During Local Government Week, August 1998, Rockdale City Council launched a series of walk and drive guides to encourage a broad appreciation of the city. They highlight points of interest in the 1991 Rockdale Heritage Study by Meredith Walker and Terry Kass. The Heritage Adviser, Gary Stanley, produced the guides. The council was merged with City of Botany Bay Council in 2016 to form Bayside Council.
These guides are now available in the Resources section of our website:
Arncliffe Heritage Walk – This two-hour walk features many fine Victorian and Federation houses and public buildings.
Bayside Drive – This half hour 10km drive takes in the southern suburbs of Ramsgate Beach, Dolls Point and Sans Souci.
Rockdale Heritage Drive – This 2-hour, 25km drive will give you an understanding of the original landscape, how the City developed, and highlights important natural areas, places and buildings which have been identified as heritage items, or of historic interest.
Rockdale Heritage Walk – These one-hour walks feature many fine Victorian and Federation houses and public buildings.
Wolli Creek Drive – A half hour 10km trip across the Bardwell Valley and down Wolli Creek Valley gives some indication of the land and original vegetation of the City.
There’s many an old resident of the St. George district who will probably tell you, with proud memory of his schooldays, that you’re not a “dinki-di” Sydneyite until you’ve polished off a pocket full of five-corners. And, without any prompting, he’ll very likely add that, “As a ‘nation’ of five-corner eaters we are slipping”. Oddly enough there is a considerable amount of truth in such comments, since, in the days of fifty and more years ago, the name “five-corner” was a household word in many of the suburbs of Sydney, especially around St. George. In the five-corner season of the early summer it was a name that hung on the lips of almost every schoolboy — yes, and his sister, too. There’s many a local schoolroom whose floor has been littered with the well-chewed seeds of these wild berries of the bush. Indeed, it is familiarly known amongst those of the older generation that five-corners once enjoyed such popularity that, in season, they were bought and sold as a regular line in the old Paddy’s Markets, Sydney, and in some of the city fruit shops arid many a local boy and girl made pocket money by gathering them.
Yet today the chances are that nine out of every ten persons you meet haven’t even the faintest idea what a five-corner is, or wouldn’t even recognise a five-corner bush if they happened to see one. Moreover, amongst the new generation of school kiddies the pioneer custom of gathering and chewing five-corners has been rapidly replaced with the modern habit of ice cream licking and the munching of chewing-gum. In truth, what was once a most distinctively Australian pastime is gradually disappearing into the limbo of forgotten things. The reasons for these changes are, in a way, interesting, and several factors nave contributed towards them.
Styphelia tubiflora photograph by Peter Woodard
Let some of the old residents of St. George — all experienced five-corner eaters — have a word or two about schoolday memories of these native fruits. For instance, there’s the well known veteran of Hurstville, Mr. Jack Chappelow, whose father’s home, more than fifty years ago, stood amid thick bush down behind Allawah Railway Station, towards Blakehurst. With happy recollections, Mr. Chappelow remembers how, when he was a boy, the five-corner bushes grew thickly around the old homestead. He noticed that they seemed to flourish best along the rocky sandstone slopes, or else down on the sandy flats – but few, if any, would be met with back on the heavier clay country, such as occurs behind Hurstville and around Dumbleton or towards Campsie. In his young days this veteran, with his mates would make regular “expeditions” through the bush gathering in the spoils of the five-corner crop. They would spend hours filling tins and other containers – much the same as youngsters, and oldsters, do today when the blackberries are ripe. When a sufficiently bulky quantity had been accumulated Mr. Chappelow would give them to the local wood-carters to be taken into Newtown – which was then the nearest shopping centre. There they were sold by the shops to the public. And that’s how Jack Chappelow and his youthful mates earned odd shillings as pocket money, which was a novelty then for most children. Mr. Chappelow recalls that he gave many a pocketful of five-corners to Lochrin Tiddy – the man who, more than fifty years back, was the very first returning officer of Hurstville. Practically everybody, both young and old, chewed the wild fruits of the five-corners in those distant times, and such a custom proved a novel diversion to help break the monotony for those whose daily life was not readily furnished with the common enough sweetmeats of modern 1941. Along with the five-corners the pioneers also gathered from the bush such other wild berries and fruit as ten-corners, top-corners, ground berries, geebungs, native grapes (a bitterish as they are), lilli pillies, and the sour native currants.
