An inventive district

Yesterday was one of those times when, as I look in a resource for one subject (a blockhouse in Otahuhu, by the way), I find something completely different. And then, as this is the way I think, I then go chasing off across the paddock of knowledge after this new, tantalising bit of info.

The product of this latest diversion is this post.

I found a set of names of people who lived in the Avondale, Waterview (and Blockhouse Bay) areas who had taken out patents for their ideas and inventions. Now, I have next to no further information just yet on these people in most cases, but here's the list (from NZ Gazettes):

John Drummond Anderson (New Zealand Distiller)
1896: An invention entitled "Anderson's Hydrochloride Gold-saving Process."

Alfred Jerome Cadman
(nominee of James Lyle, Surrey, England)
1903: "An improved continuous retort for the destruction of small or finely divided vegetable substances".
1903: "An improved process and combination of ingredients to produce smokeless fuel briquettes."

J. Ellis
(no date): game

James Ferguson, farmer
1894: "An invention for an improved weed-extractor."
1894: "An invention for improvements in seed-sowing implements."
1897: A railway-crossing automatic electric alarm.

Edward Gifford (of Avondale South)
1902: With Robert Ridley Holmes of Newmarket, "An improved wire-strainer, staple-drawer, and wire-cutter."

John Henry Grattan
1902: Saw stripper and regulator.
1902: Single and multi purchase [purpose?] attachable gear for controlling horses and other animals.

C. D. Grey (well-known manager of Grey & Menzies, Mayor of Auckland 1909-1910)
1910: Packing-case lining

John James Haslam (of Wharf Road)
1887: "A Horse-power Earth-elevator and Self-acting Tipper."
1887: "Patent for an Invention for receiving and conveying Silt, Sand, Gravel, Scoria, Rock, or Stone, &c., named 'Haslam's Twin Self-discharging Hydraulic Hopper Pontoon.'"
1889: "... an invention for improvements in Haslam's patent twin self-discharging hydraulic hopper pontoon for receiving and conveying silt, sand, gravel, scoria, rock, stone, or other such material, and self-discharging same."
1897: "A duplex self-discharging silt-punt."

Daniel Pollen of Whau Flat

In the George Maxwell Memorial Cemetery at Orchard Street and Rosebank Road, there is a headstone for one of the colony of New Zealand's Premiers: Daniel Pollen. He held the position only from July 1875 to February 1876, but fulfilled a number of other important roles, including that of Colonial Secretary (equivalent to today's Minister of Internal Affairs). He also lived on the Rosebank Peninsula for part of his life, dying at his homestead near the tip of the area in 1896.

His Avondale story begins in 1855, after he had served as a medical officer on Kawau Island for the copper mining companies, and as he was beginning his political career in the Auckland Provincial Council. That year, he purchased from Mr. Kelly Allotments 2, 3 and 4, just down from the reserve area at the end (which is the present-day karting track). One of his sons was born on the property a year later. By mid 1860, however, a daughter was born at Eden Crescent -- possibly an apartment used by Pollen while he was engaged in his political career.

Around 1860, he had engaged John Malam as manager/brickmaker on his Rosebank property, facing the Whau River. By 1863, Malam's position belonged to John Ringrose. In the same year, a time when the Waikato War was beginning and the government sought a means to maintain good lines of communication with the troops heading to Ngaruawahia and beyond, another opportunity presented itself to Pollen: pottery. More precisely, telegraph insulators. A potter of skill arrived in Auckland in September 1863: James Wright. Pollen snapped him up and put him in charge of his pottery kilns, responsible for meeting the contract requirements. By 1865, this proved a failure. James Wright seemed to be more interested in using Pollen's kilns to produce fancy goods for display in exhibitions than he was the more humdrum work of insulator manufacture. The arrangement between Wright and Pollen ceased, and Wright went his own way, starting potteries in New Lynn, Ngaruawahia and Paparoa.

In 1864, Pollen had lost a tender for producing 900,000 bricks of various colours and shapes for the new Lunatic Asylum, but picked up much of the contract from 1865 after the winning brickmaker, John Thomas of the Star Mill, defaulted. Later that year, his brick yard was in full production, and a cutter named Whau carried the product to Auckland, where it helped to fill a need for bricks for new buildings under construction during the small war boom in the local economy. By 1866, advertisements for "10,000 bricks, Pollen's best Auckland make" appeared as far away as the Taranaki Herald.

By 1868, a potter named Storey, originally from Onehunga, had set up at Pollen's yards producing domestic earthenware and the insulators. By then, however, competition was fierce in both the brick and pottery field, with John Malam setting up just across the Whau River, and Joshua Carder's Waitemata Pottery Works producing good quality pottery. The latest advertisement I've found so far for Pollen's bricks in 1871; it is quite likely that his works beside the Whau River operated only from 1860 to that date.

Daniel Pollen has left his legend behind in Avondale's history. Basic knowledge of our past almost always includes a mention of Pollen's Brick Yards, even if none of the other brickmakers are recalled. Whether he began the enterprise just to see if he could, or as an attempt at a canny investment -- he certainly left his mark on our story.

An update (18 December 2008) here.

Further update: the Pigeon Club building

Previous post here.

Just a brief update: seems the pigeon club in 1963 obtained the building from the railway yard (according to Council records), so I take it that it may have originally been one of the station's outbuildings. Hard to date how old that original part might be, with rail records still a bit fragmented, but -- there you go.

