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.

The Mad Max Carpark

I'll never forget the first time I saw it.

I was wandering around Melbourne Uni's Parkville Campus, just killing time, hanging out, filling a lazy afternoon. I hadn't lived in Melbourne long, and I didn't know much about the uni, or the city's history

Walking along one of the many pathways, it suddenly came into sight; something totally incongruous, and at odds with the surroundings. A massive stone doorway, highly ornate and elaborate, with only blackness beyond

I had found the Mad Max carpark.

Also known as the underground carpark beneath the south lawn. 

But what was the stone doorway doing there? And where had it come from?

Melbourne in the 1880s; booming and marvellous.

Melbourne in the 1880's was a city in the midst of a boom.

The second largest city in the British Empire (after London) and one of the fastest growing and richest on Earth. The gold rush, which had commenced in 1851, had already peaked, but the influx of labour and capital this had brought to the city had matured into a diverse and rapidly expanding economy.  

This era is what gave us the phrase 'Marvelous Melbourne.'

Supporting this river of money was a burgeoning financial sector, illustrated by the large number of banks across the city. To demonstrate their flush balance sheets, these bank buildings were often elaborately designed and expensive constructions, new money made tangible.

One of these was the Colonial Bank.

Built on the corner of Little Collins and Elizabeth Streets, the Colonial Bank mirrored the early years of Melbourne's development. 

It was founded in 1856 by John O'Shanassy to serve small investors associated with the gold rush. The parcel of land the original building was constructed on, a considerably more modest building to start with, was the spot where Father Patrick Geoghegan performed the first mass in the Port Phillip area in 1839. It was said that the fig tree growing on the back of the allotment had been planted that day to mark the occasion, and so the tree was maintained in a small square of land, with the bank built around it.

By 1880, the Colonial Bank was successful enough to afford a grander edifice, and so the elaborate bluestone building above was commissioned. It would take two years to erect, in place of the old offices. 

The Argus describes the building once completed:

Topping off the building's appearance was an elaborate stone archway over the front entrance. 

Designed by Irish born sculptor James Gilbert, who also designed the sculpture of Sir Redmond Barry that stands in front of the State Library, the arch depicted mythical figures Britannia and Neptune, supported by a pair of muscular underlings.

The boom years of the 1880's were followed by the bust of the 1890's. 

Many business struggled or went under completely, and the face of the city changed again. The Colonial Bank survived these years, but was finished off by the unstable times that accompanied the First World War. By the 1920's, their elaborate bluestone headquarters was deserted and slated for demolition.

The Colonial Bank corner today

While building preservation was unheard of at this time, the Royal Victorian Institute of Architects did call for the building's stone entryway to be saved.

As this was a relatively simple task, the archway was removed and gifted to Melbourne University (although the sculptures of Britannia and Neptune were somehow lost in this process). The rest of the Colonial Bank, including its historic fig tree, was flattened and removed in 1932.

A sketch of the old Physiology building from , prior to the archways addition.

The University would initially incorporate the archway into their new physiology building, which was under construction at the time.

But the physiology building at Melbourne Uni would only last about forty years  In the early 70s it was demolished and the stone archway was moved for a third time, to its present location. The arch now has National Trust protection.

And this brings us to 'Mad Max'.

The carpark in real life.

Max and co in the MFP garage in the film.

George Miller was a doctor, who wanted to be a film maker.

In 1971, he attended a film making workshop held at Melbourne Uni, and somewhere along the way came across the south lawn carpark. As well as the elaborate entrance, the carpark also has a highly stylised interior, with futuristic-ally curved roof supports instead of standard, angular ones.

When Miller was filming his first feature, 1979's 'Mad Max', he utilised the carpark as the garage for the Metropolitan Police Force (Max's employer, before he goes rogue). Several scenes were shot in the carpark, including the famous moment when they hand Max the key's to the 'last of the V8 interceptors.'

The film became a cult success, and established both Miller and lead actor Mel Gibson as up and coming talents. 

The Waiter's Club Siege

Mark 'Chopper' Read is one of Melbourne's most notorious identities. In a city with many true crime figures, his infamy as a stand over man and success as an author has made him well known to nearly everyone. Not universally liked, but almost universally known.

Mark Brandon 'Chopper' Read: criminal, writer, celebrity.

On Australia Day 1978, one of Chopper's most well known exploits would set in motion a chain of events that would lead to a police stand off at a popular Melbourne restaurant.

Released from prison the year before, Chopper had returned to society with a promise to one of his still imprisoned mates foremost in his mind. He had sworn to long time friend Jimmy Loughnane, who still had six years to serve, that after his release he would find a way to get him out of jail as well.

