Category: History Beyond the Classroom HSTY3902 – 2016

Throughout my education, from high school to university, I have always discarded Australian history. For me it had always been dull, only punctuated by a few daring expeditions into the outback and two world wars. What I wanted in history was what I wanted in a narrative. I wanted a start and an end date, a protagonist, an enemy, ideological clashes and a sensational turning point that separated nations and brought together its people. I focussed on the macro, and ignored the micro. This course in particular has made me question why this is so. Perhaps it was a simple unawareness of what Australian History has to offer, or a misinterpretation of what history is meant to be. In either case I have learnt to appreciate Australian history, while my understanding of the history discipline has been shaped.
For me now history is not something of the past studied in books, rather it is something lived and carried out through the day to day. I have reached this rational through this course. I have learnt that historians, and the public in particular, still have the ability to shape what history is projected, or even forgotten. The public has a massive role in deciding what type of history is propagated, mainly for its ability or inability to preserve the history. It should be then important for historians and the public to conserve and study anything to do with Australia’s past. What was mundane in the past is now a historical artifact, and so too might be any irrelevant object in my living room.
It is dangerous to punctuate history with end dates and turning points. For example, the civil rights movement is over, but the fight for racial equality is not. A lot of academic historical framework runs this danger of pigeon holing issues into to separate boxes, casting history into black and white. History runs the risk of describing a resolution when it was not achieved. Understanding the continuity of history, helps understand the continuity of society. This is an important point because as Australians we must remember our past, good, bad or mundane. What happened in the past may well continue to happen but we must recognize how society has changed or has not changed. So now when I look at Australia’s history I don’t only see the ANZACs in the trenches, but also throngs of swimmers at Bondi Beach in summer, Italian shopkeepers closing up, An Aboriginal hundreds of years ago eating a salty oyster, a woman reading in a park, and even my life is part of the greater Australian history.

One of the Oxford Dictionary definitions of ‘community’ is “the condition of sharing or having certain attitudes and interests in common”. In the early weeks of History Beyond the Classroom, we had a discussion about communities. Which communities we thought we were apart of, and what communities we would like to work with for our major project. When I heard the word ‘community’ I immediately thought of the ice rink. I’ve chosen Canterbury Olympic Ice Rink as the community group I’ll be working with over the semester.
Canterbury Olympic Ice Rink has been the home to and fostered a community for 45 years. I’ve been a part of this community of six years now. Canterbury Olympic Ice Rink is the home to many sporting clubs from figure, syncro, hockey and speed. In my community work with the ice rink, I will be assisting in archiving the history of the creation of the ice rink and the co-op. The rink has had a dynamic history over the past 45 years, and has only been able to survive due to the community supporting it, and donating their time and efforts to ensuring the rink lives on for the next generation of skaters.
Canterbury Olympic Ice Rink is a not-for-profit organisation that offers a space for training and recreational skating. The idea for the ice rink in Canterbury began at the Malvern Hall Methodist Church Hall in Croydon. John R.E. Brown, who became the first chairman and was one of the three founding members of the co-op, spoke to the ice skating community and proposed a new rink in Canterbury. The Burwood Glaciarium Rink had just closed down, and this was why a co-op had to be formed to ensure the new rink wouldn’t close down privately. Fifty people agreed to join to co-op at $20 per person for the first year.
The challenge then began to find $73,000 to ensure a continued training place for the western Sydney ice skating community. A year later, after many struggles with councils, and funds, the ice rink opened its doors on Friday March 5, 1971. This wouldn’t have been able to happen without the help of countless volunteers who spent so much of their time and energy into building a rink that would serve the community, and be a community for many years to come.
The rink has grown and changed so much over the past 45 years. The original entry price for a public skating session was 80 cents for children and $1.20 for adults. The image shown is an article from the Australian Women’s Weekly in 1971, which documents the opening of the ice rink and the impact volunteers and community members had.
More information: http://www.canterburyolympicicerink.org.au/ https://www.facebook.com/CanterburyOlympicIceRink/

