Darlinghurst Blog: Detritus: Secret Tunnel Part III

Is this the secret tunnel that we have been searching for? 

Perhaps my detective skills failed and I gave up too early on the hunt for the secret tunnels, which a young Stephen Hickmott and other boys from the old Marist Brothers College used to explore in the 1960s. 

But that hasn't stopped other history detectives from going on the hunt for the mysterious tunnel that led from Ye Olde Darlinghurst Gaol, beneath Burton and Liverpool streets to the Alexandra Flats on the corner of Darley Street. 

Yesterday I received these sensational and intriguing photographs, which show a tunnel beneath the former jail site, now a technical college.

If you are late on the hunt for the tunnels, see the stories here and here and then come back to this post.

The student who sent me the photographs said there was an excavation contractor working at the technical college this week fixing a sewer main about 5m underground, close to the entrance on Forbes Street . . .

"As they got about 3m down they apparently started to hit the side of some very large lime and sandstone boulders,'' she writes.

"The excavation man said he noticed that they had been carved and wondered why they were so far down.

"It wasn't until later when one of the plumbers was standing in the 5m deep hole that he noticed a gap in the sandstone blocks that were now at his eye level, just big enough to fit your fist threw (above).

"The contractors must have moved one out of place with their digging machine, which then revealed a long tunnel.

"From where I was standing I could see in and I saw exactly what you described about the tunnels: 3 foot-wide limestone walls as far as the torch would shine, going off in to parts which could be those cells you were also talking about."

It certainly looks like the tunnel that Stephen Hickmott described. But until someone crawls inside them and follows them all the way, we might never know where they go.

The student has invited me to go and have a sticky beak TODAY from behind the work-fence, but I am stuck in the office and would never be able to get there. 

Is there anyone who can go and have a look? Perhaps you could distract the workers somehow and then slip into the tunnel when they are not looking and just crawl for dear life.

But just imagine if they filled in the hole while you were inside and you became trapped in there forever, until you died of thirst and starvation.

I could not in good conscience encourage this kind of dangerous behaviour, but if you can go for a sticky from behind the safety of the work-fence, please do and report back with details. 

Darlinghurst: History: 1923 Petition

I Take But I Surrender*

I am not ready to concede defeat in my search for the secret tunnels. In fact I am so enjoying the adventures I am having in my quest, and the stories I have discovered along the way, that it will actually be disappointing if this little investigation reaches an end. 

Keeping me inspired are the letters and suggestions from readers about methods of finding the secret tunnels, which have included joining a tunnelling association, alerting the mainstream media to my search and - my favourite - employing ground-penetrating radar to find the tunnels. 

But I'm also kept going by the little stories I have unearthed in the City of Sydney Archives as I wade through ancient files associated with the Marist Brothers College. And the best story yet, has to be the one about the police and the council's investigation in to the naughty boys and the bread crusts.

This 1923 council file includes about a dozen letters of correspondence between the Town Clerk's office, the City Health Officer, council aldermen and the Inspector General of Police regarding a petition from May 1923, by the ''various residents and ratepayers in the vicinity of Darley and Liverpool streets'' in Darlinghurst.

''The Marist Brothers carry on a school for boys at the corner of Liverpool and Darley streets, Darlinghurst,'' a letter attached to the petition reads.

''This school came in to existence about 12 years ago, but now over 400 boys attend the school. The playground is a very small one and the boys have turned Darley Street in to a playground, especially that part from Liverpool Street to Wootton Hospital, which forms a cul de sac.''

''The boys use this playground from 8.30 in the morning till dark, taking complete possession of same playing the particular game then in favour, whether it be football, cricket or other sport, obstructing the traffic generally and partly obstructing those residing in the vicinity.

''The boys throw food, fruit skins etc about the street and footpaths and even in to the passages and ventilators of adjacent properties and act in a boisterous and rude manner causing annoyance to the tenants and lodgers occupying the flats immediately surrounding that particular part of the street including the staff and patients at the hospital.''

The petition of about 50 signatures was instigated by Ellen M Foley, who lived at Novar, 4 Darley Street, with her sister Margaret McNab; Geoffrey and Ada Fox; and C&L Hoad. In fact, part of the joy of discovering the petition was learning who used to live in Darley Street and the surrounds.