Post updated 9 October here.

"The Life and Times of Auckland"

Launched last week, Gordon McLauchlan's The Life and Times of Auckland has me hooked. A popular history of Auckland and its origins, so far it's a very good read, and well written. Check it out at the library to see what I mean.

Actually, on impulse (and because I've been waiting for it since I heard it was in the pipeline), I've also recently bought Urban Village, the history of Ponsonby, Freeman's Bay and St Mary's Bay. A massive 444 pages doesn't quite manage to cover the area in as much depth as it should at first glance, but this is still a creditable effort and certainly helps to fill in a gap in our knowledge of the history of Auckland isthmus.

An update (5 November): I've finished Gordon McLauchlan's book -- and one word describes it -- disappointing. This was how a friend of mine and fellow Auckland historian referred to it,. and I have to agree. It is patchy in detail, the most written about are the topics that appear to hold McLauchlan's interest. But the book is a collection of essays, rather than a cohesive whole, and the essays are riddled with errors and historical inaccuracies. I now see why he has sub-titled it "The Colourful Story of a City" -- "colourful", but without real substance except in isolated patches of clarity.

Fracas in New Lynn

This is one of my favourite stories from early New Lynn. Comes from the Evening Star, 21 January 1886.

The Police Court was occupied for some time to-day with a prosecution for assault arising out of a neighbours' quarrel between Messrs Smith and Meurant, residents of New Lynn. Henry Meurant was charged with assaulting Henry Smith on January 14th by striking him with a stick and knocking him down.

Mr. Thorpe appeared for complainant and Mr. S. Hesketh for defendant.

The facts, as stated for the prosecution, are these. Complainant is the owner of an orchard, and is annoyed by frequent pilferings of fruit. Not only is the fruit stolen, but the branches of trees are broken down and the trees themselves injured. Smith believed that Meurant's children were the offenders, and he remonstrated with him on the subject. Meurant asked him to let him know which of the children had committed the depredations and he would correct them for the offence.

Next day complainant was told by a little girl that Meurant's children were going down the road with apples which must have been taken from his orchard. He went to Meurant's house again, and after some words, Smith expressed his conviction that Meurant was encouraging his children in the alleged thefts.

Blows were then struck, and Smith found himself outside of Meurant's house. He was, however, minus his chapeau, and called to Meurant asking him for it. He alleged that Meurant got the hat and threw it at him, at the same time striking him a heavy blow on the head, which injured his skull and knocked him down.

Dr. Girdler deposed that he found complainant suffering from a wound about an inch and a half long over the left eyebrow. The bone was injured, but not seriously, while the patient was suffering from slight concussion of the brain.

Alice Goldie, a little girl, related the circumstances of the fracas. The defence was that Smith used anything but pleasant language, and after some words, Smith, either accidentally or otherwise, trod on Meurant's bare foot. In stooping down to examine his foot Meurant was pushed over. A scuffle took place, and subsequently Smith used very offensive epithets towards defendant.

The two men had a second tussle, pea-sticks being used as weapons. Meurant did strike Smith on the forehead with a pea-stick, but throughout the whole affair Smith was the aggressor. Meurant and his son Edward related the story for the defence.

The case was dismissed, each party to pay their own costs.

Update: the truth behind the Coast Guard Hall

Updated from this earlier post ...

In 1922, with the formation of the Avondale Road Board District into a borough, the council agreed to find a place in the district for the new volunteer fire brigade to call a headquarters. There was a triangle of land alongside Trent Street, itself once the way that vehicles and people could cross the railway lines before 1913-1914 and the building of the overhead bridge. The Railways department agreed to lease the land to the borough council, and a two-storey fire station and bell tower were constructed.

"Outside was a tower which held the fire bell. This bell was rung to call to duty from their homes and workplaces the voluntary brigadesmen. There was some confusion because of the similarity of the sound of this bell to those used by some Chinese market gardeners. In 1926 Mr. Ah Chee was asked to change the tone of his to make it distinct from the fire brigade's." (Challenge of the Whau, 1994, p. 102)

Once Avondale amalgamated with Auckland City in September 1927, the volunteer brigade disbanded, and the district came under the command of the Auckland Fire Board. In 1933, a new brick and concrete fire station was built further along Blockhouse Bay Road, but by 1929, Auckland City Council had assumed the lease agreement (No. 14287) which the Avondale Borough Council had taken out with NZR. Both Challenge of the Whau and some later council staff members were incorrect when it was thought that the city council owned the land -- it was and still is a railway reserve.

In 1932, Stanley H James of the Avondale Unemployment Association applied to use the old hall. After correspondence among councillors and staff members, during which it was discovered that although the building could in theory seat 60 people, with dodgy foundations and insufficient bracing for the walls, 30 was by far the safer number to allow in the room at any one time. The Association were also advised that there was to be no dancing, drilling, or similar actions; four casement windows had to be altered to allow the sashes to open; and suitable bracing was required for the front of the building. The records remain silent as to whether the Association took up the offer after all.

In 1933, the Council sub-leased the building instead to a Mr. Finlay, a bootmaker, then in 1939 a painter named McPhail used the building. The Coast Guards came into the picture around 1941, with a 10/- sub-lease agreement. During World War II, an EPS shed was also on the site, adjacent to Trent Street.