Persons who have resided for any considerable time around the lower parts of Kogarah and Rockdale, and between Sans Souci and North Brighton along the flats, are the ones who have probably had much more experience with five-corners than anyone else in St. George. This is for the simple reason that the “fivie” bushes once grew the thickest of all in those areas, especially from Sans Souci to Cooks River, where they stood in veritable ”jungles” — so dense, in fact, that it was far easier to crawl along under them than to try and brush through. And, in that sandy country, such an adventure was invariably attended by the risk of coming face-to-face with marauding snakes, or else being tormented and stung by no end of “red joeys”. Many a tale about the “fivies” of Brighton will the old hands tell you. At the height of the season some of the “regulars” would spend hours down at the lower ends of Bestic and Bay Streets while they filled empty flour bags with the ripening berries – most of which would be lying on the ground under each bush.
Mr. Kinsela, of Sans Souci, and formerly of Bexley, is another of the “old school” who has many happy recollections about five-corner picking. He recalls the time, when he was a boy, when “fivies” could be bought at the old Paddy’s Markets, Sydney, for a penny an egg-cup full. Large quantities of them were traded there; and in later years certain city fruit shops displayed them for sale. Yet now-a-days it’s a safe wager that you won’t find a single five-corner in the whole of the city. One of their best collecting grounds, says Mr. Kinsela, was the scrub and bush that once spread thickly on either side of Woniora Road, from South Hurstville down towards Tom Ugly’s. Many a tin and basketful he and his school mates gathered down that way, after spending whole afternoons amongst the bushes. Today you could walk for miles around that locality – and Brighton too, for that matter and not see one five-corner bush. There are, however, odd ones still growing here and there in isolated patches, particularly in a spot like Oatley Park, or way out around Lugarno. On the Sutherland side of George’s River, and in wide bushland areas such as the National Park, lots of five-corners may yet be found in favourable situations.
Because of the overwhelming spread of suburban settlement within the last three decades most of the localities in St. George, and other parts of coastal Sydney, where “fivies” once flourished, have been entirely swept clean of their natural scrub and bush. In similar fashion to the more lordly gum-tree, the humble five-corner bush and his mates is fast disappearing beneath the crush of sardine-packed suburbs. No doubt that is one of the primary reasons why the pioneer tradition – handed down from the aborigines and the first white settlers – of five-corner gathering and eating is dying off. Another factor also in this historic change is that youngsters of the present generation are much more privileged with pocket money than their grandfathers were. Moreover, there are greater inducements today in the way of buying ready-made pleasures and pastimes. Youngsters, as a consequence, are more readily attracted to the civilised “fruits” of the sweet shops and the milk bars; and that goes too for the grown-ups.
And now, finally, a word or two about the five-corner bush itself – what the botanists will tell you. In the first place, the five-corners — of which there are eleven different kinds or species – are true native plants of Australia, and found no where else in the entire world. Not only did they grow principally in New South Wales, but they are confined almost solely to the coast and eastward slopes of the Blue Mountains. One or two types of five-corners, in fact, will be found nowhere else but on the sandstone zone of which Sydney is the centre. Thus it can be said that five-corners are unknown to the majority of Australians.
