Terminus Page 4

  In the winter of 1875, Hilton was advertising skittles games to be held at the Coopers Arms on Saturday evenings.45 Although it can be played anywhere, skittles was associated with pubs and it still remains a popular pub sport in some parts of England today. There are many variations of the game. Sometimes it is played with balls, sometimes with a ‘cheese’ – a flattened, wooden discuss. The size of teams varies and if there is space available, it might be played outdoors in a skittle alley. Hilton’s game was played with balls and pins, similar to ten-pin bowling. Although there would have been room for an alley on the land behind the hotel facing Harris Street, it was probably played indoors.

  Perhaps the game did not take off because about a year later Hilton was advertising skittles and balls for sale. But then Hilton was always selling things, so perhaps the game was a success and he saw an opening in the market to promote these goods. Along with the skittles he was also advertising for sale: a weighing machine, a spring cart and a light gig, complete with pony. He had been advertising vehicles for sale from the time he first arrived at the Coopers Arms – a dog cart, a family sociable, ‘a first-class spring cart, by Halley, a real bargain’. They were all bargains, all first class, always. He would have used the vacant land at the side of the hotel on Harris Street to store these vehicles, and it is possible he was using the connections he made with the Sydney Coachbuilding Company to further his business. Once he had a sailing boat for sale.46 Hilton was still a salesman as much as he was a publican.

  POLITICS IN THE PUB

  Nothing could draw a crowd like a political rally, the most popular form of entertainment in this and other pubs. Speakers could harangue a crowd gathered in the street below from the balcony, and whatever the political persuasion of the publican, politicians were always welcome as a good crowd meant big takings at the bar. Hilton would have been delighted when Sir John Robertson decided to speak from the balcony of the Coopers Arms on a summer evening in December 1874. There was no politician more famous than Sir John, who was the member for the local electorate of West Sydney. He had been a fixture in NSW politics for as long as anyone could remember; a genial, popular figure and a big drinker, famous for his opinion that ‘none of the men in this colony who have left footprints behind them were cold water men’.47

  The Sydney Morning Herald reported that a crowd of about 500 people gathered on the corner of John and Harris streets that evening. They gave Robertson ‘a very flattering reception’. In the elections that followed early in the new year he was returned with a resounding majority for the local seat and became the Premier of NSW.

  Sydney politician, Sir John Robertson c. 1890. On many occasions he represented the electorate of West Sydney, which included Pyrmont.

  NLA 146528980.

  At the Coopers Arms, after he had spruiked his position on the issues of the day, Robertson took questions from the crowd. And what questions they were. Similarities with today’s issues, almost 150 years later, are unnervingly striking. He said that the reason they had to pay a toll to cross the Pyrmont Bridge was because regrettably it was run by a private company. He said that what the colony needed was a general system of national education, and one alone – meaning no state funding for church schools, especially Catholic ones – and he said that unoccupied land should be taxed because people were buying up cheaply and keeping it unused until it increased in value.48 No-one at the Coopers Arms that evening could possibly have imagined how this particular thought would resonate a century later when properties in Pyrmont were locked up and allowed to remain unused while property values rose, including the Terminus that was locked up for over 30 years.

  THE REVOLVING DOOR OF PUBLICANS

  By 1876 Hilton’s brief flirtation with the life of a publican had soured, or perhaps it was his wife, Jane, who wanted out. In January a funeral party for their son James left the Coopers Arms to head for the Balmain cemetery at 8.30 am. Then in April, his 73-year-old mother, Esther, described as ‘over twenty-one years a resident of Balmain’ also died at the hotel where Jane had probably been nursing her during Esther’s final days. By May the license had been transferred to William Farley and the Hiltons never sought another publican’s license. They went to the rural town of Orange where James ran a coachbuilding factory for the next decade.49

  And just to finish the story: they were back in Balmain by 1886 to set up another coach-repair place, but perhaps things were not tracking too well as James was charged a couple of times with being drunk and disorderly. It seems this was out of character, and the report from one case held at the Balmain Police Court paints a picture of a person whom no-one considered a real problem.