Maud Riley lived at the family home, Fairmount, with Gertrude and Sydney Riley and Katie McMaster, who all signed the petition. (Ten years later, in January 1933, a motor mechanic John Snow, 20, was shot in the leg by an unseen gunman as he was about to enter the doorway of Fairmount, where he lived.) The Fairmount Flats were listed for sale in July 1929 and it is noted in the listing that the building was on the corner of Liverpool and Darley streets, so perhaps it was this building:

Fairmount? 363 Liverpool Street

The petition also included people with addresses in Macquarie Street in the Sydney CBD, Darling Point, in the city's east, inner-west Dulwich Hill, as well as shopkeeper E.J McGurgan from 389 Liverpool Street and 364 Victoria Street. 

389 Liverpool Street 

364 Victoria Street (since demolished), right of the Green Park Hotel

A representative from Wootton Private Hospital (now known as Iona) also signed the petition and sent a letter of complaint.

The council was the first to investigate the complaint, and sent an officer of the Health and Sanitary Department to carry out surveillance of the street. 

''The pupils certainly play in this dead end street, but seem well behaved for a body of young boys,'' wrote City Health Officer J.S. Purdy.

''Miss Foley is, I understand, of a very nervous temperament, and I believe is more annoyed by the noises made by the boys than by any food scraps that may be thrown about.''

The residents were not happy with that investigation and continued to bombard the council and various aldermen with long, hand-written letters of complaint. In July 1923, Inspectors J.P. Collins and N.J. Courtney, were sent out to observe the boys. This time, with results!

''A further observation was carried out between 12.30pm and 12.55pm,'' the investigators wrote.

''On this occasion the boys were found to be very noisy and two of the lads were found throwing food-scraps on the footway, which consisted of one small piece of bread crust, and in the other case a piece of cake.''

The culprits were 11-year-old David Burfitt, of Anzac Parade, Kensington, south of Sydney, and 12-year-old Charles Currie, of 31 Johnston Street, Annandale, in the inner-west.

The pair were ''called up and informed that they were breaking one of the City By-Laws'' and were advised in future to ''roll any lunch scraps in paper and place them in the garbage tin on the school's premises.''

Investigators Collins and Courtney told the Town Clerk they could take action on the food-scraps but the noise concerns were outside their jurisdiction and should be referred to the Traffic Branch of the Police Department. 

The following month the matter received ''special attention on the part of the police'' and the noise ''has now been returned to a minimum'', wrote the Inspector General of Police in August, 1923:

It is not clear how the police achieved such a hasty and successful outcome. Neither are there any thank-you notes from Ms Foley within the file. 

Fortunately for young Burfitt and Currie, the cake- and crust-throwers, the council considered a warning to the boys as sufficient punishment.

''On account of their tender years a warning has been given them by the Inspector and this is regarded as sufficient in this instance because if they are proceeded against they would have to be taken before the Children's Court where the Magistrate would probably administer a warning,'' the Town Clerk wrote. 

I thought this was such a funny episode in Darlinghurst history and I am amazed that so much work went in to catching a couple of little boys throwing cake and crusts. I wonder if Burfitt and Currie went on to behave themselves or continued to be naughty. I suspect the latter. 

*

The logo in the photograph above and at the top of this post, was embossed on most of the council's letters. It appears to have been designed in 1842 with the establishment of the Municipal Council of Sydney. It's certainly very different to today's City of Sydney anchor logo.

Which one do you prefer?

Darlinghurst: Detritus: Violet Investigates the Secret Tunnels of Alexandra Flats

I was so intrigued by reader Stephen Hickmott's story, published here last week, about the secret tunnels beneath the former Marist Brothers College, that I had to investigate. 

Obviously, my first thought was to gain access to the building on Liverpool Street, which is now the Alexandra Flats, but because I don't know anyone who lives there, I was going to have to employ my powers of persuasion.

I went to the front gate and had a look around. The gate was locked and to gain access you either had to have a key or be buzzed in by one of the residents. 

I wondered what to do. I could jump the gate, but that wouldn't be much good because then I still needed to get past the solid - and locked - front door. I have never picked a lock in my life and wasn't about to start breaking the law now. 

I figured it would take too long to explain the secret tunnels over the buzzer system and anyway, anyone who heard the story would probably just think I was bonkers.

So I came up with a little story about a parcel I needed to deliver and then buzzed the number of an apartment, which I figured would be up on the top floor. If the person was on the top floor, they may feel there was enough distance between us, to just let me in.

A man answered.

''Hello, I'm sorry to bother you,'' I said.

''I just wanted to leave a parcel inside, can you please buzz me in?''

The man was no fool: ''What's the apartment number?''

Rats, I thought, he probably knows everyone in the building. 

I took a stab in the dark: ''Number seven.''

He replied, ''Aren't they in?''

''No,'' I said.

He asked, ''What do you have?''

I replied, ''Just a parcel I need to leave inside.''

''Okay,'' he said. ''I'll come down.''