Styphelia tubiflora by James Sowerby circa 1794
These wild plants are classed as members of the Australian heath family — of which they are said to be the largest and most beautifully coloured. Their botanical name is Styphelia; which was taken from the Greek word “styphelos”, meaning rough; which describes the stiff, compact and harsh nature of the shrub and its foliage. As mature fruit-bearing shrubs they may be found in heights of anything from two feet to eight feet and even taller, depending on the situation in which they are growing. Their leaves are on the small side – for example, smaller than those of the Christmas bush – and are of plain shape, but have sharp pointed tips. In the different kinds of five-corners the flowers vary in colour from pink and red to yellow, green, and white. They are tube-shaped, with lung stamens poking out through the opening. Honey-eaters and insects are fond of the flowers, as they hold sweet drops of nectar. It is in the late winter and early spring months that the five-corners come into bloom, and the ripening berries will be found from then on into the summer. Odd ones, of course, will be seen in fruit out of season. Now, it is an interesting point that the popular name of the shrub – five-corner – is really descriptive of its fruit, each of which is “wrapped-up”, so to speak, in five small leaves, which first held the flower. This produces the characteristic of five points or corners; which is an outstanding guide to the identity of this shrub. Each berry is described by botanists as being in the shape of a drupe, meaning that it has the appearance and structure, generally, of an olive, but on a much smaller scale. Oddly enough there is nothing startling about its flavour, and not much flesh covers the one central seed. It is, however, on the sweetish side when fully ripened, and has a distinctive taste, though only mild, which is not quite like any other wild berry. It is certainly the very opposite of the native currants! The succulent fruit of the five-corner, by the way, is properly ripe when it has fallen to the ground beneath the bush; although many “fivie” enthusiasts prefer to pick and eat those that are still amongst the green foliage.
This article was first published in the February 1964 edition of our magazine.
At the official gathering held at Kurnell on 6th May, 1899, to set apart 251 acres as a public reserve and a National Memorial to Captain James Cook, Mr. Joseph Cook (Minister for Lands) referred to the fact that Cook discovered the river so named after him. The following is an extract from his speech:
“I have in my possession temporarily (thanks to the courtesy of Mr. Huntington) a facsimile of Cook’s own chart of Botany Bay, and it shows that he proceeded in his boats up Cook’s River as far as the dam.”
Chart of Botany Bay by James Cook (courtesy National Museum of Australia)
The earliest reference we have to the name Cook’s River is in the year 1800, when Surveyors Grimes and Meeham, in their field books for the years 1799 to 1802 refer to surveys of farms at Cook’s River. it is interesting to know that in the early days and for many years, wild flowers grew in great profusion along the shores of the river. It was described as a peaceful and beautiful river, and the banks, especially in the upper reaches, were covered with tall trees.
The river, from the source at Rookwood, near the eastern boundary of Liberty Plains to the dam at Tempe, is 9.25 miles long, and from the dam to Botany Bay it is 3.25 miles long, making a total length of 12.5 miles.
About eleven years ago the river was diverted in an almost straight line from Tempe to Botany Bay.
That portion of the river from Shea’s Creek to Botany Bay was filled in so as to enlarge the Mascot Aerodrome.
The first place of interest on the banks of the filled in portion of the river at the entrance to Botany Bay, was to be seen the ruins of the old Macquarie style building with a high chimney. After the river was filled in the chimney of his historic building was removed. This building was used from 1858 to 1888 as a pumping station for the water supply of Sydney. The Botany and Randwick swamps, known officially as the “Lachlan Swamps”, were linked up as a chain of ponds. A tunnel was commenced in September 1827, to convey this water to Sydney. This work was under the direction of Mr. James Busby, Mineral Surveyor, and it was completed a few years later. The tunnel was known as the “Busby Bore” or Busby Tunnel.
Busby’s Bore stand pipe at Hyde Park, watercolour possibly by C. H. Woolcott
At the former Cook’s River tram terminus, the road bridge crosses the river within about 100 feet of the site of the original bridge, owing to the river altering its course, and the old river-bed forming a dead-end. The dam at this old bridge was constructed by convict labour, under the superintendence of Mr. Colvert, during the year 1835. On the Sydney side of the river stood a little wooden toll bar at the entrance to the bridge. The toll gate was closed at night. All horses and vehicles were charged a small fee to pass through, but foot passengers went through free.
On the Arncliffe side of the river from the bridge was the line mansion known as “Tempe”, built and occupied by Mr. Alexander Brodie Spark.
Further along the river was the old Unwin’s Bridge, formerly a wooden structure, built by convicts in 1836, and so named after the Unwin family who resided in a pretty home at Undercliffe known as “Wanstead House”, named after their native home in Essex, England. Further along the river on the right hand side was the old home of the Hon. Thomas Holt, known as “Warren House”, with its beautiful lawns and gardens. The estate consisted of about 140 acres.
