linen drapers’ shops: “Whether we regard the excellence of their arrangements, the sterling value of the commodities, the costliness of their large and showy windows, and at night, the glistening splendor of their lamps, sometimes most tastefully ornamented, we cannot but feel proud of our city; and even the stranger must acknowledge that those houses of business would not disgrace any of our older towns in the mother country.” Evidently, the predecessors of our Horderns, Ways, Farmers, etc., kept as well up-to-date as do their descendants.
A picture of O’Connell-street towards the end of the forties is worth re-producing. Referring to the similarity of the name with that of the celebrated Irish agitator the old writer says: “Start not, gentle reader, at the name; the place bearing this designation is calm and peaceful as you can desire. We have no ‘agitation’ here, save the calm agitation of shrubs and flowers, which adorn the little gardens smiling on either side, fanned as they are by soft zephyrs, gaily playing around. Whatever opinion may be entertained of the name, but one can be held regarding the street. It is one of the most “tasty” in Sydney. The houses, as we have already hinted, have gardens before them, some of which are kept with much neatness by their careful owners. Here may be seen our native and English plants, vying which shall outshine the other, which shall more adorn the garden plot, which more adorn the air.”
Of course, as the writer remarks later on, the street was named “in honor of our worthy Commander of the Forces, Sir Maurice O’Connell.” But, alas, the only zephyrs there to-day are formed of sand and dust, and the perfume is mostly chemical in its nature; whilst the “tastiness” of those bygone days has fled for ever.
And they thought a lot of their streets in those times. The running of Pitt-street right through to the Quay was then under discussion; “it will thus be rendered the main street of the town; and, when completed, the line of road for traffic, nearly two miles in length, will, besides its vast accommodation, be no small ornament to our fair city. We may remark of the streets of Sydney generally that they are very regular and well-formed.—Pitt and Castlereagh streets are almost in straight lines, though each extends about a mile and a half.”
By all visitors the palm was almost unanimously awarded to the Congregational Church in Pitt-street as the handsomest building in the city. It was designed by Mr. John Bibb, and erected under his supervision, the foundation-stone having been laid by Dr. Ross, on Anniversary Day, 1841. Then, by reason of the embarrassed state of affairs in the colony, it was soon afterwards thought prudent to discontinue building. In 1844 a fresh start was made; and in January, 1846, the church was first opened for public worship. The first ornamental iron columns cast in Sydney were made for this edifice by Mr. Dawson. They were fourteen in number, of the Ionic order, fluted, and finished an imitation bronze. The organ was also of colonial manufacture, and was built specially for the church by Mr. W. J. Johnson, also of this city. In the same year, under the direction of the same architect, the Union Bank of Australia, at the corner of Pitt and Hunter streets, was added to and enlarged, until it was regarded as one of the greatest ornaments of Sydney.
In King-street, in a shop on the left-hand side, going towards Queen’s Square, which, perhaps some old residents can still identify, lived and flourished the notorious Quaker, John Tawell, transported for forgery. This remarkable man reached Sydney in 1814, and his knowledge of drugs procured his retention as assistant in the convict hospital, instead of being assigned as a servant up country. In this situation he continued some three years, when he received his ticket-of-leave, and, shortly afterwards, one of emancipation. Then, in 1832, he set up as a chemist—the first regular business of the kind in the colony—and at once began to thrive. He also embarked in the shipping trade, engaged in oil speculation, bought up all the whalebone that came to the port and was the first person in the colony to convert it into an article of profitable export. Piety and good works seem in those days to have been the keynote of his life. He became a shining light among the Society of Friends, and built them a meeting-house in Macquarie-street. Judge Therry knew him well, and says that his whole aspect and demeanour proclaimed him a very saintly personage indeed. He it was who, having ordered a large consignment of spirits from England, and having, in the meantime, changed his views respecting “the liquor traffic,” caused the whole lot to be emptied into the harbor. And Backhouse, the travelling Quaker, must have witnessed the occurrence, for he says, although not mentioning Tawell by name:
“We had the satisfaction of seeing the destruction of five puncheons of rum, containing four hundred and ninety-two gallons, and two hogsheads of Geneva, containing one hundred and sixteen gallons. They were the property of one of our friends, whose agent in England had not been apprised of a change in the views of his correspondent with respect to the use and sale of spirits, in which he cannot now be conscientiously concerned. He, therefore, represented the case to the Governor, who allowed them to be taken out of bond free of duty, and under charge of an officer of Customs placed on board a staged boat, which took them out into the Cove, where the heads of the casks were removed, and the contents poured into the sea… We were much pleased with the hearty manner in which the Custom house officers superintended the sacrifice of property to principle.” Something like an advertisement for Tawell, too, this curious business!
