Life in St Kilda at Jackson’s Manor from 1915
Life in St Kilda at Jackson’s Manor from 1915
The Recollections of Kingsley Evans
Although I was not born in St Kilda, I have lived in its municipality since 1915.
Following the death of my father, at a time when I was too young to remember him, my mother and I stayed with relatives and friends in various parts of Australia.
We continued this mode of living until my seventh birthday when it became necessary for us to seek a more settled existence and for me to commence my formal education at a school of my mother’s choice.
For our future home, she was suitably impressed with a guest house in Jackson Street, St Kilda (1), especially as its location was convenient to a small private school in Acland Street that had been highly recommended.
“The Manor” as it was then called, could only accommodate about twenty boarders so it was fortunate that a double vacancy was available at the time of her enquiry. Although reluctant to cater for children, the proprietress agreed to accept us on receiving assurances that my future conduct and behaviour would in no way interfere with the welfare of the other boarders, all of whom were adults.
‘Australian School (circa 1860): The architect Samuel Jackson and his wife on the verandah of the Wattle House, St Kilda (By permission from John Playfoot Fine Art Pty Ltd’.
In 2007 Jackson’s Manor (formerly Wattle House) located at 53 Jackson’s Street was a backpacker’s hostel. It is St Kilda’s oldest building and is located near Fitzroy and Grey Streets. It was built by early settler and architect Samuel Jackson. The story of the building can be found in ‘A Place of Sensuous Resort’ published by SKHS on www.skhs.org.au .
Shortly, on a pleasant summer’s evening in early February 1915, my mother and I bade farewell to relations with whom we had been staying and departed for St Kilda. We carried one or two small suitcases with us but the heavier portion of our luggage had already been forwarded by carrier to its new destination.
Passing through the city, I was very impressed with the congenial atmosphere that existed among the strollers on the pavements. It was a Friday night so the shops remained open until late. In the streets, the sound of the bells from the cable trams made enjoyable listening. Although melodious to my ear, it no doubt struck a warning note to those who may have impeded the progress of this pleasant though somewhat slow form of transport.
At that time of the evening (about 7pm) steam trains left Flinders Street station for St Kilda at regular intervals of 20 minutes. Platform number 11 has since received better lighting as well as other minor alterations, but its outward appearance remains much the same.
We seated ourselves in the first-class compartment of a train awaiting its scheduled time of departure for St Kilda. The carriages were illuminated by overhead gas lamps, previously lit by railway porters carrying flaring torches for that purpose. The “Tait” carriages with their sliding doors were more comfortable than the “dog boxes” that later replaced them.
For the convenience of pipe smokers, spittoons were installed in the floors of most smoking compartments. From floor level, it was interesting, though probably not very hygienic, to gaze through the hole in the centre of a spittoon down onto the moving tracks below. This dubious pastime often attracted children when not under the direct surveillance of a parent or guardian.
The journey between Melbourne and St Kilda by steam train took thirteen minutes (nine minutes today by electric train), and I found time fully occupied with thoughts of our new destination and the future that it held for us.
I reconsidered the facetious remark made by one of my elder relations who told me I was going to live where “the saint killed her”. However, this rather sober reflection was dispelled by the fact that St Kilda was a seaside resort which in itself induced happy visions of buckets, spades and other beach attractions.
Alighting from the train at St Kilda – the name of the station was shown on the gas lamps illuminating the platform – I hastened to the picket fence that formed part of the platforms outer boundary. Peering through a space between some palings, I was disappointed to see a group of houses, a butcher’s shop (Gill’s) and a plumber’s workshop on the other side of Canterbury Road. I had anticipated this would be my first view of the beach but my mother hastily assured me that the sea was only a short distance away, and doubtless I would be taken there of the following day.
From the end of the platform near Fitzroy Street, I was interested in watching the manually operated traverses move the small steam locomotive across the join the adjacent track. This enabled the engine to leave in the reverse direction and attach itself to the other end of the train for the return journey. We surrendered our tickets to the porter at the gate exit which in those days provided direct access to Fitzroy Street or the waiting electric tram for Brighton Beach.