When nearing Canterbury, on the banks of the river, was an old stone building erected by the Australian Sugar Company, and it bears the inscription: A.S. Co., 1841. A dam was built across the river to ensure a supply of fresh water. The first sugar was placed on the market during 1842 and the business was transferred to Sydney in 1855.
Sugar Works, Canterbury by Frederick Garling 1840s
This article was first published in the February 1964 edition of our magazine.
Historic Rosevale Villa, one of the last pioneer homes left in Rockdale is no more and although its stones were marked and every care taken in its demolition it is unlikely that it could ever be rebuilt.
Rosevale Villa, circa 1960 (courtesy Bayside Library)
The soft sandstone mouldings which have withstood the ravages of time for almost 100 years crumbled badly as they were being moved and the large stone blocks from which the building was made fared little better.
This is a great disappointment to this Society which fought for its preservation from the time the “FOR SALE – DEVELOPMENT SITE” notice was posted on its front fence.
Also to be demolished in the reasonably near future is the Bray Family home in Market Street, Rockdale, which stands in the way of the large parking area being developed at the rear of the Rockdale Shopping Centre.
Bray Homestead, sketch by Gifford Eardley (courtesy Bayside Library)
Although much older than Rosevale Villa, this cottage does not have the same architectural merit as the first named building and in recent years has been obscured by a number of additions.
This article was first published in the February 1964 edition of our magazine.
Without a doubt one of the most attractive places for small boys in old time Rockdale was the blacksmith shop of Duncan Roy, whose premises were sited on the northern side of the Town Hall. Standing at the wide doorway facing Rocky Point Road children gazed in awe at the shower of sparks rising from the red-hot iron as it was hammered upon the anvil when making horseshoes and other implements then in common demand. There was a charming atmosphere about the interior of the roughly built premises, the acrid smoke from the fire, the wheeze of the hand operated bellows, the restlessness of the horses who, tinged with fear, were waiting to be shod, the murky sunlight filtering into the gloom through the rear windows, and the leather-aproned blacksmith in person, a mighty man was he. One is filled with nostalgia for this era which has almost disappeared into the limbo of forgotten things, as today there are very few practising blacksmiths, and those who remain are inundated with business. Sadly enough there are few, if any, of the younger generation desirous of learning the skills associated with the blacksmith’s trade.
Relying on the memory of certain members of our St. George Historical Society it may be stated that the forge building, constructed of yellow painted weatherboard, was set back a little distance from the footpath alignment. Its front and rear doorways were of the double door type and of sufficient width to permit the entry of horse drawn vehicles in need of repair. There were two forges in use, both being arranged on the southern side of the low roofed building, and voiding much of their smoke through brick built chimneys which projected well above the roof line Another fire could be arranged in circular fashion in the back yard where cart tyres were heated preparatory to being dropped over the wooden wheel assembly. They were then shrunk into position per medium of buckets of water, thus holding the wheel components together in a tenacious grip. It was a most interesting process, and one which called for a great deal of practical knowledge and skill. It is understood that the iron tyre was curved to form a diameter of two inches less than that of the wooden wheel, the tyre, when heated, expanding to a greater diameter than the wheel at the rate of about three-sixteenths of an inch per foot of diameter.
A horse bus service between Penshurst and the Cooks River (courtesy Bayside Library)
Duncan Roy’s son, Horace, helped his father in the blacksmithing business and was also an accomplished farrier and wheelwright. All manner of horses, from stalwart draught horses to ponies, came to be fitted with shoes and, in the bleak days of winter their waiting owners indulged in local gossip ranged around the warmth of the forge fire, keeping discreetly out of the way of the busy blacksmith, or giving a hand at the wheezing bellows. The average life of the horse shoes was about three weeks, owing to the rough sandstone surface of the streets, together with the continual stamping of the animals brought about by the unremitting attentions of house flies. The horses could only kick backwards and once the smithy had one of the animal’s legs off the ground he was comparatively safe. The cost of a set of shoes was in the vicinity of five shillings.