  The whole machinery of justice this morning was set in motion, judge, clerks, sergeants, constables and press representatives were in attendance to see one mild drunk, James Hilton, fined 5/- with the option of waiting the rising of the court, which he joyfully accepted, being in himself the whole charge sheet.50

  When James Hilton died in 1912, he was remembered by an extensive family and many friends. The staff at the Leader, the newspaper of the rural town of Orange, obviously enjoyed writing up a column on an ‘Old Orange Identity’, recording that his funeral was conducted by the local Anglican clergyman and the chaplain of the Orange Lodge in Balmain. The Sydney Morning Herald published a piece on ‘A Balmain Pioneer’ that provided details of his life, but did not mention that he had once spent a few years at the Coopers Arms in Pyrmont.51

  COOPERS ARMS PUBLICANS 1873–4

  DECEMBER 1873 JAMES HILTON

  MAY 1876 WILLIAM FURLEY

  OCTOBER 1876 JOSEPH CRABBE EDGECOMBE

  1877 ELIZABETH STEWART

  JANUARY 1879 WILLIAM JOSEPH WEEDON

  JULY 1881 JAMES FINCH

  In October 1876 the publican was Joseph Edgecombe. For a few months before he arrived, the license was held by William Furley who already ran the Young Australia in Surry Hills for many years before and after the months he was officially the licensee of the Coopers Arms. It is unlikely that he ever came across to Pyrmont.52 It was imperative not to lose a license, and license brokers sometimes put in a nominee while they searched for someone to buy it. Perhaps Furley stepped in to help out James C. Pratt, the owner of the hotel. James and his wife, Julia (nee Brennan), were living in Surry Hills and when they lost their little boy in a horrible burns accident involving the explosion of a kerosene tin, the inquest was heard at the Young Australia.53

  The Hiltons would have needed the residential space in the Coopers Arms for their family, but Edgecombe was soon advertising for rent ‘a large balcony room, with use of the kitchen’ for rent. He was also on the lookout for ‘a good set of skittles.’54 He should have contacted Hilton. One reason why pubs provided for skittles games and not the more popular billiards was that you had to obtain a license for a billiard table.

  The Quarrymen’s Protective Society met fortnightly at the Coopers Arms around this time, but it seems that nothing could protect Edgecombe from himself. After only four or five months, he was broke. The reason for the insolvency was given as ‘pressure of a creditor’– probably Tooth & Co., the brewery that supplied his beer. Around midday on 17 March 1877, locals gathered at the pub to witness the auction of his ‘right, title, interest in the lease, license, goodwill, beer fixtures, stock-trade and furniture … subject to a bill of sale.’55 The bill for £125 was held by Tooth & Co. They got their money back from the auction, but to anyone else, Edgecombe could only pay back ‘three shillings and three farthings per £’. The total debts amounted to a lot of beer and probably meant that he had carried over debts to the brewery from his previous pub in Park Street in the city.

  Elizabeth Stewart, who had been living in the area for at least a decade, bought the license, moved in and became the first woman to hold the license for the Coopers Arms. Married women could not legally hold a publican’s license unless they were widows. Running a pub was one of the few ways a woman could become independent and the authorities were con
stantly on the lookout for women who pretended to be single or widowed in order to get a license. But Elizabeth really had been widowed the year before. She was 38 years old and she had four children to support. She stayed just long enough to be robbed. Two men had come in, had a couple of drinks, and paid with a £5 note. Elizabeth stepped out to find someone to give her change and while she was away they stole a watch valued at £20, a brooch valued at £10 and £102 in cash from her bedroom. Not many other people in Pyrmont had this kind of wealth. The thief was apprehended 18 months later in Wellington, New Zealand, where he was in jail for other thefts. By then Elizabeth Stewart had moved on to run the Glasgow Arms (now Lord Wolseley) in nearby Ultimo.56