Although she held a poor opinion of cab drivers, my mother decided to hire a horse drawn cab to convey us the short distance between the station and the “Manor”. She confided in me that cab drivers were a drunken lot, and suspected many drove their vehicles whilst under the influence of alcohol. Her aversion probably related to an occasion when, in company with her sister, they occupied a hansom cab and the horse bolted, due to the carelessness of the inebriated driver. Most drivers certainly seemed to have very red noses, but I attributed this to the effects of the inclement weather under which they often had to work.
Crossing over the cable tram tracks in Fitzroy Street, and later the electric train in Grey Street, the cab and its passengers turned into Jackson Street and stopped outside a tall gate that provided the only entrance through the high corrugated iron fence surrounding “The Manor” and its grounds. Dismissing the cabman, we opened the gate and walked along the short path leading to the front door. In response to our ringing the bell, the door was opened by Mrs Tuckfield, the proprietress who ushered us to our bedroom. I remember her bending down and kissing me goodnight – the start of a friendship that lasted until her death many years later.
I understand “The Manor” was originally called “The Wattles” and had been prefabricated in England. Well before the turn of the century, the house was assembled on its present site in St Kilda for a wealthy Englishman who had preceded his bride elect from England. Unfortunately, she died during the voyage out to join him so he sold his property and possibly left Australia. It changed ownership on several occasions, and at one time was used as a girls’ school.
When I first say “The Manor”, it still retained much of its former glory and the gardens, although neglected, showed traces of their original beauty. Two very large greenhouses were considered unsafe, and had been declared out of bounds. A grass tennis court occupied portion of the property nearest to Grey Street. The extensive grounds that contained a large number of big trees created an ideal situation for an active seven year old boy. The property at that time extended as far as Enfield Street, a peaceful cul-de-sac leading off Jackson Street.
Here, around noon on weekdays, drivers of delivery vans from Buckley & Nunn, Craig Williamson, Robson Moffat or other firms halted their vehicles and enjoyed their lunch time break in its tranquil surroundings.
Regularly at dusk, the lamplighter would ride to the top end, alight and lean his bicycle against the sole lamp post in this short street and with the aide of his long pole, turn on the gas light which emitted a flickering glow during the night and early hours of the morning.
Inside the house, I remember the large rooms, their massive doors, quaint fireplaces, gas lights, oriel windows, the view from the tower, the attic rooms, the large kitchen with big hooks on the ceiling for hanging hams and the old billiard room then used as the dining room. The upstairs bathroom contained an old gas geyser which occasionally caused a mild explosion and alarmed the boarders.
Lest the matter of my education appears to have been forgotten in the description of my new environment, I hasten to add that I was duly enrolled as a pupil of Lyndhurst College in Acland Street. This small school for boys up to the age of ten, and girls to an older age, was conducted by the misses Florence and Edith Downing, with the help of two full time assistants – I remember Miss Casey and Miss Crabbe – in the old church building next to Christ Church Parish Hall.
Also at that time, a similar school was held by a Miss Bradshaw in the Methodist Church Hall in Fitzroy Street. I also remember Miss Garton’s “Oberwyl” for girls in Gurner Street and Mr Peacock’s “Queens College” for boys in Barkly Street, practically opposite where the St Kilda Market now stands. I spend three happy years at Lyndhurst College before leaving to continue by education at a boys’ school in Middle Brighton.
During my early years in St Kilda, I recall certain shops and buildings in the vicinity of the Railway Station. These included the Bank of Australasia (now the A.N.Z. bank), E. Thomas the tailor (once in Bank Buildings in Grey Street but moved to Fitzroy Street), Mrs Murphy who conducted the “Merry Widow” tearooms, Watt (estate agent), Allen’s shoe shop (late of Jeffries), Bain the chemist, Sam Dick (Chinese laundry), W.J. Butcher estate agent, Mitchell the tobacconist, Hampton House (private hotel), the George Hotel, Whitford (grocer), Warnecke (greengrocer), Fisher (watchmaker), Haber (newsagent), St Kilda Theatre, Majestic Mansions, and Stephenson, “the George skilled bootmaker” as well as many others.
I am vague about shops in Fitzroy Street opposite Park Street, although I have a vivid memory of O’Donnell’s grocery store. The staff transported goods from the street to the storeroom at the rear of the building in small basket work trucks which ran on rails across the pavement and along a small lane beside the store.