The man arrived about two minutes later. 

I suppose he expected me to pass the parcel through the gaps in the locked gate, but before he even reached me I quickly apologised, admitted I hadn't quite told the truth and then tried to explain.

He seemed rather bemused by my tale, and I suppose because I don't look all that threatening, he let me in.

The area beneath the stairs, where I expected the broom closet to be, was actually open and had a tiled floor. I didn't take a photograph because I was so conscious of taking up this poor man's time that I kind of foiled my own investigation. Anyway, if you look in the photograph above, you can see the front door, which opens to a small, tiled foyer area (beneath the stairs). Behind me, on either side of the stairs, were two small cupboards. 

This one was unfortunately locked and the man did not have a key:

To the right of that exit sign and a hallway that leads to the back of the building, was another cupboard, which wasn't locked:

But the broom cupboard in Stephen's story was home to a 20 feet chimney sweep and I had a hard time imagining it squeezing in to this tiny space. Nevertheless, I had a little snoop along the ground inside the cupboard. I doubt this small area would have ever been covered in floorboards, although it did appear to be boarded-up with plaster-board.

I briefly considered removing all the junk inside for a better look, but I didn't think the man would appreciate me making such a mess. 

So I thanked him for his time and then set off on foot to Kings Cross train station to pursue Plan B.

I travelled by train across the border to Town Hall station in the Sydney CBD and then walked around the corner to the entrance of Town Hall House at 456 Kent Street. I had booked an appointment with the City of Sydney Archives to view the East Sydney Technical College Conservation Master Plan and their offices and storage are on level one of this building. 

As you no doubt know, the East Sydney Technical College was built within the grounds of the old Darlinghurst Gaol in 1921, about seven years after the penitentiary closed. I had hoped the Conservation Master Plan, written in February 1998 by Dr Jim Kerr, Wendy Thorp, Craig Burton and Graham Brooks, would reveal detailed plans for the tunnels beneath the old gaol.

 I was filled with some hope when I turned to the contents page and saw a reference to the court house tunnel:

But when I turned to the page in question, the text only referred to a tunnel linking the gaol to the neighbouring Darlinghurst Courthouse. 

The remainder of the document included a detailed history of the site, the construction of the gaol in the 1840s, its conversion to a college in the 1920s and conservation policies and guidelines to ''assist in the future management of the complex''. 

There were no other references to tunnels, secret or otherwise.

But I wasn't ready to give up just yet. I went to the Archivist on Duty, Naomi Crago, and asked if it was possible to view the original plans for the Marist Brothers College. 

She said, ''yes, of course, I'll have a look.'' So I scribbled down the address of 280-296 Liverpool Street, and Naomi went off to work, returning later with a list of about 12 early documents that referred to the site. 

The documents that came up in Naomi's search included many references to the neighbouring property, Hilton, at 278 Liverpool Street, the former home of artist John Rae, now the Robin Gibson Gallery. Perhaps the tunnels are also beneath that site?

But, Naomi explained, I would not be allowed to view the development applications and site plans - even the ones dating back to 1911 - unless I gained written permission from the owners of the buildings. 

So I decided to write a letter to the strata manager of the Alexandra Flats, and in the meantime, I went straight back to Liverpool Street to personally talk to Mr Robin Gibson at his gallery.

It was almost closing time at the gallery when I arrived and Mr Gibson and his two young male assistants  - a handsome trio - were enjoying a Christmas drink, as they were about to close for the holidays. It seemed I had made it just in time, for they do not reopen until late in January. 

I began to tell Mr Gibson the story of the tunnels, but he interrupted my little monologue and said, ''Stop, before you go any further . . .''.

And then he proceeded to tell me that in 1980, after he had just purchased Hilton, he was busy in renovating mode when a man appeared at his doorstep.

The man said he used to attend the neighbouring Marist Brothers College and as a young school boy had explored the tunnels beneath the school.

At that time, in the early 80s, the former Marist Brothers College was rather rundown and uninhabitable. For 20 years it had been home to an artists mob, the Side F/X Collective, and was now ready for its own conversion in to the Alexandra Flats. 

Mr Gibson said the man with the tunnel story was so convincing that he enlisted one of the builders on his renovation to bring a jackhammer to the spot where this supposed entryway was, and get to work.

Well, the jackhammer made quite a bit of mess and no doubt a lot of noise, and after much jackhammering uncovered absolutely nothing.

So Mr Gibson wasn't buying my tunnel story and I wondered if the man at his door was in fact Stephen Hickmott.