From 1945 until its demolition, the hall became the home for the Waterview Scout Group, another (like the Coast Guards) who seemed a distance from their area of operations with a headquarters next to the Blockhouse Bay Road overhead bridge. In 1946, W J Lydiard did try to apply to the Council to use the hall "for the purpose of manufacturing footwear uppers," but he was turned down for two main reasons: that the hall was in a residential area, and the Council had no intention of turfing out the Scouts. "The building," wrote the City Engineer, "is supplying an important need of the youth of the district ..."

In early 1948, calamity: a piece of steel from the old bell tower broke off and lacerated the arm of a railway worker below. The Council took action and authorised the demolition of the tower, what materials as could be salvaged to be taken to the council's depot.

In May 1949, the Scouts wrote to the Council, aware of plans being considered for a new railway scheme (perhaps the later realignment in the 1950s) and asked the Council if an alternative site was available should they lose the hall. Council offered them a site on a plantation reserve at Seaside Avenue, but eventually the Scouts settled on a property at Fairlands Avenue. By 1957, though, the Scouts were still in the old fire station building at Trent Street, although their new hall was under construction. Now even the combined branch of the NZ Labour Party in the Grey Lynn Electorate expressed keenness to take over the lease in place of the Scouts, but by now the Council had had just about enough of the old building. The City Engineer recommended demolition in August 1957, and this finally happened once the Scouts moved out at the end of 1958.

Challenge of the Whau had it that this same building continued on but in 1963 the Avondale Racing Pigeon Club took out a permit "to erect and extend a club house" at Trent Street. The rather forlorn building there today is the 1963 replacement for the old volunteer fire brigade building. Hopefully, some time, old photos of the building may surface from out of someone's collection.

Of course, all this back-story will become meaningless when the temporary platform is created there at Trent around December or so. But, it's still history.

(Information obtained from Auckland City Archives files on the old Avondale Fire Station building at Trent Street, plans and permits, and valuation field sheets.)

Updated 8 October here.

A furry story from the Old Stone Jug hotel

A recent post in The Mad Bush Chronicles regarding certain four-legged Aussie immigrant overstayers from the 19th century brought the following little bit of lore from the Great Northern Hotel (aka the Old Stone Jug) in Western Springs to mind:

Strange bedfellows are sometimes met with. This was exemplified the other night in the Northern Hotel. A son of Mr. Edgecombe, the proprietor, went to bed as usual in the upper story — three stairs up — but during the night, or early in the morning he was awakened by more than ordinary warmth on one side of his head and near his throat. He felt something unusual beside him and was slightly alarmed. However he got up and lighted a candle. On examining the bed he discovered an oppossum lying coiled up in the bed, under the bed clothes. This is the first occasion on which such an animal has been seen in the neighbourhood, and how it got there, is at present a mystery . Some time ago, however, an animal having the appearance of a cross between an opossum and some other animal was shot amongst the scoria rocks near Mr. Edgecombe's hotel. Some people entertain the idea that opossums exist in the locality in a wild state, but this has not yet been proved. The animal was captured, and is being well cared for by Mr. Edgecombe. The family were once of opinion that the opossum found in bed may have been the one belonging to the Acclimatisation Society's gardens, but it is stated that they have since learned that such is not the case, and the whence of the opossum at Mr. Edgecombe's hotel still remains to be answered.

(Southern Cross, 16 August 1873, p. 2)

The Acclimatisation Gardens were those at the Domain here in Auckland from the late 1860s to the early 1880s. This piece is interesting to me, in that it comes from a time when Aussie possums were seen as a curiosity and valuable commodity, rather than the out-and-out pest we know them as today.

That, and the son was lucky not to have been clawed to ribbons ...

The Deliverymen

In these days of supermarket shopping and combined malls, where we expect to have to go and pick up groceries ourselves (except for the new services over the Internet, of course!), we know little of the days when butchers, bakers, dairymen and grocers would all have deliverymen and boys who would bring your order out to your door -- and sometimes even to the kitchen bench.

Albert Mason (left) was one such deliveryman, carting the bread from out of the Gibson Bakery (later Burton's) on Great North Road to all across Avondale, Waterview and Rosebank in the 1920s to 1930s. His son Ron would help him after school had finished for the day, and fondly remembered the days of horses, carts, stables, and the bread:

"My Dad was a man, with so much Horse
He taught me the Ropes, at the Stables of course
I could handle the Horses, almost like Dad.
Considering I was only a lad.

He taught me to pick, their moods by sight
By the crafty look in their eye
And when to expect, a kick or a bite
And to sense, when a horse might shy.

My father’s name was Albert, but he was Dad to me
To Avondale & New Lynn folk, he was just Alby.
He delivered their daily bread with a smile that all could see,
I shan’t forget how he called me “Son” whatever his mood might be."

(from "Dad" by Ron Mason)

There are tales to be had of the delivery horses who would bolt and pulled the customers gate behind them as they cantered back for home, cart and all (the Amos' "One-Eye") And of black Nugget, Alby Mason's horse with the wicked temper, who bit his arm one day almost to the bone. I've heard recounted how Rosebank Road was quite spooky during the escaped leopard scare of 1925, when every shadow could be imagined to conceal the fugitive big cat.