Since 1915, there has been little change in the appearance of the St Kilda Railway Station. The café that occupied the front portion of the building was closed many years ago. On the station platform, there used to be a water tank, with a “poison cup” attached by a chain. The cup had been so named following adverse criticism of its public use for drinking purposes. The ringing of a large brass handbell would signal the departure of trains for Melbourne.
Near the booking office, a hoarding advertisement for Leeming’s boots and shoes featured a giant, yet genial mythical beast called the “Gazeeka” who praised the value of their footwear. There was also a large poster in black and white showing an amazed lady in a hurry with hairpins flying from her hair exclaiming “Gracious, haven’t you seen the Ideals?” A subject of contention for many years was the large advertisement for Brookes Lemons. This had been erected on the station roof and depicted a number of lemons in the shape of a man holding a bottle of their advertised product.
Does anyone remember reading “Comic Cuts”, “Picture Fun”, “Lot-o-Fun”, “Rainbow”, “Puck”, “Funny Wonder”, “Chips”, or “Comic Life”? During my early years I was still too young to tackle “Gem”, “Magnet”, “The Popular”, “Sexton Blake”, “Nelson Lee”, or “The Boys’ Friend”, but I became an avid reader when I grew older. The newsagents also sold "Then Children’s Magazine” (or newspaper) by Arthur Mee, and this was an excellent publication. I forgot to mention “Chums”, “Boys’ Own Paper” and “Pals” which were also very popular. I am sure everyone will recall the “School paper” issued monthly by the Victorian Education Department. The price remained at one penny for many years and was used by schools in conjunction with other educational projects.
Every Sunday, I was taken to Christ Church for morning or evening service. At that time, a genial verger by the name of Mr Biggs (he belied his name because he was very short) looked after the welfare of the congregation. During the week, he worked in the church grounds but was available as a handy man when required. The school children near the church regarded Mr Biggs a s a very gifted man, and capable of solving most of their problems. The Reverend Pennicott was vicar during my childhood, and I can see him now mounting the small staircase leading to the pulpit prior to delivering his sermon.
The interior of the church was lit by gaslights enclosed in frosted glass bowls suspended high above the heads of the congregation. From the bowls hung long chains each ending in a small brass ring. The ascent of the vicar into the pulpit was a signal for Mr Biggs to walk along the aisles and insert the end of a long hooked pole into an appropriate brass ring. Then with a small downward pull, the light was extinguished except for the pilot that remained alight to enable a reversal of the process at the end of the sermon. Doubtless this was done for the purpose of economy, but it also had the effect of creating a tranquil atmosphere for listening to the address delivered by the vicar or visiting clergy (or a quiet little snooze).
Dr Adamson, then headmaster of Wesley College, acted as a lay reader, and also escorted the Anglican boarders from his school to services held in Christ Church. The choir comprised mainly boys from Queens’ College, St Kilda, and sang well, accompanied by a competent organist.
The Esplanade has always been a Mecca for entertainment. The old style Victorian bandstand situation on the Upper Esplanade near the present clock tower used to attract large audiences who listened to selections played by the St Kilda Municipal Band. This form of entertainment was very popular on a Sunday afternoon or evening and proximity to the bandstand was often difficult due to the enthusiastic crowds surrounding it. The 1920’s was the era of visiting dance bands and included Yerks Flotilla, Ray Stellier, Jo Aaronson and Carol Laughner who delighted patrons at the Palais de Danse.
As I recall, some of the beach shows that appeared during the 1920’s were The English Pierrots, The Dandies, The Scarlet Troubadours, Vogues and Vanities, the Ideals, The Pebbles (“the only Pebbles on the beach”), The Royal Strollers, The Diggers, The Arcadians, The Serenaders, Midnight Frolics, The Merrymakers, The Jesters, The Follies, The Green Dandies and a show produced by Colin Crane. I think the Butterflies were there before or during World War I.