To this end, Chopper had come up with a far fetched scheme to take a local magistrate hostage and trade his life for Loughnane's freedom. On Australia Day, Chopper put a sawn off shotgun under his jacket and went to the old County Court buildings in the city. In 1978, Australia Day was not yet a public holiday so the courts were in session, although it was a quiet day, without many cases scheduled.

Taking advantage of the lax atmosphere, Chopper slipped into the first court that was in session and  marched boldly to the judge's bench. Judge Bill Martin was presiding. In an interview with the The Age sometime later, Chopper recalled the moment:

Momentarily stunned, the judge's chief clerk, a former military officer named Ernie Trotter, recovered himself, tackled Read and grabbed the gun. They wrestled until several police officer's arrived. Judge Martin, according to some accounts, kicked the would be hostage taker 'in the balls.'

Judge Bill Martin

Read was overwhelmed by a dozen policeman. Due to his bulk they lay him face first on the court room floor and sat on him, tying his arms with their belts as none of the officer's present was carrying handcuffs. He would eventually receive 13 years for his efforts.

This exploit of Chopper's is well known. Less well known is what happened next.

While Chopper had been incarcerated previously, he had founded a gang of inmates known as 'The Overcoat Gang.' This group quickly became the vicious scourge of its enemies in Pentridge Prison. Chopper himself became friend and mentor to a number of younger offenders that he initiated into the group and took under his wing.

One of these was Amos Atkinson.

Pentridge Prison

Amos Atkinson was only 18 when he was incarcerated at Pentridge for armed robbery. Quick tempered, violent and unpredictable, he was just the sort Read attracted to him and Atkinson was soon ushered into the Overcoats. Young and impressionable, Atkinson clearly looked up to the older man.

Atkinson had been released from jail by the time Read pulled his stunt with the judge, and was quickly determined to get his friend back out of prison again. Incredibly, he would try something just as daft as Read's failed plan had been.

The Italian Waiter's Club (now the Waiter's Restaurant) is a well known restaurant on Meyer's Place in Melbourne's CBD. Founded in 1947 as an actual hangout for off duty waiter's - who would unwind there after work with a glass of vino, in a contravention of this era's stricter liquor laws - by the 1970's it had become an established eating venue, open to all comers.

The Waiter's Restaurant, 20  Meyer's Place, today.

On the evening of March 31, 1978, Atkinson and his friend Robert Williams stormed the restaurant armed with shotguns. They had just had a run in with police and had fled with the cops in pursuit. Panicked, they had taken refuge in the restaurant while they figured out what to do.

Meanwhile, police blocked both ends of Meyer's Place and laid siege to the restaurant.

Roger Meyers, then manager of the Princes Theatre, was dining with friends in the Waiter's Club when Atkinson and Williams burst in:

Atkinson soon came up with a plan. He enlisted a doctor from among his hostages to talk to police and issued a demand; Chopper Read had to be released within 24 hours or he would start killing hostages.

Unwilling to comply with this, the police stalled. Nervous as time passed and nothing happened, Atkinson then sent another hostage, Wendy McNamara, out with his second demand. Now he asked for his mother.

The police were happy to acquiesce to this. Mrs Atkinson was sent for and duly arrived in her dressing gown in the early hours of the morning. Entering the restaurant on her own, the elderly lady hit Atkinson over the head with her handbag  before instructing him to let his hostages go and give himself up.

This Atkinson did, although he released people only in groups of four or five, spread over several hours. Meyers was in the third group of people released and, after an interview at the old police headquarters on Russell Street, eventually got home at 5am. He was at work on time the next day.

The Age reports the story.

Once all the hostages were released, Atkinson gave himself up quietly. He received five years for the crime, joining Chopper back in Pentridge. Shortly after his re-incarceration  Atkinson would have his ears cut off, as a final effort to emulate his hero.

The Bourke Street Honey Locust Tree

Standing on the corner of King and Bourke St in the CBD, dwarfed by the monolithic tower behind it, is a living piece of Melbourne's history. A Honey Locust tree that has been growing in the same spot for about 160 years. It is such a fixture in the city that the tower block it stands in front of was designed around it.

The Heritage listed Honey Locust; 607 Bourke Street

It is the only specimen of the Honey Locust, a common tree across south east Asia, in Victoria

But while it is known that the tree has been growing in this same spot since shortly after the city was founded, its specific history is elusive. Exactly how it got to be where it is, who planted it and when, is something of a mystery.

The corner where the tree now stands has an interesting history itself.

