Vintage Richmond Signage

A selection of photographs depicting some vintage advertising material and other signage dotted around the suburb of Richmond.

Vintage Boags Beer metal sign, hanging outside The Aviary on Victoria Street.

At 103 Hoddle Street, this aging reminder of the time when Greater Union not only ran a mediocre cinema in the city, but also rented disco equipment. Great days indeed.

Of a similar vintage, is this ad for Golden West Pinball, located on the eastern wall of Salvation Army store on Victoria Street. Note the six digit phone number.

Uncovered by recent demolition work along Victoria Street (which proved something of an obstacle for the photographer)  is this simple ad attached to the southern wall of the Terminus Hotel, so old it dates from a time when Fosters Lager was a serious drinking option for local punters.

Book-ending the building at the corner of Bridge Road and Church Street are these signs for Alexanders; a long defunct clothing store. The building itself is one of the oldest in the area. 

Corner of Bridge and Church in 1854

The same corner today

It was built in 1854 and was first tenanted by Commercial House, a general provisions supplier. Today the building is occupied by a discount clothing store on the ground floor, with a bar above.

A simple ad from Bridge Road hints at a less sophisticated era in advertising; 'A good ad just gives them the product type, the location and the six digit phone number!'

Tucked away on Bond Street, immediately adjacent to the rear of the Carlton Breweries, is this remarkable bluestone building. Built in 1863 as a Common School, effectively a private school subsidised by the State Government, this building was taken over by the state outright when compulsory schooling was mandated in 1872.

An article remembering 'Common Schools' from The Argus in 1940.
The Bond Street building is noted on the left, third from the top.

But the school only survived until 1877, when the building was sold for commercial purposes. It was first used as a tannery, and then in 1901 converted to a Cocoa Mill. By the 1970s, the mill was gone but the building had fallen into a state of disrepair.

The building in 1971.

Considerably restored, it is now used for private offices.

Standing atop the building located at 21 - 31 Goodwood Street is one of Melbourne's most famous vintage signs; the heritage listed neon ad for Pelaco clothing. The sign was erected in 1939 on what was the roof of Pelaco's Melbourne factory. 

The Melbourne Pelcao factory floor, 1951.

At one time Australia's largest local clothing manufacturer, Pelaco was also well known for a series of ads featuring a recurring Indigenous character, dubbed 'King Billy' or 'Pelaco Bill.' 

The unadulterated racism in these ads certainly makes for uncomfortable viewing today, which hopefully reflects some progress being made. A more detailed and erudite dissection of racist portrayals in Australian mass media can be found on this site.

Of course, Richmond's most famous vintage sign is Little Audrey, still atop a converted factory on Victoria Street. Little Audrey's story is covered in detail here.

The Paris End of Melbourne

So why is the Eastern end of the Melbourne, particularly Collins Street, referred to as 'The Paris End'? It's a great nickname, and one you hear a lot, yet you have to wonder where it came from.

What is especially Parisian about this part of the city? It's architecture and general design aren't particularly reminiscent of the City of Light, and Paris' famous arts and cultural trappings aren't mirrored here either, as they are in some other parts of Melbourne. Nor is there any direct link between the two cities; they aren't sisters and no famous French exiles came and settled here.

In fact, the answer is to be found in the lifespan of a hotel that used to stand at the top of Collins Street, and a lengthy debate that revolved around the footpath in front of it.

The southern block of Collins Street between Exhibition and Spring, where the gargantuan Collins Place now stands, was home to a hotel for most of Melbourne's first hundred years. The first of them, The Bedford, was built in 1854 and offered a standard saloon and basic accommodation.

This was replaced by the more elaborate Oriental Hotel, which was erected in 1878 and became a favourite of Victoria's landed gentry. During the boom of the 1880's, the Oriental was figured to be one of Melbourne's finest establishments, particularly well known for the quality of its food and drink.

The Oriental Hotel, circa 1894

Pearson Tewksbury, one of the many patrons of the Oriental who had made his fortune in the gold rush, was so taken by the place that he moved into it with his wife, when they relocated to Melbourne from his country estate in 1910. After a year as a resident, Tewksbury had a falling out with the hotel's manager, who requested that he find lodgings elsewhere. Rather than move, Tewksbury bought the hotel outright, and instructed the manager to find work elsewhere.