For my community engagement I have been working with Auburn Youth Centre (AYC), an organisation which brings together people of all cultural, linguistic, religious and ethnic backgrounds to provide support, entertainment and programs for local youth. The centre has been around since 1983, and has, through various initiatives, touched the lives of many and played a dynamic role in fostering community spirit.
This year is their 30th anniversary, and as such the centre is keen to look into its history – in particular the achievements that have been made over 30 years of existence. The centre is certainly interested in exploring its history, but having changed locations several times over the past three decades, most original documents have been lost.
Having heard this, I’d reconciled myself with the fact that I’d be trawling through a range of different sources to find anything I could about the organisation – local libraries, local papers, you name it.
“Actually, we do have a few boxes of stuff somewhere – just some photos, documents – probably useless”, I was told.
The historian in me rejoiced when I was shown two giant boxes, filled with files, filled with promise. I could almost detect a faint halo emanating from the plastic bins.
There, in a little storage room at the back of Auburn Youth centre, with nothing but the glow from the files to guide me (I was so excited it took me an hour to realise there was a light switch), is where I spent the last four hours.
I looked through the first few files with the care and precision of a total amateur. One of the first files I open is about a BBQ purchased in 2009. It contains a tax invoice, warranty, a user manual, correspondence between the supplier in Melbourne and AYC detailing quotes… For someone writing a history on barbecue culture in Australian community organisations, this may have been like striking gold. The hoarder in me thinks: “better preserve this just in case, you never know when barbecue history may become the next big thing”. But my common sense (and timing restriction) says otherwise. Three files and twenty minutes in, all I have to show is my newfound expertise on barbecue installation, which may come in handy someday, but certainly not for this project. Now an expert on how to best maintain and service my Tucker ‘Friar Tuck’ BBQ, I close the file.
I start scanning through the documents more methodically. There are insurance forms, car registration papers, maintenance checklists, OHS procedures, takeout menus for local Chinese and caterers they presumably used. Riveting stuff. But none of which is telling of the many achievements, the wonderful people and the noble character of the organisation. I find myself skimming over the files from the past couple of years, searching for something older.
This gets me thinking. At what point do everyday documents become history? We are told that history is anything in the past, but few of us would consider last week’s phone bill to be of historical importance. In my study of history, I have been exposed to files which may be equally trivial, and did not once question their historic significance, because they were old and rare. If I can depend on an official’s list on a scrap of paper to tell me about censorship in the GDR, then surely these files here are of significance.
I come across a Vodafone phone bill from 2011, glance at it for a few seconds, and move on. Why? Is it not old enough? If this file was from 1986 would I have looked at it differently? Is it because I have a deep-rooted underlying resentment for the Telco? Is it because it’s just plain boring?
I realise, that it is because what I am looking for cannot be found in business transactions and insurance forms. I am looking for something which will tell me about the character, the people, the community story of AYC, and no amount of phone bills will tell me this. The history we look for so deeply influences the history we see. An historian sets upon an investigation with a purpose, albeit a noble one, which will ultimately influence the information they do and don’t see.
As I am looking through the documents, a group of boys play basketball in an adjacent room. They soon call it quits and begin to strum some chords on the guitar. One of them begins to wail something, which I soon recognise to be Justin Bieber’s newest song, and the others join in.
This is the story of AYC that I want to tell. Of the people whose lives have been touched by the organisation. Their stories.
Beside the two plastic boxes are a handful of photo albums. There are pictures of AYC members at discos, at parties, at talent quests and at, would you believe it, backyard barbecues. Photos of smiling faces, of people having fun together, of what would certainly be unforgettable memories, thanks to the work of Auburn Youth Centre. There’s one boy who features in so many photos I begin to think he is the unofficial leader of the group. He may be the life of the party, but I bet he didn’t anticipate some stranger would be looking at his photos decades later wondering how AYC featured in his life. Wondering who were the people he met here? The relationships he made? Did they last?
The answers to these questions cannot be found in reports and statistics. The achievements of an organisation like AYC aren’t quantifiable through numbers and dates. They are measured by stories, by histories, and as I finish trawling through these documents, and look to the other sources I can gather, this is what I hope to find. From a brief look at portrayal of the organisation in local papers, it is so evident that Auburn Youth Centre has had a profound impact on local youth, has featured prominently in the lives of many, and has fostered community engagement and community spirit, which is what I hope to show as I continue my project.