In the days of rutted roads and little or no personal transport other than feet -- the deliverymen reigned supreme. But with the coming of the motorcar and sealed thoroughfares, the days of the billy can at the gate and the meat and grocery parcels wrapped and delivered right to your door were over.

Preparations for the new (temporary) platform

The goods track now gone from the western side of the overbridge, the diggers and men were hard at work today on the eastern side. To the left, that grassy bank will be where the new platform just alongside Trent Street will go, due for completion in December this year. The old goods track bed is now a road for the trucks heading between the western and eastern sides.

I'm going to try to keep an eye on what happens -- convenient indeed that my main bus stop into town is right alongside the railway station (and then, of course, now and then I go to places by rail, anyway).

When I took a picture of the existing station shelter (I won't be sorry to see that go, truly) -- an inquisitive young lad got into the shot, then went to excitedly tell his Mum "There's a lady taking photos!" I spotted him after the shot, deleted it, and then spoke to his Mum, explaining that as the photo may get published online, I was trying not to immortalise his son as well. She helped out by holding onto him for a bit while I took another shot.

An update (9 December) here.

The old ... Coast Guard Hall?

I've always known this building as the Pigeon Club. In recent times, it's been an anti-State Highway 20 billboard, and as can be seen in these photos taken today (in the teeth of a gale force wind blowing up Station Hill, I might add) hosts other advertising and tagging.

In the 1920s, during the Avondale Borough Council period, this was the site of our volunteer fire brigade's HQ. Whether the building dates from that period, or has been altered so much it's something completely different, I don't yet know.

But in the early 1950s, an Auckland City Council cadastral map I've obtained a digital copy of says it was a "Coast Gd Hall". If that abbreviation does mean Coast Guard Hall ... oh, I do seriously need to look into this when I have the chance. It does look like something a boating club (or coast guard) would have. Well, nearer the actual coast, of course, but -- odder things have been found in Avondale's history, and odder things are yet to be discovered. One of the reasons why I just love the history of my home suburb. Stay tuned -- when I find out more, I'll let you know.

Post now updated here. (6/10/2008)

The old goods line

At one point, in 1914, there were three goods lines as well as two passenger lines. Very soon, within the next day or so, there will only be the passenger/main lines. The existing platform will be widened temporarily, while a temporary station is constructed alongside Trent Street to the east of the overhead bridge. Then, it will be slimmed down again, as the lines lead around the bend and into the straight at Crayford Street.

Folks probably thought the removal of the old station in 1995 was the biggest change to happen to our 129-year-old railway link. No. This will be the biggest change of all.

The old goods shed, Avondale Railway Station

Could be 1920s, maybe, could be later. I'm gathering info on the old station all the time, putting pieces into place still. That old shed is a bit of a landmark around here, but it was looking sad before the firewood business leased the railway land here, and now, there's bits coming off it and long grass growing in the roof. It'll be gone, soon.

The sign, still up there after all this time, from the period when Avondale was a busy goods station (in the 19th century, that was its raison d'etre, more than anything else):

AVONDALE
OUTWARD GOODS
8AM-12NOON 12.30PM-4PM

Update: the shed was demolished 26 October 2008, over Labour Weekend. An updated post here.

Removal of the old goods line, Avondale

Sometimes, through being oblivious to what's happening around you, due to thoughts of what needs to happen in your life that day, or even in the next few hours, you may miss history happening. Well, this nearly happened to me today -- but going over the old Crayford Street pedestrian crossing over the railway, I stopped. I heard trucks, a number of them, just to my left, but a short distance away. I stopped, looked, and saw a digger with a long fork attachment carefully carrying long pieces of something, and then carefully laying them in a pile.

Something inside my head "said": "Listen for the clang." They looked like bits of wood, I just assumed it was part of the process of starting the realignment of the station platform. But ... I heard the distant *clang*.

That did it. I fished for my camera, while taking in the whole view, and realised that, after 129 years, the last of the old goods lines was being ripped up.

The next few posts will have some of the photos I took today, plus a bit of an explanation. I was going to go up Crayford Street, but instead I dodged along Layard, listening for the clanging and the sound of saws cutting through the long-run metal, chopping up the old line. Headed up Rosebank Road, and caught probably the last we'll see of the old goods shed as well.

Up on the overhead bridge, I was taking shots, when someone who knows me around here stopped with her mobility scooter right beside me and asked, "You're doing historical stuff, aren't you?"

Yes, indeed I was.

Harry Turnbull: a “Sly Grogger” in Avondale

It was during World War One, in Avondale, October 1915. The NZ Corps of engineers (known as the “Avondale” Tunnelling Company) were stationed at the Avondale Racecourse for training in the ways of Army discipline for their stint later on out on the battlefields of France. An entrepreneurial sort named Harry Turnbull saw a golden opportunity and a market waiting to be capitalised on. Which was the reason police raided his shop.

In August that year Turnbull came to Avondale township, and opened a “fish and soft drinks shop”, somewhere in the present-day Mainstreet area. He had once been a hotelkeeper. Within two months of his arrival on the scene in the growing shopping centre, the Defence Department chose Avondale Racecourse as the site for the Tunneller’s training, and nearly 400 members of the Expeditionary Force swelled the township’s population from October to December. Men who found themselves camped in a “dry” district, six miles by train from the pubs in the central city, and with wartime regulations which banned the selling of liquor to members of the “Defence Forces” or Expeditionary Force for consumption off-premises. The Turnbull case was to become the first tried before the courts in Auckland under these regulations.