At the risk of being thought technical one feels that a short description of the tools, and methods of using same, would not go amiss from a purely historical angle. This data was supplied in detail by Mr. W. Manning, of Hector Street, Sefton, who was a craftsman of no mean order and one that specialised in the shoeing of race-horses.
Blacksmith, circa 1880 (courtesy Mt. Barker RSL)
FLOOR TOOLS
“Shoeing Hammer”. Usually self forged. Made like a claw hammer, the claw being used to cut the ends of the nails off after hammering into the hoof, “RASP”. This was a combination tool with a rough toothed rasp on one side and a file on the other. It was used for levelling the hooves. “CUTTING KNIFE AND TOE KNIFE”. This instrument was shaped like a small tomahawk with a slightly dished blade. “BUFFER”. Used to cut existing nails in the hooves prior to the removal of the old shoes.
The shoeing nails, of “T” brand, were purchased ready made. They were driven for a distance of approximately two inches into the hoof and brought down outside of the hoof where the ends were bent and cut off with the shoeing hammer.
FORGING TOOLS
Four pound turning hammer, fitted with a 14 inch handle, was used for shaping shoes on the anvil. The shoe-steel bars were supplied by Messrs. Friend and Company in a range of cross sections A “FULLER” was used to cut the sunken ridge-like depression around the shoe to house the nail heads. These were in at least two sizes, one for ponies and the other for- horses. A “HOLER” was used, fitted with a handle, for piercing holes in the shoe during the early process of manufacture, A “PRICTHEL”, an instrument generally forged from an old worn-out file, about ten inches in length, tapered down to a small square-shaped point. In use for driving through the heated shoe to give the required shape to the nail holes. Four nail holes were driven on the outside of the hoof and three on the inner side was the usual practice.
The front portion of the shoe was shaped to a tapered point, known as the “Big-clip”, which laid against the front of the hoof thereby taking away the road stress from the rest of the shoe. The rear of the shoe was, at times, doubled back on its self, this was known as a”Heel and Bar”. Another variation was to bend back the bar stock at the end of the shoe for a distance of about one and a quarter inches, which with the ‘Big Clip”, assisted in holding the shoe in place when fitted to draught animals.
The horse hoof is about a quarter of an inch in thickness and the sole averages half an inch. Great skill is need in driving the nail upwards into the hoof. A good farrier generally took about ten minutes to shoe four hoofs, although the job has been done in six minutes. The back feet were lifted to the hip to permit a shoe being fitted. Some animals were fractious during the process and care had to be taken against being kicked.
The farrier wore a leather apron split down the middle, and together with a boy who operated the forge bellows for blowing up the fire of slack coal, and also with the hammer striking at the anvil, could make and fit four shoes in about three quarters of an hour. The bellows, constructed of wood and leather, were locally made, but a steel fan type, hand turned through gears, were also in use at some forges. Most other metal work, apart from the manufacture of horse shoes, was generally in the nature of repairs to existing equipment. It was customary for the smith to make a spare set of shoes for his regular horse-owning customers, hanging them on the wall until time as they were needed.
Duncan Roy manufactured such ironwork needed for the construction of horse-drawn vehicles built by the neighbouring firm of Messrs. Welch and Walker, who were wheelwrights and wagon and sulky body builders of repute. Their premises were located on Rocky Point Road about two doors south of Mr. Iliffe’s “Rose Vale” Villa.
There was another blacksmithing establishment at Rockdale, that of Arthur Nicholson, who lived at Jewfish Point, west of Oatley. His premises were largely built of upright wooden slabs, enclosed by an iron roof, the building abutting onto the footpath south of, and in the immediate vicinity of the Royal Hotel. He usually had in his employ two or three Irish boy immigrants, thus giving them a start in life and a chance to learn a specialised trade. Arthur Nicholson was responsible for the shoeing of many of the racehorses kept in the East Kogarah area. However, with the closure of the Moorefield Racecourse and the abandonment of the various local stables nearby, together with the universal adoption of motor transport, the smithies both at Rockdale and Kogarah closed down for the want of business.
This article was first published in the August 1970 edition of our magazine.