After absence of sixteen years Tawell returned to England a rich man, or at least fairly so, although the troubles of 1843 affected him considerably. There he married a second wife (the first had followed him to Sydney, and died in the colony). Then becoming involved in a liason with a woman named Sarah Hart, be eventually killed her by poisoning; and was tried and executed, thus ending a life of most consummate hypocrisy, intermingled with adventurous and romantic incidents that would fill a volume to relate in detail
It was on the occasion of this murder that the electric telegraph began its long existence as a factor in the detection of crime. And Tawell was its first capture. From the Slough Railway Station there flashed along the line to Paddington the message: “An elderly man, between 50 and 60; short; in the garb of a Quaker, with broad-brimmed hat and white cravat. Left here 7.42 train; watch his movements.”
So much for John Tawell, forger and murderer, but, above all, arch-hypocrite of his time.
Mention must be made of the 54th anniversary, on which day there was a big demonstration on the harbor, no less than seven steamers puffing about, laden with people to view the regatta; whilst the band of the 28th Regiment aboard the flagship (the Royal Sovereign) played various patriotic airs. Lieutenant-Colonel Barney, of the Royal Engineers gave a sort of garden party on the Fort Macquarie green, at which were present Sir George and Lady Gipps, and most of the official notabilities.
The dinner took place at the Royal Hotel at 7 o’clock that evening, and Captain O’Connell, the native-born son of Sir Maurice, and, in due time, Sir Maurice in his turn, took the chair, with Robert Nichols as vice. There were 170 guests present, and James Martin, then a youngster of 22, and articled clerk to Nichols, was called upon to reply to the toast of “Civil and Religious Liberty,” a sentiment which gives a very broad hint of what some folks were striving after, even as late as that.
In ‘46 there took place the last of these meetings, which had then lost all political significance. But on the very same evening there was a public dinner, at which there was some very strong speaking indeed. Robert Lowe, for instance, made a speech on “Reform of the Colonial Policy,” in which he hit hard at the Government, and concluded by telling his audience that “If you would be free, yourselves must strike the blow—not at the men, but at the system that enslaves you.” James Martin was present as the champion of the press, with which he was then connected, writing weekly articles for the “Atlas,” and “making things hum” with the bold versatility of youth.
Whatever visitors may have thought of our city, they invariably went into ecstacies over our Botanic Gardens, which, under the fostering care of the noted botanist, Allan Cunningham, had long been noted far and wide as “the Eden of the East.” Poor Cunningham was lost, in 1835, whilst with Major Mitchell, upon one of the latter’s exploring trips in the neighbourhood of the Bogan River, and was never more heard of. But in one of the ponds of the lower portion of the gardens he loved so well, and did so much for, there is a stone obelisk erected to his memory, and surrounded by clumps of aquatic plants. Both explorer and botanist deserve well of their fellow-colonists, inasmuch as one gave us the water-bag and the other our Gardens. Certainly, Mitchell’s first bag was a primitive affair, being merely sacking smeared over with mutton fat; but it was the fore-runner of its canvas evolution, which has not only proved a source of immeasurable comfort to bushmen throughout Australasia, but, into the bargain, saved many hundreds of lives. No statue of Mitchell should be complete without the presentment of one.