A well traveled  and energetic, man, Tewksbury had grand plans for his new acquisition. He bought and demolished the building next door, a private residence, to provide space for a new wing for the Oriental, which was furbished in the most modern style. He also acquired space at the rear of the property where he established the City Motor Service, a fleet of chauffeur driven cars for the use of hotel guests. The motor service soon proved so popular that it was made available to the general public and this gradually turned, over a number of years, into Melbourne's first taxi cab fleet.

A well traveled man; Pearson Tewksbury

Tewksbury also built a combined cafe and restaurant on the hotel's ground floor, and had an idea for the footpath out the front of it. Having traveled extensively through Europe, Tewksbury had been impressed by the sidewalk cafes he had seen in operation in many European cities. Melbourne's mild, but pleasant, summer seemed like the ideal climate for such a cafe, an idea that was entirely unknown in Melbourne, and indeed Australia, at the time.

In 1933, Tewksbury lodged a formal request with Melbourne City Council to allow dining on the Oriental's footpath. The council turned him down flat, indicating that they felt a footpath cafe would disrupt pedestrian traffic. It probably didn't help that one of the city Councillors had grown up in the house that Tewksbury had demolished to expand the Oriental, although an opinion piece in The Age expressed bemusement that such a simple idea had been prohibited:

Column in 'The Age,' May 29, 1933

Either side of World War Two, Tewksbury continued to refashion the Oriental, often co-opting new design and decoration ideas he had seen in America. In the early 1950's, he decided to completely rebuild the premises from top to bottom, but passed away before he could get this project underway. The hotel was then purchased by Leon Ress, a successful hotelier with a number of local properties in his portfolio.

Ress had ideas for the redevelopment of the Oriental as well, and he oversaw a considerable modernisation of the hotel before the 1956 Olympics. As well as updating the suites and public areas, Ress also revamped the hotel's dining facilities. Part of this involved reviving Tewksbury's old idea for a sidewalk cafe.
Ress' wife was originally from Paris, and she thought the broad footpath frontage perfect for a series of tables and chairs, much as she was familiar with from her native city.

This time the proposal was approved, doubtless assisted by Leon Ress' presence on the city council. The Oriental would be allowed to place nineteen tables on their footpath for a three month trial period (although the service of liquor would be prohibited outside).

Images of the Oriental footpath cafe in operation, all from 1958.

The new, cosmopolitan cafe created quite a stir in Melbourne; locals flocked to the Oriental to try it out, while the press coverage was voluminous.

Mrs Ress enthused to local journalists: 'This is wonderful. It is just like the Champ Elysees back in Paris.'

And this widely reported remark gives us our answer: The 'Paris end' of Melbourne was coined and it simply stuck in the popular imagination.

The phrase proved more enduring then the cafe that spawned it. Despite its popularity and prominence in the city - it was used in a number of tourist ads promoting Melbourne - the footpath cafe lasted only two years before being forced to close. The local police were responsible, claiming that the cafe restricted both pedestrian and street traffic. After some back and forth with the city council, now firmly in favour of the idea as it attracted business to the city, the police had their way and the cafe was closed:

'The Age,' January 7 1960, a few weeks before the cafe would close for good.

The Oriental itself didn't last very much longer, demolished in 1972 as part of a block leveling exercise that made way for Collins Place. But it's worth remembering its place in history, whenever you overhear someone remark that they 'work up the Paris end of town.'

The Jeff Kennett Gargoyle

Along the southern wall of Saint Patrick's Cathedral, flanked by statues of St Francis of Assisi and St Catheine of Siena, is a most unusual reminder of Victoria's former premier Jeff Kennett. One of the gargoyles that dot the bluestone walls of the Cathedral at regular intervals has been carved in his likeness.