Anyway, Mr Gibson had plenty of other useful information to impart: The Hilton was where the Marist Brothers lived from 1911 to 1968 and there were two doors - one on the first floor and one of the second floor - linking 278 Liverpool Street to the college next door.

He also told me that in the 1980s, my favourite mansion, Stoneleigh, was so rundown the council nearly had it condemned. The floor boards were rotting apparently. Later, after it was renovated, lefty broadcaster Phillip Adams moved in.

Also back in the 60s, the Marist Brothers College used the ground floor of Stoneleigh to store sporting equipment. 

But Mr Gibson was not dismissive of all secret tunnel stories and added another little mystery in to the mix. Mr Gibson said there was a tunnel from the gaol leading all the way down to the corner of Bourke and Liverpool Streets, which is home to an 1850s Victorian Georgian house, known as either Claremore or Claremont Lodge.

Oh, dash! Another alleged tunnel to investigate. I was becoming quite tired by all this wild goose-style tunnel chasing. Still I was very happy when Mr Gibson signed a letter giving me permission to access the files at the City of Sydney archives.

But when I skipped down the steps of the gallery off in to the night, after a day of investigation, I was still left with more questions than answers.

*

To Be Continued . . .

Darlinghurst: Apartment Buildings: Meriden

I rather fancy maps. Not only are they immensely practical, I find them rather pleasing to the eye too. So while sleuthing around the City of Sydney Archives last week, I was delighted to come across an old book of City Building Surveyor's Detail Sheets. 

It was a large compendium of about a dozen A2-sized Sydney city building maps, exquisitely and precisely illustrated. I took photographs of all the maps related to Darlinghurst and when I returned home and enlarged them on my computer, I was excited (yes, I was excited) to discover that the building at 40 Hardie Street, where I used to live, is called Meriden. It's an appropriate name too, for it was a merry den indeed.

I'm not certain of what period the Surveyor's Detail Sheets were made, but I will take a wild guess and say the early 1960s. If you look closely at the above illustration, you can see that the Alexandra Flats is still listed as a ''School'' and the Marist Brothers College closed in 1968 - so that is how I came to my scientific conclusion. And, well, if you see the maps, they've got that 60s vibe about them.

I also found it interesting to see that Iona is listed as Hughlings Private Hospital and my beautiful Stoneleigh was going through its ''Greencourt'' period.

Anyway, as I said, I was excited to learn that 40 Hardie Street, my old favourite home, was called Meriden, and this inspired me to do some online sleuthing at the National Library of Australia's Australian Newspaper archives. 

I firstly came across this old classifieds advertisement (above) from the Sydney Morning Herald newspaper, dated January 4, 1930. I found similar advertisements in the Herald from 1929, which were published on April 18, November 2 and December 1. 

Rental of a ''Modern, self-contained bachelor flat, comprising large bed-sitting room, tiled kitchenette and bathroom,'' at 40 Hardie Street cost a mere 30 shillings, and interested persons could apply to flat 12.

Then I hit upon this advertisement from March 21, 1953, which lists the building for sale.

But by far the most thrilling discovery was from the Sydney Morning Herald edition of September 23, 1949. Hidden amongst the classifieds was a list of prize-winners for the newspaper's Name a Foal Competition and among them was a Barbara Martin of 7/40 Hardie Street - the very same apartment I lived in for five years. 

When I lie in bed staring at the ceilings of my apartments, I often wonder who has lived there before me and what festivities, dramas and banal domesticity the ceiling has witnessed. I never wondered so much while living at number seven, because the moulded ceiling had been recently covered up. But now I know. And now I am wondering who Ms Martin was, what she looked like and what she did for a living. Was she a school teacher, nurse or exotic dancer?

Perhaps I'll never know.

Darlinghurst: Reader Story: Stephen Hickmott and the Secret Tunnels

Marist Brothers College Class of 1965

A wonderful story of a boy's own adventure in 1960s Darlinghurst, by reader Stephen Hickmott (front row, last on the right), now aged 59 and living in Tasmania.

I was raised from a baby in a little house in Darlinghurst, on the opposite side of the Green Park Hotel, in Liverpool Street, just up from the corner. I went to Darlinghurst Public School through the years, up until 5th class, when I changed to the Marist Brothers College, on the corner of Liverpool and Darley streets. 

The former Marist Brother College, now the Alexandra Flats.

When I was about five we moved to the downstairs of a terrace house at 96 Surrey Street, which had a massive backyard. We stayed there from about 1955 to 1970, but my father remained there for another ten years.  My old man was a merchant seaman and later drove Green Cabs. 

96 Surrey Street.

The thing I would love to see again one day is a secret probably not many folks know about: the secret passageways that belonged to the old Darlinghurst Gaol. 