In those days the Gardens were divided into two sections, known as the Upper and the Lower, the first of which was laid out in trim walks, partrerres, and flower beds; whilst the other was left more in its natural condition, diversified by lawns, rockeries, ponds, and clumps of shrubs. Both gardens were enclosed by walls and high paling fences, and between these ran a carriage drive, giving access to the Domain from Fort Macquarie. Of late years the drive has been closed, and the whole space practically thrown into one. Under the able management of Mr. Charles Moore, who for many years was the curator, extensive additions and alterations were made, much ground reclaimed from the sea, and now the gardens cover a space of some 150 acres. A familiar feature of the grounds is the noble Norfolk Island pine, towering to a height of 107ft, with a trunk measuring 30ft at the base. Nearly thirty years ago there appeared a picture of this fine tree in the “Illustrated Sydney News.” With the accompanying letterpress was a statement that it was not known when the great pine was planted. This brought the following interesting letter, which speaks for itself:—
Redburnburg, Singleton,
March 23, 1872.
Sir,—My attention having been drawn to an article in your paper relative to the large Norfolk Island pine in the Botanic Gardens, in which you state that it is not known when the said tree was planted, I beg to inform you that I planted it in the year 1818, at which time I was employed in the Gardens. It had previously been planted in the lower garden, near the watercourse, and had been washed out during some heavy rains that occurred about that time. It was lying half-buried in sand for almost six months, when, it was removed and planted by me in its present situation, in the year above stated. Mrs. Macquarie was present on the occasion, and handed me the tree to place in the ground; it was then about two feet six inches in height.—Your obedient servant, John Richardson.”
Some time in 1847 improvements were started at the General Post Office, and a handsome portico was erected. “Six Doric columns support an elaborate entablature and pediment, with the Royal arms (executed by Mr. Abraham, an able sculptor resident in the colony) in the centre of the tympanum. The whole effect is chaste and severe, and much more befitting the aspect of a place of business than a mere ornamental and gaudy design would be. When the Barracks are removed the portico will afford a noble termination to the street which will be opened, forming a vista in front of the building.
What, one wonders, would old Fowles have thought of our present Post Office palace could he have lived to see it! And, by the way, it may be mentioned that at least three of those doric columns are still in existence. One is erected at Bradley’s Head to serve the purpose of a beacon, at that end of the measured mile between it and Fort Denison; the other two are, or were, until quite lately, serving as gate posts at the corner of Oxford and Queen-streets. Sic transit!
An old landmark that has recently disappeared, is the building once known as Hancock’s Tower, for over half a century a familiar object in the eyes of Sydney folk. Hancock, it seems, was a wheelwright, whose shop stood near the site of the present Roberts’s Hotel, at the corner of George and Market streets. Here he flourished, made much money, and eventually retiring from business, built himself the residence of which the curious tower formed a portion. Constructed of large squared stones, with battlemented walls, from whose lofty embrasures protruded dummy guns, or “Quakers,” it looked more like some mediaeval fortress than aught else; whilst, to heighten the effect, at each corner was the carved effigy of a knight in armour, and the low Norman roof was surmounted by a large weathercock.
All sorts of “fairy stories” clustered around this building, the favorite one being that Hancock had erected it for the purpose of therein immuring his wife, Bluebeard fashion, in some dim and gloomy chamber; and children used to look up half scared, half expectant, at the high windows, to catch a glimpse of the unfortunate lady peering from her prison.
Between the Tower and the old inn adjoining it, also once a prominent feature of the neighbourhood, Hancock had laid out a court yard with flower-beds and trellises. And here, too, he placed a statue, life-sized, and carved out of stone. This, Hancock left orders, so it is said, in his will, was to be erected over his grave. His wish was carried into effect, and the statue may still be seen by the curious at Rookwood.
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