Local stonemason Tom Carson is responsible .He did some work on the Cathedral during remodelling in 1992 and decided to include Kennett as a 'whim.' In 2002 he told The Age newspaper:

'When they (the church) first began doing Gothic buildings in the 12th century, the stonemasons were like cartoonists, so they did all these funny animals and they'd get the local mayor or the dean of the cathedral and make him look like a monster. It was the master masons way of making fun of local dignitaries, or perhaps settling a score. I was very lucky to get away with doing something a bit different.'

Kennett himself claims not to have seen the gargoyle, but is pleased by it nonetheless.

'I did hear rumours about the gargoyle but have tried not to locate it. Not being of the Catholic faith but sympathetic to it, I think it's highly appropriate.'

Undoubtedly many Victorians, not necessarily Kennett supporters, would feel the same way.

The cathedral is one of the largest Gothic churches in the world and a key tourist stop for visitors to Melbourne. You wonder how many of them look at their photos of it later and wonder if there isn't something odd about one of the sculptures...

Cliveden: Melbourne's Largest House

Standing on the corner of Clarendon Street and Wellington Parade, overlooking both the MCG and Fitzroy Gardens, is the Hilton Hotel, one of Melbourne's most well known buildings.

For the last two generations of sports fans in Melbourne, the Hilton has provided a comfortable backdrop to the walk to and from the 'G; younger attendees perhaps scoffing at the building's now outdated design, older heads perhaps remembering when they used to meet friends in the Sportmans Bar for a pre-game drink.

But while the Hilton on the Park has become a familiar part of everyday life in Melbourne, less familiar is what stood on the same spot prior to the hotel's construction in 1970. For at one time, this prime piece of parkside real estate was the location of Melbourne's largest house.

William Clarke was the first born son of a migrant English family who had come to Australia in the 1830's to find their fortune. William's father, William senior, settled in Van Dieman's Land  initially, but soon joined the influx of 'squatters' headed for Victoria, once the Colonial Government began to offer land to anyone, effectively for nothing, willing to settle on it. The Clarke's secured themselves large tracts of premium farmland and were soon established as one of Victoria's wealthiest families. When William junior finished his schooling in 1850, he went to work for his father, and assumed control of their business operations in 1860. When his father died in 1874, William Clarke became the largest landholder in Australia.

William Clarke

An enterprising and industrious man with wide interests, in middle age William Clarke would oversee not only the family land holdings but also invest heavily in scientific research, sit in State Parliament, give generously to charity and be elected president of both the Melbourne Cricket Club and the Victorian Football Association. In 1882 he became Australia's first baronet, in recognition of his philanthropy.

In 1887 he decided to build a new house in Melbourne, his family having been previously based on a large estate near Sunbury. Reflective of his wealth and stature, the new residence was to be built on a grand scale, on the large plot of land in East Melbourne that would one day house the Hilton.

William Clarke's grand East Melbourne residence, shortly after construction.

Dubbed 'Cliveden,' after the famous country estate of the Astor family in Buckinghamshire, the palatial Italian Renaissance style house became Melbourne's largest residence. No expense was spared in either the construction or the embellishment of the building; oak paneling was shipped from England, stained glass from Italy and a team of craftsman arrived from Florence to work on the fittings. There were 28 bedrooms, five bathrooms, 17 individual servants quarters and three oversize marble fireplaces in the dining room alone. The entire dwelling cost the then staggering sum of 182 000 pounds.

The Clarke's moved to Cliveden in 1888 and the house soon became the centre of Melbourne's elite social scene. William Clarke was a generous man and he entertained lavishly and often. And the house itself was considered one of the city's undoubted showpieces; famous for its size, setting and views.

The view from the upper story. Note the MCG to the left of image,

As seen from Fitzroy Gardens.

But the economic boom that had driven Melbourne's expansion in the 1880's, gave way to a sharp economic downturn in the following decade. William Clarke, director of the Colonial Bank, lost a large sum of money when the bank foundered in 1893. In what was said to be typical of the man, Clarke paid depositors who had lost their investments back out of his own pocket. The strain of this large, public failure apparently told on him though. Clarke's health suffered after the bank's collapse, and he died suddenly of a heart attack in 1897.