We have all been a little apprehensive, scared even, about what the hell we are meant to be doing here! But we have been assured, by amazing public historians and former students that it will somehow come together, someone will get back to us, somehow we will know what to do and some great history will be produced….. After getting no other responses from other organisations and getting nowhere on this blind journey in the previous weeks. I have been convinced after my visit to the Blue Mountains Historical Society that local history is in everyone’s reach.
What an absolute blast! I must have seemed like an excited little puppy, repetitive in my oo’s and ahh’s, blown away by the resources, photos, volunteers, the ‘technologies’, the artefacts, and the guns! I won’t deny I was nervous, I drove in to find a few people tending to the grounds, heading inside there were about 10 other people working on their various projects. I felt a little intimated by their age and therefore wisdom, wondering what I could offer, wondering where to start. Many had been in the society for years, and a few members I met had published books, but didn’t seem eager to wave them around which was an interesting observation. Everyone was so welcoming, I really learnt so much even if this time around I probably couldn’t offer much back.
You don’t realise how amazing history can be when it’s close to home, when it’s close to your heart. Growing up in the Blue Mountains I was keen to get back and learn about the history as well as the Historical Society. It’s extraordinary to see parts of your life, your community reflected many decades ago in sepia photos showing the pub you drink at standing alone with horse and carts out front or the swimming hole you still go to the site of a men’s swimming carnival in the 1940’s.
I was given a tour, shown how and where to find everything, was passed onto various members to show me what they do. Of particular interest was the Tarrella Cottage Museum which was a holiday house of the McLaughlin family of Sydney, built in 1890, situated on a hill overlooking the Western plains, it holds an extensive range of 19th and 20th century household items. The donated gun collection made a great display and the quirky objects like one of the daughter’s winning fancy dress outfit which was a newspaper printed gown made for a fascinating visit.
Of particular interest was the ‘house histories’ they do for a donation which tracks the history of a property and its owners from the earliest council and state records to the present day. This is literally like a historical treasure hunt! Using microfiches of council records, the NSW historic land records http://images.maps.nsw.gov.au/pixel.htm ), maps ( https://six.nsw.gov.au/ ), and cross referencing with Office of Births, Deaths and Marriages ( http://www.bdm.nsw.gov.au/ ) and potentially newspapers for further information ( http://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/ ). I was shown parts of how they do this and a finished product. This kind of task can take days because sometimes document trails lead you astray or simply disappear. Bruce, who predominately does these, explained to me that there is so much to take into consideration when on this history hunt such as owners who may rent and property merging. I look forward to getting my hands on some more microfiches and seeing what I can or cannot find.
I felt proud of the Historical Society having only been there an hour or so, you could see the years of preservation on the walls and in the files. Decades of hard work and painful documentation have built an extensive collection for all to utilise and enjoy. The society also puts out a bi-monthly newsletter ‘Hobby’s Outreach’, with the last issue covering the hunt for the Cox’s River Aboriginal name, a book review on The Girl Who Stole Stockings by Elsbeth Hardie a ‘well researched and well written story of early life in the colony’, particularly revolving around female convicts. Further, the issue has a Presidents report, news of upcoming meetings, lectures and excursions and a letter of appeal for anything relating to the society’s 70 year history.
I was inspired by the work everyone does there and all that has been done before them. I think it’s sad many of us are so disconnected from out local history and disregard public history as amateur or unimportant. The preoccupation with national and international history misses the point that local stories and experiences make up the national narrative and are just as important as dramatic events on a macro scale. I implore all who read this to get out there, see what your community has to offer, get involved and learn from the people restoring, preserving and documenting the past and present for the sake of the future.