The first building on the site was erected in 1840. Made of wood, it served primarily as the office for the Crown Lands Department, while also being used occasionally as a courthouse and immigration office.

In 1841, the Lands Office was moved and the building reassigned to serve as Melbourne's first Supreme Court. British born Judge John Walpole Willis was sent to Melbourne from Sydney to hear the first cases. The judge's chambers were in a small brick building at the rear of the court.

Judge John Willis

Son of the physician who had treated King George III for mental illness, Judge Willis was a short tempered, eccentric man. He refused to hear any case where the participants sported facial hair, and would often threaten the unsuspecting beard-wearer with a contempt of court charge. His sentences were nortoriously severe. Unpopular with the local press, Judge Willis had several petitions filed against him, citing him as unfit to hold office, and was recalled to England in 1843.

The Supreme Court was moved shortly thereafter, to a more permanent building on Russell Street. The former courthouse was again used by a variety of government offices subsequent.

In 1850, the office of the Colonial Storekeeper took over the property. The Storekeeper was an important department in Melbourne at the time, as it was charged with supplying all other Government agencies with their requirements. Rations, tools, uniforms, weapons and a thousand other items were all sourced by the Storekeepers.

In 1857, the busy office had their run down wooden shack replaced with a sturdy, bluestone building:

This garden outside the Storekeeper's office probably included the Honey Locust tree. Although who originally planted the garden, and when, is unknown. But it is thought that the seeds for the tree were probably brought to Melbourne by Chinese workers, who started arriving in large numbers after the discovery of gold in 1851.

One of them may have planted the tree outside the Government offices on the site, after transacting some business there, or it may have been planted by a civil servant assigned to one of the Government agencies based there, to add an exotic touch to the garden. Author Annear, in her book about Melbourne's urban development, concluded that the Honey Locust was 'surely a remnant' of this time.



An early map of Melbourne, circa 1860, showing the
Colonial Store and Public Works office on the corner.

An enlarged version of the above map.

After the bluestone buildings were constructed, subsequent Governments continued to use them for a variety of purposes. The Colonial Store was replaced by the Industrial \and Reformatory Schools Department, then the Labour Bureau, then the State Relief Committee, all of them working from the same buildings erected in 1857.

The old Colonial Store in the 1960s.

In 1970, the state Public Works Department ordered the buildings demolished, to make way for a larger, modern building that could house more Government offices. Due to the age of the buildings, and their connection to early Melbourne's history, the National Trust declared them an important site worthy of preservation. But in 1970, the National Trust was a toothless organisation, without any legislation to support their determinations. The Government of the day was free to ignore its advice, which it did.

Melbourne University architecture students picketed the site, and a private citizen's group attempted to get a court injunction, but the Government proceeded with their plan. The demolition took only one week. Site foreman Mark Zita, of Whelan's Wreckers, said it was the oldest building he had seen in Melbourne, and 'sound enough to last another hundred years.'

The Government's haste in removing the old bluestone structures seems odd in hindsight, as the leveled land would then sit vacant for more than fifteen years. Finally, in 1987, a developer was found for the land and a new project commenced. The State Government had made one small concession to the calls for preservation of the site; they had ordered that the Honey Locust Tree be preserved:

Note the company involved.

The Honey Locust now has an entry on the National Trust's Register of Significant Trees, which will hopefully afford it better protection than the building it used to stand in front of received.

In the small garden where the Honey Locust stands, a little clump of greenery surrounded by a high metal fence, a small historical plaque has been erected. It commemorates only the State Relief office that used to stand on the site. Largely hidden by shrubbery, it seems an inadequate marker for a site with such a rich history.

The First 'Dirty Three' Gigs

The Dirty Three are a Melbourne music institution. Their vibrant, raucous, free form compositions are as visceral as they are hard to categorise. To see them live is to witness something special.

But like many well known artists, their performing roots are humble.

The members of the band - Warren Ellis, Mick Turner and Jim White - were all veterans of the local Melbourne music scene and were well known to each other. Prior to the the Dirty Three's formation, Ellis and White had been in a band together, Busload of Faith, and Turner and White had played together previously in several local groups.