  ALL IN A NIGHT’S POLITICS

  Around the time that Elizabeth Stewart was planning to leave the Coopers Arms in December 1878, a meeting was held at the pub to air local concern about Chinese immigration. The Chinese had first arrived for the goldrushes in the 1850s and afterwards many of them had returned home, but lately their numbers were increasing, especially in Sydney. They were very few in number, but it was enough to unleash some virulent racist sentiment. By late 1878, anti-Chinese rallies and public meetings were attracting crowds, and a few weeks before the pub meeting there had been a major race riot in the city. A trade union-organised rally in Hyde Park had ended in an attempt by an angry mob to torch one of Sydney’s oldest Chinese furniture workshops, while other demonstrators descended on parliament house, demanding that Chinese immigration be stopped.57

  This anti-Chinese fracas had its origins in a Seamen’s Union strike aimed specifically at the ASN Co.’s employment of cheap Chinese labour on their ships. The ASN Co.’s shipyards were close by at the end of John Street. Not much is known about this meeting in the Coopers Arms, but it was probably fiery.

  The issue of the Chinese remained on the agenda until at least 1888 when restrictive immigration legislation was passed, and these riots were certainly still on everyone’s mind in November 1879 when political meetings were held for the upcoming local government elections.

  It is difficult today to imagine that local elections would have created the level of interest that they did, but when you were fighting for passable roads and a reliable water supply, they mattered to everyone. Furthermore, a good rally was a good rally and the punters were always happy to include discussion of all issues, including those that local aldermen had no power to do anything about.

  Francis Abigail was standing for Denison Ward and he was a welcome speaker at the Coopers Arms, now run by William Weedon. He was there almost weekly in November, but it was his appearance on the balcony on 24 November that the crowd of ‘several hundred’ would remember. Not for what was said, but for the wonderful sport of it.

  Abigail was listened to without interruption until he attacked Ninian Melville, who wasn’t even standing, but was a well-known identity who was supporting the other candidate, John Meeks. At this cue, and clearly pre-arranged, Melville himself appeared on the balcony of the Land’s End across the street and started to shout over Abigail. The crowd split into two groups, ‘one half cheering and the other half groaning,’ and nobody could hear what either speaker was saying. Then, as the Herald reported:

  The crowd varied the proceedings by the introduction of a liberal supply of rotten eggs and a number of domestic animal and birds in an advanced state of decomposition which were thrown at Melville … within a very short time his dress and the whole vicinity became redolent of rotten eggs and dead cats and magpies.58

  Clearly this had all been pre-prepared. No-one wanders around with dead magpies in their pockets.

  In the end, Abigail won a vote of confidence, while allegedly Melville continued to rave on until the crowd, ‘having exhausted all the available ammunition’ dispersed, some no doubt headed to the pubs. If Weeden gave Abigail a drink, it would not have been a beer because he was a teetotaller. He was also opposed to state education and a number of other issues that would not have endeared him to the bulk of the electors of Denison. When he tried to speak across the crowd to Melville, he had shouted that he was respectable and that Melville, and by extension the other candidate, Meeks, were riffraff. The locals preferred riffraff.

  Meeks did not need to stump up to meetings in Pyrmont. Everyone knew him as the owner of the smelting works at the end of Harris Street and he probably drank in all the pubs. He placed many advertisements in the newspapers reminding electors that he was the workingman’s friend, emphasising that he had supported the Seaman’s Union with large weekly donations during their strike; that when a ship had pulled into his wharf with Chinese seamen on board he had cut it adrift; that he paid his workers highly; that he supported the eight-hour workday; and, not least, that he would fight for better roads, footpaths and sewerage. The backlash in Pyrmont over the concerns of Chinese workers was such that the Pyrmont Working Committee established to get Meeks re-elected had several senior men from the ASN Co. as board members, as well as local identities such as the quarrymaster Charles Saunders and Matthew Byrnes who ran the Pyrmont Steam Ferry.59 John Meeks was elected to the Council and he won every subsequent election for Denison Ward until 1892.