Like a long-expired animal carcass, an abandoned four-storey mansion called Morella overlooks Chowder Bay, its insides gutted and bones shattered. In its non-sentient state, Morella feels no shame for the open wounds that it displays to the world. It beckons, like an advertisement for a museum exhibit. What treasures lie inside?
No window panes exist anymore. Instead, mosaics of glass crunch underfoot. The burnt-out kitchen area is a time capsule. Appliances are decades out of date. Part of the third floor folds at a 45 degree angle, almost like a staircase of its own. The rusted skeleton of a grand piano is strewn across the patio. Dirt and weeds invade the open-air basement. Graffiti camouflages the art deco bravado of Roman pillars.
Urban ruins such as this are mysterious and intriguing. At least, to some (more on that later). I remember venturing into this abandoned mansion one morning with a friend, armed with a camera, to discover a man from Queensland similarly exploring the house. Apparently, a friend had told him about the place. Weeks later, during another visit, I was fined by police for trespassing. They complained that they had been called to the house the night before to deal with trespassers. Clearly, Morella had become a tourist attraction of sorts and a social hub for local youths.
In response to a Sydney Morning Herald article last year, Colin Rhodes, the (now resigned) Sydney College of the Arts (SCA) dean, praised the beauty of the SCA’s surroundings at Callan Park. However, he remarked that Callan Park “remains in a state of limbo and it is really hard to develop a world-class art school in a location that only seems to be deteriorating”. At first glance, this comment may appear unremarkable. Alongside the awe-inspiring architecture of the Kirkbride complex and Garry Owen House sits incongruously the brutalist architecture of air-raid shelters, the rustic architecture of stables and coach houses, with rusty tin roofs, and the scorched architecture of Broughton Hall, which suffered fire and vandalism in the 1980s (it is now boarded up).
Without history, abandoned places are curious oddities with only a present and a future, but not so curious as to invite critical examination. They appear a blank canvas for developers. They appear in need of human meaning and improvement to a naïve eye. This is why beer bottles and spray paint cans litter Morella and not the cameras and notebooks of historians, sociologists, journalists or council workers. Abandoned sites attract urban explorers, avid instagrammers, inquisitive passers-by and adrenaline junkies, but ignorance about their histories persist. I remember reading one piece on Morella in the Daily Telegraph, almost one year ago. The reddit thread on the house is sparse. Further information is hard to find. There is tension between interest and ignorance. It is probably the intrigue of not knowing what lies within that entices people. As a history buff, maybe I am different.
Callan Park sits today on 61 hectares of land, situated at Sydney’s heart. With the first permanent structure, Garry Owen House, built around 1840, the park has a rich history. However, beyond the local level, I believe the park has evaded the quantity of historical analysis it deserves. Some literature has been written on Garry Owen House and the Kirkbride buildings. Probably less has been written about Broughton Hall, despite its dilapidated state. Dedicated locals, represented by the Friends of Callan Park, have valiantly fought to preserve the park’s heritage. But with Professor Rhodes their efforts have fallen on deaf ears.
Public ignorance about the histories of abandoned sites can be damaging. Conspiracy theories, regarding the use of the tunnels below the Kirkbride building and a supposed secret passageway leading to the Parramatta River, abound. Sensationalist media reports have long over-emphasised the brutality and austerity of Callan Park’s mental hospitals. One media report described Morella as “haunted”. My own mother warned me that a “crazy man” lived there, but the house has been uninhabited since I was five years old. As Grace Karskens remarks, in The Colony: A History of Early Sydney, “while there are kernels of truth in… foggy tales, places, like stories, need to be taken seriously, they need to be researched as well as visited and experienced; they need history.” Growing up in western Sydney as a child, she witnessed suburbanisation and commercial development consume empty, neglected farmhouses.
Like Karskens, we must write local histories that restore humanity to places. Social history is particularly useful. So is sensorial history, so often ignored in secondary sources. Recently, scholars, such as James Scott, have argued that urban planners reduce human experience to what is visible through maps and models. Instead of seeing blight and an imagined “crazy man”, we must hear the laughter and chatter of the Parer family children that inhabited Morella and of the esteemed dinner guests that frequently dined inside its walls. Instead of propagating fictionalised tales and seeing a blank canvas for redevelopment, we must smell the earthy purity of Callan Park’s lush gardens, where mental patients rehabilitated themselves. We must hear – or not hear – the muffled urban soundscape, overpowered by the squawking of birds. We must feel the blustery winds of Callan Park on our skin. This sensorial history will paint a more vivid, humane picture of patients’ everyday lives and justly depict the park as open and often tranquil. Callan Park Hospital for the Insane and Broughton Hall Psychiatric Clinic (later amalgamated as the Rozelle Hospital) were progressive institutions, not enclosed, secretive mental asylums. For more of that argument, you will have to see my final project!
The “deteriorating” buildings Professor Rhodes described, relics of a bygone era, nonetheless hold tightly fascinating stories of perseverance, pain, recovery and sadness. (Read Jen Hawksley’s article ‘Histories from the Asylum: “The Unknown Patient”’ for one such story.) We must not invent wild tales with little evidence to support our case or slander their decrepit state. We must approach them gently and carefully. Only then will they reveal their pasts.