The passageways were beneath the Marist Brothers College and the manholes, or entrances to them, were boarded up after the brothers set a trap and caught me another fellow down there. 

You had to go down and along, crawling on your belly, into a small cell, only 3 feet high, which had shackles on its walls.

There was one entrance to the tunnels under the staircase in the school, which at the time was a broom closet, and there was another entryway in a room the brothers’ used briefly for music lessons. We found yet another entrance in the house where the brothers lived - when we accidentally emerged from the tunnel in to their residence. 

We first discovered the tunnels one day in 1968 when we got in to trouble and the brother told us to go and get the biggest cane in the school. As we were always getting into strife we looked ‘’everywhere’’, but of course never went into the other classes to get one.

While we happened to be looking around we opened the broom cupboard and there was a 20 feet long cane with a chimney sweep on it - we decided this was the one.

But as we were getting it out, we noticed a crack in the floorboards, so we lifted them up and discovered a tunnel down in to the dark . . . we put the floorboards back and decided to return later.

We opened the classroom door and started feeding the cane in. After about 15 feet went through, the class was laughing, but the brother jumped up and turned red and spat the dummy. He screamed ‘’Next door! Get a cane!’’. He didn’t see the funny side of it at all.

We got six each and detention for a month. 

About a week later we went back and started investigating the tunnels with a torch.

The tunnels were about 2 feet wide and made of lime and there were small rooms about 8 feet wide with shackles on the wall. I guess it was solitary confinement to the max.

We would mainly access the tunnel through one of the manholes that was in the art class, which was taught by a teacher and not a brother, meaning we could get away during the class by going down the floor under the desk.

We would usually turn our pants and shirts inside-out because we’d be white as soon as we came out, and then we’d turn them back around so it wasn’t noticeable.

This one time, we didn’t bother turning our uniforms inside-out because the old teacher had a 2-hour class and we thought we’d have plenty of time to clean up.

But someone – one of the teacher’s pets – went and told the headmaster we had gone underground, so he turned up with the other brothers to look for us.

We had made our way back to the art class by then and when we got near the entrance we heard the brothers calling to us to come out. They didn’t sound very happy about it either.

After a 15-minute stand-off they got a hammer and nails and threatened to nail us in, which they proceeded to do. 

Rear view of the old college.

We headed back to the broom cupboard exit to escape, but before we could get out the brothers realised they had been outsmarted so a general assembly in the yard was called.

We slipped out of the cupboard and joined in with all the other classes coming down the stairs from level one and two.

In the yard I was in the second row back, and the headmaster walked up each row. We stood out something shocking, covered in white. As the headmaster went past me, he said, ‘’Out!’’ and then he also got my mate up in the back row.

I received six cuts of the cane on each hand. And detention. Which was actually pretty bad because you had to stay until 4.30pm and that made the day really long. 

*

Ten years ago I moved down to Tasmania, where I grow cherry trees. I have many great memories of climbing all over the Cross on roofs and riding our billy-carts down Bayswater Road, and I would love to come back and explore the tunnels again.

*

NEXT WEEK: Violet Investigates the Secret Tunnels. 

Darlinghurst: Heritage Items: Alexandra Flats

Alexandra Flats

- Register of the National Estate, City of Sydney Council Heritage List

This three-storey, sprawling Federation Free Style building, taking up 280-296 Liverpool Street, was home to the Marist Brothers High School from 1911 to 1968. There were then plans to demolish the building and construct some Canberra-style, 13-story apartment building on the site. How fortunate that this never happened.

While the plans were put on hold and the building sat dormant, some very clever artists, actors and musicians decided to use the large rooms for rehearsals, gigs and studio space. One such group, known as the Side F/X collective, squatted in the building for about 20 years. The building is just a hop away from the National Art School so it was very convenient.

I had a friend who squatted at a disused building in Woolloomooloo during the 1970s and 80s. When the state government wanted the site back, my friend and his squatter colleagues refused to budge. The fight went on for a while until the government promised it would subsidise the squatters' rents if they would just move the hell out.

To this day my friend only pays 25 per cent of the market rate for the lease of his very fancy apartment in Rose Bay, in Sydney's east.

The Side F/X collective was evicted from Alexandra Flats in March 1981 when a developer purchased the building for $600,000 and converted the former school into 17 residential apartments.

The following year a three-bedroom apartment with a balcony would have set you back $180,000, which was actually quite a lot for the early 80s.

In March this year a similar property in Alexandra Flats sold for $1.305 million, which is actually quite a lot too.

I've never been inside the flats, so I don't know what I am missing.