Turnbull claimed in court that he had a “friend in camp” who could not keep whiskey and beer for his own consumption there, so Turnbull took it upon himself to supply the necessary liquid refreshment from his shop. He claimed that he didn’t wish to take any money for the alcohol from the soldiers who came to his shop (on hearing the news of a liquor supplier in “dry” Avondale, so close to the camp), but took it anyway after they insisted. He claimed before the magistrate that he had “very little liquor out at his shop” (a jar of whisky and six bottles of beer, it was said). The constables who raided the premises with a search warrant after a complaint from camp officers and a trip in disguise to buy alcohol there along with a real soldier, stated that, in fact, “his shop was fitted up like a miniature bar, with glasses on the counter and in the back room.” The police found “a number of empty beer and whisky bottles strewn about.” The undercover policeman and the soldier “were supplied with drink without the slightest trouble, getting three rounds of whisky, while the soldier was given a little in a bottle to take away, the price being a shilling.” Turnbull also took money for the alcohol, and gave change, “without demur.”

His legal counsel, who did not stay for the rest of the court proceedings after making one argument (leaving Turnbull to plead his own case), asked the magistrate to consider that “the intention of the legislature was that the regulation should apply to licensees of hotels” only. This, however, was dismissed. “Outside of licensees,” Mr. F. V. Frazier, S.M. said, “there are barmen and all sorts of people, to say nothing of barmaids, that might sell liquor to the soldiers, and the intention was to put down a particularly harmful practice.”

Turnbull then challenged the charges, stating that he had not admitted to selling alcohol to a soldier in uniform, claiming that the charges couldn’t stand as it had been the undercover policeman who had paid for the liquor. This was denied by the corporal there, who stated he paid the shilling, not the policeman. Turnbull was convicted and sentenced to one month’s hard labour for selling liquor to uniformed members of the Expeditionary Force.

Avondale racetrain sidings update

On going back into the vaults to hunt up the sheep on the racecourse story, I found a bit of extra info I had included back in 2001-2003 while putting together Heart of the Whau, about the provisions for racetrains in Avondale (posted previously).

Apparently, according to the minutes of the Avondale Road Board in 1899, the rail authorities had installed a "special racecourse platform" on their land between Cracroft (Crayford) Street and Blake (St Judes) Street. (November 1899 when all this was being reported by the Board's clerk, was the first time Blake Street had been called that in 31 years, but I digress.) The Road Board had a problem with this, and they intended opening up Layard Street (whether they meant opening it up to development, or doing something about the part between St Judes Street and Chalmers Street that is still, today, just an unformed if still official road -- I have no idea.)

There were also issues with the raceday trains stopping at St Judes' crossing to let the patrons off so they could make their way down to the races. This practice tended to block traffic. The platform, and sidings, ideas were abandoned.

A plea for an Archives New Zealand bus stop

If anyone reads this, please spread the word.

The Auckland office of Archives New Zealand is at Mangere. Their new building is great, the service fantastic, the staff utterly choice, and Timespanner's a big fan of their tea-room and the honesty-cow system of $1 for a cuppa and a chance to have your bring-your-own lunch when visiting all day there. And with the amount of really cool stuff on offer to peruse and research, an "all day" is kind of mandatory. Time flies, believe me.

One bug-bear though -- and that is the lack of public transport to the archives. They're down the end of Richard Pearse Drive, and the nearest bus stop is more than a kilometre away. Those of you who drive wouldn't have a big problem, but older researchers, and non-drivers like me, have either a hike on our hands, maybe a cadged lift, but if we want real independence, it means a taxi there and back to Onehunga or Mangere Town Centre.

A friend of mine is starting an awareness campaign among researchers about this. I've left a message with Maxx on their website. Anyone else reading this who thinks we should have a bus stop closer than the existing services to enable easier access to some of our part of the North Island's heritage records -- let them know.

Cheers.

Additional, 11 February 2016:

They did finally put in a bus stop after the Super City amalgamation of 2010. The Auckland office of Archives NZ is today accessible via the Airporter route between Onehunga and Manukau City.

The 1914 Night Soil Protest at Waterview

The following is from notes of a speech I gave in 2004.

Just outside where the Waterview Church stands today, across the width of the Great North Road, a protest was staged in 1914 against the use of the Cadman Estate (now part of Heron Park) as a night soil depot. It was a sure sign that settlement had picked up markedly in Waterview – settlers here were not going to put up with what might have gone unnoticed in a more rural environment.

The Tamaki night soil depot was closed in late 1913, and Health Department officials went looking for alternative sites. The local authorities on the isthmus were all keen that there should be another depot, but not at all keen that it should be in their districts. It was decided that the Cadman Estate would be ideal, and legislation put through meant that the Department didn’t have to listen to local authority concerns.

20 January 1914, Auckland Star.

“Forced to look for a new site, the Public Health Dept. decided that Avondale provided a satisfactory way out. The residents of that district received an unpleasant surprise yesterday, when it was discovered that the sanitary carts had during the night been brought into the township, & the matter had been distributed over a well-known property, on which was situated a large boarding house. The owner of this property, it is further stated, runs cows over his land, & holds a license to supply milk throughout the district.