This week, David Watts joined us again from the Aboriginal Heritage Office, a unique joint initiative by a group of councils across northern Sydney, including North Sydney, Manly, Warringah, Ku-ring-gai, and Pittwater to protect Aboriginal Heritage in these areas (http://www.aboriginalheritage.org/).
David, one of the students’ favourite speakers from last year’s class, is the Aboriginal Heritage Manager, and really developed, planned, and founded the Office back in 2000. He continues to play a key role in the preservation of Aboriginal heritage sites, education, and a prize-winning volunteer site monitoring program that empowers community members to take responsibility for our shared heritage and past.
David talked to students about his role in the organisation, the many challenges they faced and continue to face, and his extensive experience in Aboriginal heritage management. He has worked on site surveys and archaeological excavations, conservation management plans and protection works. He has given talks all over the world about Aboriginal site care and managements, as well as cultural tourism advice, and he has developed several Aboriginal Heritage Walks within the northern Sydney region (including some of the walks and resources you can find here: http://www.aboriginalheritage.org/downloads1/).
Like last year, David engaged us all with his honest and realistic approach to public history, and also talked about his own past and the way that shaped his approach to the present, and his responses to continued racism as well. He also shared with us a new publication the AHO has released called “Filling the Void: A History of the Word ‘Guringai’.” http://www.aboriginalheritage.org/history/filling-a-void-history-of-word-guringai/
David’s talk helped set the tone for an ensuing discussion on “Decolonizing Methodologies” and especially the struggle over “research” in indigenous communities where there has been a long history of imperial and post-colonial intrusion by researchers. David’s talk, and the readings, helped draw attention to the sensitivities involved in indigenous history and the need to think carefully about our intentions and purposes in doing it (something we need to be mindful with any project, it seems).
But David’s efforts in getting the AHO up and running and maintaining and sustaining it for over sixteen years now, along with his dedicated team of colleagues (who put on almost 200 schools events a year and who monitor thousands of aboriginal heritage sites across northern Sydney), reminded the class that it is not enough to sit around and wait for the “right” thing to happen in heritage management. David, along with other speakers like Judith Dunn, are teaching us the importance of stepping up to make something happen. It is not always easy, but it won’t get done otherwise.