  William Weeden renewed his license for the Coopers Arms annually for three years. However, a short time into his third year as licensee, Weedon advertised for a respectable girl to be his nurse, and soon after the license was sold on to James Finch.

  LIFE AND DEATH IN THE PUB

  The Coopers Arms was a centre of exchange for the community. People gathered in the evenings because the pub had lighting and space. Landlords letting properties nearby left the keys at the pub to be picked up. When W. Mutton who worked for the ASN Co. challenged H. Phinklater to a rowing race on a wager of £5 or more, he called for supporters to turn up, ‘Man and Money, at Weedon’s Coopers Arms, Pyrmont between 7 and 8 o’clock’ on a specified evening. When the Quarrymen’s Protective Society Picnic Committee decided to advertise for a brass band to perform on the day, tenders were lodged at the hotel. The committee had its annual dinner there too, with the host putting on a splendid meal.60 Quarrymen were instructed to assemble at the pub at 8 am prior to the Eight Hour demonstration at Cook Park in the city in October 1881. They would have caught the ferry across to the city, along with the Burwood Brass Band, which was also instructed to assemble at the Coopers Arms in ‘full uniform’ before going to the march.61

  As always, residents agitated for more amenities for their area. Harris Street enjoyed only ground drainage until the sewer was put through in the mid-1880s, but by now a sewer ran the length of John Street.

  James Charles Pratt’s letter to the City Council requesting they waive his sewage rates because of his private expenses to organise a contractor to pump out the cellar.

  City of Sydney Archives, 26/186/1409.

  Finch was having trouble with the cellar. In 1882 owner James Pratt wrote to the City Council, as he had several times before, explaining that the toilet and the cellar of the Coopers Arms were below the level of the sewer, and had to be cleaned out at his private expense. Therefore, he wanted exemption from paying the sewer rates. When he got no response, he wrote again to say that he thought at least he should have received a reply, but instead his letter had been ‘treated with silent contempt and probably consigned to the waste paper basket’.62 It hadn’t been thrown in the wastepaper basket, as it still sits in the City of Sydney’s archive today. But there may have been some bureaucratic contempt for this imperious property owner complaining about services that the people of Pyrmont had so long clamoured for. The toilets did eventually get plumbed, but there was a genuine problem with dampness in the cellar of the Coopers Arms. Ground water continuously seeped down the hill through the rock and successive publicans would complain about it for decades to come.

  It is likely that James and Jessie Finch had a hard time during the closing months of 1881. Small pox was a new arrival in Sydney and it was striking down people in Pyrmont. This too was linked to Chinese immigratio
n. At this time steamers sailed from Hong Kong to Sydney well within the incubation timeframe for small pox. A number of neighbours came down with the infection, including the Marshalls who ran the grocery store on Harris Street, across the road from the pub. Houses were quarantined and people were confined indoors until official government ‘visitors’ declared them well or removed them to the new infectious diseases hospital being hastily built out at Little Bay, a genuinely isolated place. A leprosarium had been established there in 1879 and rows of tents were being erected on the beachfront to house the smallpox victims. Constables were stationed outside houses where people were infected and at least one of the constables sent to Pyrmont, William Bell, became infected himself and died along with several locals.63 Most people recovered, but not Peter Marshall across the street. His wife struggled on, but a year later she advertised the shop for sale: ‘a first class grocery and Fruit Business, in a capital position, established twenty-three years, present proprietor retiring on account of ill health.’64

  The death that occurred at the pub on Saturday 25 October 1884 was a bit more unexpected. A stonemason called David Quinn, known for his heavy drinking, came in around lunchtime, drank four glasses of beer and dropped to the floor, and was out to it. Some mates dragged him into the parlour and left him lying on the floor to sleep it off. No-one gave him another thought until around 10.30 pm when his wife called in looking for him. He was found, still lying where he had been left in the parlour, stone-cold dead.