“A member of the Avondale Road Board, in imparting this information to a Star representative this morning, said it was obvious that the site was an impossible one for the purpose. The ground was too hard in that locality to permit of proper ploughing, with the result that the matter was only partially covered, & with the prevailing wind blowing in the direction of a fairly thickly populated area, the residents were considerably alarmed. Already the member for the district has been interviewed, & asked to intercede with the Minister of Public Health.

“The Board's solicitors have also been instructed to take immediate action, & a public indignation meeting is to be held forthwith. When inquiry was made at the Public Health Office this morning it was ascertained that the site was regarded as the best available. The information was further imparted that it was only to be used as a temporary depot, though no idea could be given as to how long it would be necessary to continue sending Auckland night soil into the Avondale district.”

23 January 1914, Auckland Star

“During the small hours of Monday morning last residents in Waterview, a portion of the Avondale district, were rudely disturbed by rumbling noises & queer odours emanating from no one knew where.

“At the back of a property, the estate of the late Sir A J Cadman, & presently leased to Mr Harrison, several loads of nightsoil had been deposited, & a man was busily employed in ploughing it in. It was soon apparent that Pt Chevalier had succeeded in getting rid of their sanitary depot, & that Avondale had been chosen to replace it. At a meeting of the Road Board last evening, ratepayers attended in large numbers & expressed their indignation in an unmistakable manner.”

On the 26th of January, an open air meeting was held outside the Avondale Post Office, at the present day Avondale Roundabout. 200 men attended, angrily demanding that the Avondale Road Board do something. On 28 January, the Brownes Road and Cameron Street barricades went up.

From the NZ Herald:

“Residents of Avondale erected two barricades on the roads used by the sanitary contractors & since Friday last the deposits have had to be placed elsewhere. At each barrier was a notice to the effect that the road was closed to traffic. Counter moves were made last night, under the direction of the District Health Officer, Dr. Makgill.

“Accompanied by Senior-sergeant Rutledge & four constables, the health officer proceeded to the locality where the barricades had been erected, in order to remove them.

“Browne's Road, at the extremity of which one of the obstacles was placed, was reached by motor-car shortly before midnight. The party then went afoot to the second one, situated in Cameron Road, about a quarter of a mile nearer to the foreshore. Heavy timbers had been used in the building of both barricades, and though the police were reinforced by the mounted constables stationed in the district, they could not commence operations, being without tools. After a brief interval, however, the contractor (Mr Burke) arrived with two assistants who brought crowbars & other implements with them.

“Dr Makgill, in order to place the subsequent procedure on a legal basis, was the first to make an attack upon the formidable barrier, which was roughly nailed together here & there with 6in nails. This done, the contractor’s men and the constables soon made short work of the remainder, & a gap was made through which, 20 minutes or so later, the first of six sanitary carts passed safely to the depot. No opposition was experienced in the work of demolition of the first obstacle, though one individual from behind an adjacent hedge uttered a warning to the effect that the police had better not touch the barricade unless they produced their authority. Some female voices also were raised in protest from the outer darkness.

“At the Browne's Road barricade, half a dozen residents appeared on the scene & raised verbal objections to the proposed removal of it. The Health Officer thereupon proceeded to the residence of the chairman of the Road Board (Mr J Potter) with whom he was conferring at an early hour this a.m.”

More barricades were erected on subsequent nights. I haven’t yet found out exactly how things turned out, but I’d say the depot turned out to be very temporary indeed.

The Day the Sheep raced at the Avondale Jockey Club

The author of the Mad Bush Chronicles Blog requested this story during a comments discussion at the end of the James MacKenzie post. Well, here's the tale, from Heart of the Whau (2003):

Everyone thinks only horses race at the Avondale Jockey Club but in 1962 all that changed. You see at 1883 Great North Road behind Arthur H. Nathan Home Appliances (now Westforce Credit Union) George Pilkington, the building owner, used to graze two sheep called Snowy and Dolly.

Well that summer the two sheep decided they liked the look of the vegetable garden over the fence. With considerable determination they both pushed their way under the wire fence and after a lovely time they exited onto Elm Street.

They soon spotted the green grass of the Avondale Race Course and a fine banquet of food. So off they went slowly nibbling down the main straight and were somewhere near the start line. By now it was just after 3'o'clock and unfortunately for Dolly and Snowy some children returning home from school discovered this unusual sight. That's when the first race on the card got under way! It was led by Snowy and Dolly and followed by six excited children. The sheep fleeced the field on the first lap but on the second were caught by the children who knew to where they should be returned.

Snowy and Dolly were led up Elm Street into Great North Road and the front door of Arthur H. Nathan Home Appliances. Snowy was an obedient sheep and went through the shop and out the back door returning to her original pasture. Dolly however was very stubborn and eventually a little force had to be used to encourage her to go through the shop and out the back door. Well the fun of the big day had made Dolly a little loose and she left an unwelcome trail from the front door to the back door. The proud store manager could certainly see a line that separated the white ware from the brown ware of that home appliance shop.

And so ended the day that Snowy and Dolly the sheep raced at the Avondale Jockey Club.

["The Day the Sheep raced at the Avondale Jockey Club", Bruce Pilkington, December 2001 (email to the author)]

Death of a publican: the suicide of John Rebbick Stych (1845-1898)

An old tale that floated around Avondale for years, from whispers in the playground to legends recounted to wide-eyed visitors, was that the last publican of the Avondale Hotel committed suicide by hanging himself in the basement when the hotel lost its license in 1909. Thanks to Mrs. Vera Crawford, in an interview while I researched Heart of the Whau, the legend was disproved: to a point.