When I ask myself; what is history? The logical answer that comes to mind is ‘people’. Nothing more or nothing less than every single thing that humans have ever done in their lives – the groups they form, the things they make or construct, how they live together or apart, how they love and fight from the microcosm of the family right through to a grand-scale sweeping thematic view of decades and ages of time.
In essence, history is from the people, of the people and I believe; for the people. It should be accessible, understandable, appealing, exciting and engaging – not fusty, musty and locked away, either in distance archives or obfuscated beyond use into the unwieldy language of the academic elite.
In many ways this subject has offered me to most fertile ground for expressing this view of history – as well as doing an excellent job of me undertaking my first journey as (semi)professional historian. Perhaps a good metaphor for this is training wheels – keeping me upright as I fly off joyfully down the occasionally bumpy road of a community history project.
And occasionally bumpy it has been, having had to change community organizations mid-way through, I’m now working for/with the Newtown Neighborhood Center to create a ‘creative historical exhibition’ for their 40th birthday celebrations. I’m really excited for this, which is looking like it will take the form of semi-permanent gallery style exhibition with a series of paste up posters featuring both images and historical information. We’re also discussing some archival work which is really exciting; because as my contact at the center says ‘who knows what’s in there!’
I’ve been really fortunate in my organization in terms of how much our views of what history should be/look like seem very similar – we both place a similar level of importance on all members of the public from university educated people to small children to elders to people who may not have fully completed their schooling to be able to understand and enjoy the information we discover. Doubly fortunately, we both feel that a key factor of this is a creative and visually appealing presentation of this information – something that very neatly intersects with my personal interest and experience with visual arts and mural painting/design.
Despite being off to a bit of a slow start, I’m so excited to see what this project will develop into!
FOR MORE INFORMATION ABOUT THE NEWTOWN NEIGHBOURHOOD CENTER: http://www.newtowncentre.org/

My father was a stonemason. He spent years of his life chipping away at stone. To this day, he still bears the marks of his work on his rough and calloused hands. As a child, I often marvelled at the things he could create from the stone with just a few simple tools like his hammer and chisel. Our family home, built more than twenty years ago by my father and grandfather, lays on a foundation of sandstone; the steps leading up to our front door were carefully smoothed by his hands. Even our letter box, although old and weathered now, was built from sandstone.
I have always had a connection to old buildings. I think it is because they remind me of my father, our family home and my own history. Perhaps, this is also why I am so intrigued by the many historical buildings along Alison Road, in the old town of Wyong. These buildings, which include the Old Court House, Chapman’s Store and the Railway Station, are all enduring remnants of years gone by. Built with aging brick and stone, they are the only remaining markers of the time in which Wyong was first founded over a century ago.
More than just the buildings themselves, it is the stories of the people behind them that captivate me the most. In the past few weeks, I have spent hours trawling through archives, newspapers and books, searching for people with connections to the buildings along Alison Road. Slowly, I am piecing together a narrative about the past lives and ways of the pioneers of Wyong.
So far, I have read stories about William Ponton, a bricklayer by trade who built the Post Office adjoining the Old Police Station, who was famed throughout the town for laying more than 1000 bricks a day. I have also uncovered numerous newspaper reports about the first postmaster of Wyong, Mr. Stafford, who disappeared from his lodgings at the Court House one morning along with a considerable sum of money from the till. It is stories like these, about the buildings of Wyong and the people who built them, lived in them and visited them, that I will endeavour to share in my walking tour of Alison Road.
Erin Blanchfield
I am working alongside Wyong Family History Group to develop a walking tour of the historical buildings along Alison Road in Wyong. For further information about the group, please visit; http://www.wyongfamilyhistory.com.au/

For my community project, I decided to go back to my old school (because twelve years at school apparently wasn’t long enough). I enjoyed my time at school and hold my teachers and administrative staff in much higher regard, having now witnessed my friends struggling with the demands of a degree in Education.
 
Kambala introduced the study of history to me. Perhaps it was the moment when we made our own archaeological dig in a shoe box in year 7, or studied the Titanic in year 10 (aka arguing if there was enough space on the door for Jack Dawson *spoiler alert* there was), or even our field trips to the Rocks, and Vaucluse House in primary school. I can’t pin point the exact moment in which I became fascinated about the past, but it was undeniably born, cultivated, and matured inside school walls. I studied both ancient history and history extension for the HSC. While I wanted to take modern history too someone-who-shall-not-be-named thought that mathematics was a better idea (it wasn’t). However, despite learning about the great history of great men, the school’s history of my school was largely ignored. I graduated with more knowledge about the gymnasiums in Pompeii than Kambala’s buildings.
 