Performances were held in Theatres with a permanent roof or canvas canopy protecting the more affluent patrons from a sudden shower of rain, but the cheapest seats were usually without shelter. However, in times of necessity the less favoured members of the audience would not hesitate to surge forward and occupy any seats vacant in the more expensive sections of the theatre. Shortly after the First World War, the cost of admission to the front seats was 3/-, the back stalls 2/- and the raised tier at the back was a shilling. I have known latecomers to be admitted for sixpence. To allay the hardness of the wooden forms which comprised the cheapest section, cushions were available for hire at a cost of one penny each. The number of musicians in the orchestra was usually dependent on the financial success of the show. On most occasions, the English Pierrots relied on the use of one or more pianos for their musical accompaniment.
Prominent performers included Hugh Steyne, the Huxhams, Colin Crane, Leslie Austin, Fatty Turner, Elsa Langley, Charles Lawrence, the Dick Dorothy Trio, Claude Dampier, Jack Cannot, Edgley & Dawe, Fred Champion, Sydney James, Gregory Ivanoff, Fred Dennett, Pat Hanna, Jo Brennan, Ida Newton and others whose names I have possibly forgotten.
The only open air cinemas that I can recollect were the Rivoli and Paradise. Questa, situated nearly opposite Luna Park, had been used for many ventures in the entertainment field, and once included the serving of strawberries and cream.
How many remember the small tin shed situated on the beach front adjoining the Ferris wheel or was it the Captive Aeroplanes? This shed housed an electrically controlled music player that supplied popular music through the agency of perforated paper rolls similar to a pianola. The front of the shed when open to public gaze revealed a Swiss alpine scene. This included a small train that actually moved across a bridge spanning a picturesque river below. The train disappeared, only to reappear later and complete yet another cycle of its journey across the bridge. The effect of this pleasant scene together with the musical rendition drew attention to the various forms of amusements existing in that area.
Of indoor movies, I think St Kilda Theatre would be among the first to have been established in St Kilda. This cinema situated in Fitzroy Street near Majestic Mansions continued to show silent films to small audiences until its closure during the 1920’s. It then became a small studio and produced short films mainly for advertising.
The Palais Cinema in Barkly Street later became the Barkly Theatre and at one time served as a roller skating rink. It seemed to me that the Palais Cinema was consistent in commencing its programme by screening “The Australian Gazette”. This early newsreel was impressively prefaced by an Australian flag in colour, waving gaily in the breeze. The site is now occupied by the St Kilda market which moved from a building in Acland Street formerly used as a cable tram depot.
On the Lower Esplanade, the Palais de Danse Pictures occupied the former Danse Palais. The ceiling was entirely covered with electric light globes enclosed in red material and shaped to represent roses. The orchestra played in a raised alcove at the side of the auditorium. After total destruction by fire, it was replaced by a fine building known as the Palais Theatre. It seems a very short time since we listened at that theatre to Harry Jacobs and his orchestra, assisted by Raymond Lambert at the piano. Their stage presentations were an attractive supplement to the film programmes.
The Memorial Theatre continued for many years in the R.S.L. Memorial Hall in Acland Street. With the introduction of TV this theatre eventually followed the trend of many other suburban cinemas and went out of business.
An old house with spacious grounds occupied a corner of Carlisle and Barkly Streets. This became the site for the Victory Theatre which ceased showing films about four years ago. From the theatre’s inception, Bert Howell conducted the orchestra and remained with them for many years. When he resigned he was succeeded by Henri Penn.
I nearly forgot to mention “the Cairo” which opened on the Upper Esplanade about 1924. This venture endeavoured to combine moving pictures with dancing, but enjoyed limited success. I understand the Broadway Theatre Elwood tried a similar experiment, but after a brief trail, abandoned the project.
At the risk of labelling this article “The meanderings of Monte”, I recall the private transport companies that operated for a short period between St Kilda and the city. Kintrak, Trak and General Bus Lines started in opposition to the able trams, but eventually discontinued their services due to lack of public support as well as possible pressure from other sources. They enjoyed initial success but the novelty of conductresses and the use of some double-decker buses gradually lost its attraction.
In conclusion, I appreciate the assistance given by a friend who enabled me to recall certain facts and events which I had temporarily forgotten.
Kingsley Evans - May 1974
Typed by Anita Gilham, September 2007
converted to HTML by Mark Barry, November 2007