The fabulous Cliveden passed to Clarke's wife Janet, and she continued to live in the premises for another decade, until her death in 1909. Cliveden was then sold to the Baillieu family, at 44 000 pounds they paid a fraction of the original cost, who converted the house into 48 luxury apartments.

An aerial view of Clivden and its surrounds, circa 1924.

Opulent apartment living was a novel idea in Australia at the time and this, combined with the former prestige of the building, made 'Cliveden Mansions' (as they were now renamed) a highly desirable address.

The living room of one of the new apartments.

An advert spruiking the apartments in the 1930s. Note the
similarity of the advertising syntax to the present day.

But after the second World War, the mansions began to lose their lustre. Features of the building such as the communal dining room that tenants shared were now viewed as old fashioned, rather than desirable. Cliveden came to be viewed as out of place with its surroundings, rather than enhancing them. The mansions steadily lost patronage over the next two decades and by the 1960s were a broken down, neglected shell.

The Mansions in 1968, looking very tired.

The property was sold and demolished in 1968. Local wrecking firm 'Whelan's' removed the valuable fixturing and then flattened the building with a wrecking ball. Most of what was saved was sold at auction, which ran to 2500 lots and so gave some idea of the scale of the building, and some was set aside, specifically for one of the new Hilton's dining rooms.

This new dining room was to be called, The Cliveden Room. A small tribute, for one of the grandest houses ever built in Australia.

Little Audrey

Five hundred meters east of my house stands one of Melbourne's most well known icons:

The Skipping Girl Vinegar sign, also known as Little Audrey, is popular enough that it has found its way onto souvenirs, artwork, clothing and was even taken by a local band for their name:

While Little Audrey has become a well known and well loved part of contemporary Melbourne, the sign has a story that stretches back to 1936 and features many ups and downs. Audrey was not always held in the same high regard as she is now.

Today the sign stands atop a smart looking brick building on Victoria Street in Abbotsford, which is used for professional offices and high end flats. This is in keeping with the area itself, which has become a fashionable place to live and work.

But this wasn't always the case. The Abbotsford of 1936 was a gruff  industrial district, home to factories, warehouses and small worker's cottages. One of the many manufacturers based in the area at this time was the Nycander Company, who produced a locally made malt vinegar called 'Skipping Girl Vinegar.'

The 'Skipping Girl' brand first appeared around the turn of the 20th century and quickly became popular. It is thought Nycander chose the name based on a children's skipping rhyme, popular at the time. One variant of the rhyme ran:

Salt, vinegar, mustard, pepper, If I dare, I can do better...

Which suggested a fun little connection between vinegar and skipping that the company could employ to its advantage. The origin of the logo itself is something of a mystery.

According to the National Trust, Nycander held a competition in the 1910's asking people to submit a design for a new logo for the vinegar. The winner was either a sketch of a local schoolgirl named Alma Burns, or another local school girl whose identity was kept secret because...

In any case, a skipping cartoon girl was adopted to represent the vinegar. In 1936 Nycander moved their operation to a factory at 627 Victoria Street, Abbotsford. The company was doing well enough that they wanted an ostentatious symbol to promote their signature product.

A pioneering local advertising firm, Neon Signs, designed and produced a large scale neon sign for the roof of the factory based on the vinegar brand's logo. Neon Signs were so proud of their creation that they did not want to sell the sign and so Nycander had to rent it form them, paying 8 pound a month for the privilege.

After installation, the nine metre high sign quickly became a Melbourne institution.

The sign on top of the factory, shortly after installation.

Looking at the image above, you can see that the sign does not match the logo for the vinegar shown on the side of the building. The story goes that the Nycander manager responsible for the sign based his design not on the vinegar bottle, but on the daughter of the man who ran his local milk bar, where he bought his cigarettes.

The Skipping Girl sign was Australia's first animated neon sign and one of the first in the world. Its novelty caused it to became quite a local attraction, with people from across Melbourne coming to Abbotsford to see it. And it was more widely visible across the city at that time than it is currently, as the city skyline was kept low by a Melbourne City Council height restriction.