I therefore decided to work with the Kambala Old Girls Union (KOGU) in order that I might engage deeper with my school’s history and the community which had taught me so much. This year marks the 120th Anniversary of the Kambala Old Girls Union. As part of the celebrations, KOGU is releasing a series of images and biographies on old girls who have led inspirational lives. I myself wrote the biographies for nine deceased old girls.
This was a challenge as it was difficult to obtain information about some of the old girls, given they lived in the 1800s. However, having researched their lives deeply by trawling through 1903 editions of the Sydney Morning Herald I managed to find sufficient information to construct a biography about their lives.
 
I was fascinated by the challenging and intriguing nature of these old girls’ lives. While some served in the Red Cross during World Wars I and II, another founding the Country Women’s Association, to another becoming one of the best artists in Australia, these girls, who walked the same halls as myself for twelve years left a significant mark on the country’s history. In HSC Ancient History we spent months studying powerful women like Hatshepsut, one of the most powerful Pharaohs in New Kingdom Egypt. We studied Livia, Julia, Octavia, the wife, daughter and sister of Augustus. We studied the great female protagonists from the Classical Tragedians (I think at this point I need to confess my true passion for history lies in Ancient Rome, specifically 42BC-14D).
We studied these captivating famous ancient women, women who challenged authority and forged a unique and independent path for themselves in their challenging societies. But, not once did we study the old girl who was the first female junior medical resident officer at Royal Prince Alfred Hospital.
Not the old girl who raised 95 000 pounds for the Australian Cerebral Palsy Association through her position as Miss Australia.
Not once the old girl who was Australia’s first female diplomat to the United Nations.
Not the girls who walked the same corridors, perhaps sat in the same chairs, wore the same uniform or sang the same school song.
Sometimes it’s not necessary to visit Ancient Rome to find inspirational historical figures as HSC Ancient History would have you believe. Sometimes you can find their fingerprints on the door of M22.*
~ Lizzie Richardson (class of 2012)
*M22 was the history room at Kambala

There really is nothing like seeing strangers and mates alike join to drop their pants to the Eagle Rock, or belt out every lyric to Khe Sanh whilst they drown themselves in beer.
I think most young Australians are drawn to a culture shaped by music entertainment and drinking. Perhaps problematically, drinking and the social activities that accompany it are entrenched historically in the Australian identity. The nationalist character of the Australian imagined community is a topic oft-discussed by academics and public figures alike. At the grass roots however, I think most appreciate and love the role that music and social drinking has had upon their identity, particularly because of the relationships and sense of community they have fostered. After all, don’t you and your mates enjoy the same music?
As I have grown up in between countries and cultures, I felt a great need to deepen my roots to a place and community. Music, particularly music in the Inner West, and the pub culture which supports it has played a crucial role in connecting me to a sense of culture and place here in Sydney. This public history project has provided me the opportunity to marry my historical interests with my social world and community. I have Dan and Matt Rule, community leaders and business owners of Music and Booze Co. to thank for building the space that myself and so many others can enjoy within Sydney’s Inner West. This project will pay homage to that fact.
Music and Booze Co. was only conceived in 2014 to ‘facilitate and curate creative events, involving the countires [sic] most exciting bands, labels, agents & communities’, at festivals, live music and hospitality venues, as well as public spaces such as parks, initially in and around Newtown, NSW, and now all of Australia. Before the conception of the company, the Rule Brothers have worked behind the scene for many years and have arguably helped build some of the most popular bands in Australia, while simultaneously restoring and building the reputation of famous pubs such as the Annandale Hotel and The Lord Gladstone. However, bankruptcy and state restrictions have forced the brothers to start fresh, where they rely on the publicity of their friends (musicians, publicans and other music and non-industry workers) to grow as a public, cultural and business organisation. This is where I have slotted myself in – helping publicise and support their business by attending their events and spreading the word. It isn’t much, and I wish I could pick up a guitar and bring a big audience to them but I lack the talent. But my passion and love for this community and consequently my appreciation for what the Rule brothers have done has motivated me to use my historical skills to highlight the significance of their work. We will see how it goes..