In an interview recorded in 1994, Turner recounts what happened next:

The line up would be Ellis on violin (he had once had classical training), Turner on bass and lead guitar and White on drums. The new band played their first gig in front of a handful of punters at the Baker's Arms Hotel on Anzac Day, 1992:

The music was experimental and wild. Ellis attached a guitar pick up to his violin with a rubber band, giving it a unique, high pitched squawk. The music was, and has largely remained, entirely instrumental, with mumblings or anecdotes between tracks the only vocals. Each track took the form of an extended jam with a loose structure, and was much longer than the usual rock or punk song. From the same interview noted above, Ellis explains:

The proprietor was obviously happy with what the band had produced, as the first gig lead to a Friday night residency that lasted several months:

Currently, I live in Abbotsford, only about fifty metres from the Bakers Arms Hotel. Sadly, live music is no longer performed there, replaced by a mass of pokie machines, and it's the sort of joint where you can buy a six pack over the counter at 8am if you feel so inclined. It's as hard to imagine The Dirty Three playing there now, as it is to imagine the same band playing in front of a small crowd for free.

But while the pub may have seen better days, The Dirty Three quickly found success.

Their first recordings, a tape of a rehearsal at Turner's house, were given away (!) at gigs the following year and generated considerable excitement. And their live shows, spreading out from The Bakers Arms to more prestigious venues around Melbourne, became word of mouth successes due to their unpredictable energy.

The Dirty Three play the Evelyn, January 1993. Note Mick Turner's art
in the gig poster, which would become a feature of their album covers.

In 1994, the still fledgling band gained prominent support slots for Australian tours by American bands Pavement and The Beastie Boys. National and international success would soon follow.

The Three Brunswicks

In the inner city of Melbourne, there are three Brunswicks.

The suburb of Brunswick; north of the city and currently undergoing a rapid makeover from solid working class to rampant hipster kingdom. Brunswick Street; the main thoroughfare through Fitzroy, a suburb that made this same transition some time ago. And Brunswick Road; running perpendicular to, and between, both.

The origin of the name 'Brunswick,' as used in these Melbourne places, is no longer clear. It seems fitting that, as there are three places bearing the name, there are also three possible explanations as to how it became attached. It is even possible that there are different explanations for each.

But the suburb of Brunswick was the first of the three to appear in Melbourne, making it likely that the roads were named after it.

Surveyor General Robert Hoddle assessed the area that would become the suburb in 1839 and determined that it was fit for settlement. A broad, rough rectangle of land would be offered for sale, the boundaries of which would be; the newly created Moreland Road to the north, Park Street to the south and Moonee Ponds Creek and Merri Creek to either side. Connecting Moreland Road and Park Street, a narrow road would be built approximately in the middle of the newly designated area, originally called Pentridge Road, and later renamed Sydney Road once it became the chief route out of Melbourne to the north.

The survey plan for the new suburb from 1839. The two creeks are visible at
either end of the division, with numbered lots of land in between.

The land on either side of Pentridge Road was divided into eleven equal sections, each piece running from the road back to the relevant creek (depending on the side). Such was the simple, efficient way that most of early Melbourne was laid out.

Much of the early land sold in this, still unnamed, area went to land speculators, investors with an eye on the future. Melbourne was still small in 1840 when the new land was offered for sale, and the freshly subdivided area 5 miles from the township was not much in demand. But  a few hardy types bought and settled on the properties straight away. One of these was Thomas Wilkinson.

Wilkinson was born in Sunderland County, in England, in 1799 and emigrated to Van Dieman's land in 1833. He worked in Launceston initially, in service of the convicts there and providing religious and moral instruction. This was followed by a short stint on Flinders Island, providing similar services to the local Indigenous population.

Drawing of Thomas Wilkinson, date unknown.

Looking to establish himself, he moved to Melbourne in 1840 in search of fresh opportunities. Wilkinson took a job as a law clerk and within a year had saved a sufficient sum to allow him to buy (in partnership with his friend Edward Parker) one of the new parcels of land north of the city. Wilkinson built himself a small house on the corner of Albert Street and Sydney Road and so became one of the first residents of the new district.

Wilkinson called his new property 'Brunswick.' There are two theories as to why he did this.

The most widely accepted of these is that the name was chosen in honour of Queen Caroline, late wife of King George IV of England.

Portrait of Caroline by James Lonsdale, 1820

Caroline was born Princess Caroline of Brunswick, a region in Northern Germany near Hannover. The German root of the word Brunswick is a combination of two other words; 'Bruno', the eleventh century conqueror of the region, and 'wik,' a German word meaning meeting place. So the area was named after the town Bruno established, which immediately became the central meeting and trading point for the region.

Caroline married George, Prince of Wales, in 1795. It was a loveless arranged marriage, designed for political reasons, and the pair started to live separately after Caroline gave birth to a daughter, Charlotte, in 1796. Both Prince and Princess likely took lovers and had little to do with each other. Caroline left England in 1814 and lived in Italy for a time, returning only in 1820 when George ascended to the throne.