The last publican didn’t kill himself in 1909 or in 1910 when the hotel closed its doors that year. It was another man, just before Christmas in 1898, who in a dazed and desperate state headed down to the cellars to end his life with a shotgun blast.

Serious trouble came to the Avondale Hotel and its licensee on the afternoon of 20 December. John Abbott, a financier from Parnell, had asked his son that day to present a cheque for £125 at the National Bank in Onehunga, one signed by a Mr. Clark of Onehunga, and endorsed by John R Stych of Avondale, but the cheque was found to be a forgery. Abbott hastened to Avondale with his son, arriving at 4.30 pm to find that Stych was already talking with another man, an agent William J Boylan, regarding financial matters. Boylan stated later that “he had not threatened to deal harshly” with Stych. Abbott interrupted this discussion, and met with Stych in a private room. During the next two minutes, Abbott later declared at the coroner’s hearing, he told Stych that steps had to be taken to clear up the matter of the forgery. Stych, according to Abbott, gave no answer. “He appeared”, according to Abbott, “to be in a dazed and dejected state, with a wildness in his eye.”

Abbott thus came to the conclusion that it was going to take longer than he had thought to discuss the matter of the cheque with Stych. He asked for help detaching his horse from his trap waiting outside, so that his son could come in, and everything could be further discussed calmly. The last words Stych said to Abbott was that he’d send a boy out to help sort out the horse, a few minutes before 5 pm.

Coming back from taking his horse to the stable, Abbott said he saw Stych come out the back door of the hotel (possibly Wingate Street side) and then go back in again. Shortly after that, Abbott claimed he heard a “faint explosion, like the shooting of a cork.” He didn’t hear the full blast, as he was hard of hearing. Going back into the hotel, he asked Emma Stych where her husband was. She thought he was still with Abbott, and sent one of the sons, Arthur, to look for his father.

Checking the cellar, Arthur discovered his father lying dead, a wound just below the right ear from a double-barrelled shotgun that had been held close to Stych’s skull. John Stych had made his way to the cellar, fully determined to end his life. In case the shotgun hadn’t worked, he had a loaded revolver in one pocket, and an extra shotgun cartridge in another. A Dr. Girdler was summoned by telephone to the scene (the nearest telephone in those days was miles away), and pronounced that death was instantaneous, while Constable Crean took charge of the weapons found with the body, and reported the tragedy to the district coroner, John Bollard (then MP for Eden). The inquest was held on the afternoon of the next day.

John Bollard was a good friend of Stych, and objected to Abbott’s use of the term “forgery” to describe the cheque which couldn’t be honoured at the Onehunga bank. Bollard declared that there was no evidence presented at the hearing that the cheque was a forgery, and that Abbott must have meant that the cheque had been returned unpaid, and marked in the corner “signature unlike”. Bollard said he raised this “in justice to the deceased.” Abbott, later in a letter to the NZ Herald. protested this strongly declaring that the coroner’s tribunal was not the place to determine whether the cheque had been forged or not. “However much I was disposed to soften its effect, so that his representatives might not be pained, I had no alternative but to speak of things as they were.”

The verdict of the inquiry was “suicide while suffering from temporary insanity, caused by financial difficulties.”

John Stych had been very popular in the Avondale district, not only as the village’s hotel publican, but also as an enthusiastic gardener and member of the local horticultural society. He used to carry off prize after prize at the local shows. For many years prior to moving to Avondale, he worked at the Bycroft mills in Auckland. He left his wife, Emma, and three sons. Emma continued on as the licensee of the hotel until June 1903, when she transferred the license to William Baker (who may, indeed, have been the last of the Avondale Hotel publicans). At the time, the police stated that the hotel was in good order and well conducted. Her husband was buried in Rosebank (now the George Maxwell) Cemetery, his headstone giving no indication of his sad, untimely demise.

The Country Chemist: Robert Joseph Allely

The early days of Avondale were marked by a strong sense of community, our area before the 1940s being little more than a semi-rural backwater, the typical “small town”. One story which underscores that now almost outdated aspect of life is that of Robert Joseph Allely (born c.1867). He was in business in Avondale possible only a little more than 10 years, but helped to save the community in a time of great crisis.

The only monument in our town to this man, our first local pharmacist, is the Allely Building at 2000 Great North Road. The older, two-storey section on the right hand side was the original chemist shop (ground) and dental surgery (top storey). Both were used by Allely because he was, indeed, a combination from time to time seen in his days: pharmacist, dentist, and first-aid doctor. After Dr Aitken in the previous century, he was Avondale’s second source of general medical help, Avondale’s “doctor” of the time.

Robert Allely was born around 1867, the son of immigrants from County Monaghan, Ireland, who had moved to Australia, where Allely was born. Mrs Vera Crawford told me in 2001 (while I interviewed her for Heart of the Whau) that Robert Allely was a little child on the same ship on which her grandmother MacDonald came on, the Queen of the Nations. His family apparently decided to try New Zealand around 1874 (the only time the Queen of Nations came to New Zealand).