Many children of the time period can recall either visiting the sign, or seeing it across town, distinctly.

It wasn't long before the Skipping Girl sign was dubbed Little Audrey. Little Audrey was a common phrase in Australia at the time, a curious little piece of folk slang lingo. Little Audrey stories were a popular piece of light entertainment, swapped between people like jokes.

In the stories, Little Audrey would normally be wide eyed and naive and would have some humourous interaction with someone older or more discerning. Audrey would ofetn say or do something daft, which provided the punchline. Competitions were held, asking people to submit their favorite Little Audrey Stories.

An example from a Brisbane newspaper in 1936 (The Queenslander, July 2):

It was a natural step then, for people coming from across to Melbourne to view the skipping sign, to start referring to the girl depicted as a Little Audrey.

In the 1960's Nycander decided to move their operations to Altona and put their factory up for sale. In 1968 it was bought by the Metropolitan Fire Brigade, who intended to use the location as a training ground.

Towards the end of Audrey 1's time

The old factory was demolished and although the company had intended to transfer their famous sign to their new location, they were told by the Shire Council that that this was not permitted. The council considered the sign a distraction and, therefore, a traffic hazzard, a piece of nanny state wowserism that would fit nicely into the present day.

Little Audrey, removed by local wrecking
firm Whelan and looking for a new home.

As Nycander had effectively been forced to relinquish Little Audrey, there was some debate as to who could then claim ownership. Neon Sign's, citing the original lease of the sign from them, returned to claim it but demolition firm Whelan's contract stipulated they had rights to salvage the old factory. They quickly sold Audrey to a local used car dealer, CE Hayward Pty Ltd, for $100, after which she disappeared from view.

And there the matter appeared to have rested.

But in 1968, serious signs of dissent regarding the loss of Melbourne's cultural history were stirring. Protests over the demolition of historic buildings had begun and, while these were fledgling, pointed the way to the future. A new generation of Melbournians was not prepared to see their city changed and redeveloped without a fight.

And so The Skipping Girl Vinegar sign, a popular and fondly remembered part of Melbourne's skyline for several decades, became the focus of a public outcry. The removal and private sale of the sign was much discussed in the press, and a local radio station ran a 'Save Audrey' campaign.

By this time, eighteen months or so after Audrey's removal, the original sign could not be located. So a new replacement was commissioned and paid for through fundraising. The new sign would be smaller and would feature a more contemporary Audrey; with longer, freer flowing hair and a shorter dress.

John Benjamin, Governing Director of Crusader Plate whose metalworking factory was just 200m from where the old vinegar factory had stood, offered the roof of his building for Audrey Mark 2.

On the auspicious date of Friday, November 13 1970, the new sign was re-lit. Barry Humphries would later tell The Age newspaper that he had located the original Audrey behind the used car dealership in Richmond in May 1974. Rusted and beyond repair, he laid a wreath and composed a song in Audrey's honour.

But that's not quite the end of the story.

The new Audrey had nearly twenty years of active nights, before the building she now sat on changed hands again and imperiled her fate. The metal plate works closed in the late 80s and Audrey went dark again. The building was sold and refurbished, reemerging in 1989 in its current, swanked up form. To celebrate the re-dedication of the building, now dubbed Skipping Girl Place, the new owners paid for Audrey to light up again.

Audrey 2 stayed alight this time until 2001, when the building's new owners stopped her electricity supply as a cost cutting measure. Even her listing as a Heritage Item in 2007, saving her from removal or destruction, was not sufficient incentive to get the owners to start her up again.

She stayed dark this time around until 2009, when various Government agencies chipped in money to restore her, and energy company AGL offered to supply her power needs in exchange for some good publicity. A small solar system on the building's roof supplies enough juice to light Audrey up each night.

Audrey removed by crane for a spruce up.

Under restoration by Heritage Victoria

She has remained alight and alive since, skipping gently away as she overlooks one of Melbourne's busiest streets, a scene very different to the one her predecessor would have witnessed. The fact that she is now powered by a thoroughly 21st century style of renewable energy provides what seems a fitting end to the story. An end that is... until her building changes hands again.