But George was not happy to see his consort return, and immediately began agitating for divorce. As well as the entrenched dislike between the two, George was an unpopular, authoritarian King and Caroline had been installedby the public as the figurehead for a burgeoning reform movement. Caroline was publicly accused of adultery and Parliament set to investigating her fidelity.

The Trial of Queen Caroline, by Sir George Hayter.

Even while accused of, what was at the time, a serious criminal offence, Caroline remained popular with the masses. 800 petitions with more than a million signatures in support of her were lodged during her trial. The House of Lords, charged with the preliminary investigation, found her guilty of an affair with an Italian servant, but their findings were never passed on to the House of Commons for ratification. It was assumed that Caroline's popularity would have ensured their defeat in that house.

Furious that his will was not carried out, George excluded Caroline from his coronation ceremony at Westminster Abbey. When she tried to attend, her way was blocked several times by soldiers loyal to George. Shortly afterward, Caroline became seriously ill and deteriorated steadily over the next few weeks. She died on 7 August 1821, aged 53, and was buried in her native Brunswick. Her exact cause of death is unknown and speculation ranges from cancer to poisoning at the hands of George's agents. Caroline's sudden death caused some disturbances in England and further entrenched George's unpopularity with sections of his people.

A young Thomas Wilkinson lived through this period of English history and undoubtedly Caroline's tragic story would have had an impact on him, as it did many others at the time. So it is believed that he named his new property on the other side of the world as a small tribute to the late Queen Consort.

But other theories have been floated as well.

The second of these also relates to royal goings on in England. After the death of George IV, Queen Victoria ascended the throne in 1837. In 1840 she married Prince Albert and there is some thought that Brunswick was named after the Prince's German royal house. This appears on several websites I have seen, as well as in  the official written history of Brunswick, commissioned by the Moreland Shire Council (Brunswick: One History, Many Voices, edited by Helen Penrose).

Victoria and Albert in 1840.

But in regards to this idea we can be certain; Brunswick is not named after Prince Albert, as he was from the German house of Saxe-Coburg. Although it is worth adding that the first two streets in the new area, Albert Street and Victoria Street, running at ninety degrees from Pentridge Road, were named after the newly married royal couple. News of their nuptials would have reached Australia just as the suburb was being sketched out and divided (the south Melbourne suburb of Albert Park is also named after the Prince).

The third possibility for Brunswick's naming comes from the VICNAMES website, an official Government body that maintains a database of Victoria's place and street name origins. The entry for Brunswick reads:

Named after Captain George Brunswick Smyth, 50th regiment. He was in charge of mounted (military) police in Port Philip, 1839.

This explanation also appears on the Yarra Council website, in their own list of name origins, for Brunswick Street and so is not easily dismissed. But how or why this police captain would have got his name attached to a new suburb is unclear. Another landholder in the region, a neighbour of Wilkinson's, named WFA Rucker was known to have been a friend of Smyth's, and there is speculation that Rucker may have adopted the name of his friend for the new area.

But hard evidence of this has remained elusive. Acknowledging this theory in Brunswick: One History, Many Voices, Gillian Sansom writes that the oldest records the council has show the name Brunswick attached only to Wilkinson's property, not Rucker's. The council seem certain as to their preferred theory of the name origin, as their historical marker on Albert Street indicates:

In any case, Wilkinson attached the name Brunswick only to his farm, which was one among many in the new area. How did it come to be adopted by the suburb as a whole?

Tom Wilkinson was an industrious man; hard working and talented in a variety of areas. The small house that he built for himself doubled as the area's first church and post office, and he oversaw and helped finance permanent, purpose built, replacements for both. He also leased the first land used by shopkeepers along Pentridge Road and Albert Street, which dramatically increased the economic viability of the area. And he started, and for a time edited, the new suburbs first newspaper. He dominated the region to such an extent that it was only a short progression for people to start referring to the whole district by the name attached to Wilkinson's farm.

So it seems reasonably certain that Brunswick, the suburb, was named after Princess Caroline and that the two nearby streets with the same name were named after the suburb. Brunswick Road as it ran close to the southern boundary of the area, and Brunswick Street as it would have been a major route North from the city towards Brunswick at the time it was built.

A sketch of Brunswick St by Sarah Bunbury, 1841.

One final trivial footnote on the Origin of the name Brunswick. In 1914, after the declaration of war by England against Germany, the North Brunswick Progress Association lobbied the local council to change the name of the area, complaining about that they did not want to reside in a suburb with a German name. The council's respsonse is not recorded.