They settled in Tauranga, where Allely became apprenticed to a pharmacist. According to Reg Combes in his 1981 book Pharmacy in New Zealand, Allely “showed a willing spirit and business aptitude, and in the late nineties became shop manager with a certificate of registration bearing the early number 548.” It was while he was at Tauranga that he would cycle forty-five kilometres over clay roads to receive tuition in dentistry in Waihi, and in time was granted authority to practice.

From there, he moved to Auckland. He declined an offer of a position in a Queen Street business, instead deciding to set up his own business in Avondale. As Reg Combes said in his article on Allely, the community doubly welcomed a man who was dentist as well as a pharmacist to their village.

In 1910 there was a wooden shop on the site at 2000 Great North Road, beside the (then) new police station. This was replaced by the brick building owned by Robert Alley in 1911. On July 22 that year, the first prescription is recorded as being filled there, on the day Allely’s original pharmacy opened. At the end of the first week, Allely began to have doubts as to the wisdom of turning down the Queen Street position, and a reliable income, for striking out on his own at Avondale. Takings for that first week were only £9. But his wife was apparently a tactful, persuasive soul. She convinced Allely to hang on and have patience with the situation. She was right. The community came to regard Robert Allely as part of the fabric of the town, and called him “Joe”.

His shop would be open until 9 pm. This meant long hours dragging between customers, so Allely invited friends to join him in the back room of the shop, and there they engaged in long, involved conversations on all manner of topics, both local and national. It became known as “The School”, and soon rumours abounded that the group might be “suspect”, a bed of conspiracy and dangerous intrigue. The local constable was sent next door to investigate and stopped to listen at the outside door to the room. During a lull on the conversation, the men inside heard a suspicious sound. Allely rose, opened the door with a rush, and found an embarrassed constable there. The policeman remained to become another member of “The School”.

Robert “Joe” Allely is a forgotten hero of Avondale. During the influenza epidemic of 1918, Allely stepped into the breach that existed in Avondale, with no resident doctor, the nearest hospital distant miles and rough roads away, and people around him living in fear of death striking them down. With volunteers, including his wife, he set up a field hospital on the grounds of the Avondale Racecourse, and called out from his shop to visit the sick in their homes, leaving his shop open and packaged up medicines on his counter for his customers to pick up. Those who could pay anything towards the cost of their medicine dutifully left money in the till. If they couldn’t, they remembered, and paid up honestly after the crisis was over.

Bruce McLaughlan, in his book Blockhouse Bay – A Village within a Town, recorded one memory from that time, about Allely, and his makeshift hospital out on the paddock: “Bob and Vera Blake were both attending school at the time of the influenza epidemic of 1918. A hospital was set up at Avondale racecourse and the local chemist of Avondale, a Mr Allely, ran it. Bob said of the epidemic: “People would go in and say, ‘Haven’t seen old Bill Brown about lately.’ So one of them’d take off and go down and they’d find old Bill Brown either dead in his hut or so ill that he couldn’t get out. And they’d get a cart and get him off to the hospital.”

According to Reg Combes, Allely standardised his formulas, made up bulk preparations, and travelled the length of the district (Blockhouse Bay, Avondale and Waterview) by bicycle with instructions on how to nurse the afflicted, and making arrangements to send the desperate cases to the emergency tent hospital he’d set up. “A Medical Officer of Health was despatched to inspect his makeshift hospital, set up in spite of regulations prohibiting such temporary quarters,” Combes wrote. ”But Robert Allely knew what he was about. The Medical Officer of Health unofficially congratulated him and gratefully left him to carry on in his own way, which he was able to do with the help of his voluntary aides.”

The district was grateful to a hard-working man who had done much to ease people through the epidemic, and helped to keep the death rate down for this area. Allely and his wife were duly presented with an illuminated address, a souvenir booklet containing the names of all the subscribers; a gold watch chain and pendent; and to Mrs. Alley a beautiful case of silver knives and forks. Arthur Morrish, editor of Avondale’s paper The News, wrote in the 25 January 1919 edition:

“The public presentation in Avondale on Wednesday evening … to Mr. R. J. Allely was a fitting tribute to a gentleman who for a period of several weeks during the late epidemic worked night and day in his endeavours to help suffering humanity. Avondale, in common with other places, was without the services of a medical man, but in Mr. Allely the district had a good substitute. His knowledge of medicine and his ability to diagnose symptoms were freely placed at the disposal of anyone needing his services, and it it no exaggeration to say that the number of visits he made to all parts of this and surrounding districts ran into the hundreds. Not one of these visits were charged for …”

The Auckland Star on 23 January 1919 reported on the presentation at the district’s Town Hall (present day Hollywood Cinema), and the comments made by Avondale Road Board chairman Mr. R. B. Nesbitt, who said, “… he was proud to be presiding at such a function, proud to be a friend and fellow citizen of a man who, through his untiring and unselfish labour had done so much for the sufferers of the disastrous epidemic. Towards the latter part of the visitation, Mr. Alley finally collapsed and had to take to his bed and it was with great difficulty his wife kept him there, for he wanted to be up and doing …”

It is sadly likely that the strain of his efforts during that epidemic took their toll on him. Early in the 1920s, he sold his business and left the district, never to return. The business he started still continues, passed from owner through the years and is now the Avondale Pharmacy. The old brick building still stands, remaining as Robert Allely’s only enduring mark upon the history of our suburb. That, and the story of the lives he helped to save in those dark days of 1918.