Drinking in 1960s Melbourne: the six o’clock swill, swanky cocktail bars and booze-free gigs

"Like most workers we managed to get away from the office at 5.30 p.m. Imagine the scene: a large room, lavatory-like atmosphere, filled with pushing men, no seats, no tables, everything stripped for action. There is a large clock on the wall, invariably set fast, because the police come around at 6 p.m. 

"There is a big staff on for swill time: skilled barmen and barmaids, all equipped with the latest pluto taps on plastic hoses, designed for dispensing beer at frightening speed. Time moves past so quickly. It is twenty to six, now ten to six, the bar is 10-deep with crushing bodies, all thrusting handfuls of glasses towards the barmaids: 'Here', 'Here', 'For Chrissake here!' It is like penetrating the crowd behind the goals at a football match. Getting the precious cargo back to your possie is incredibly hazardous. Your mates help, of course, and you try to pass the glasses overhead. Beer rains."

Keith Dunstan, describing the ‘six o’clock swill’ at a Melbourne pub in the 1960s

When I first visited Melbourne on holiday in the 90s, I was gob-smacked to discover that there were one or two establishments where you could buy booze around the clock. As in 24 hours a day. For a Perthie like myself, at the height of her gleefully irresponsible drinking days, this seemed like some amazing sci-fi Utopia. Little did I know then that my home state had its own alcohol-related claim to fame: resisting the temperance movement’s push for heavily restricted pub opening hours early last century, even as most other states around the country fell into line with a supposedly more civilised six-o’clock closing time. 

Victoria was one of the first states to start closing its pubs early, in 1916—and one of the last to return to later opening hours. It wasn’t until February 1966 that Victoria reinstated the 10pm closing time, ending the notorious phenomenon known as the six o'clock swill more than 10 years after its perennial rival New South Wales (and almost 30 years after Tasmania!). 

Swill time at an unidentified Melbourne pub. Look at that smashed old codger to the right!! (Photo: Herald Sun.) 

These days, a night out at the pub with your mates is practically a sacred tradition in Melbourne, where there’s a pub to cater for every kind of punter—from hipsters to bar-flies, families to foodies, sports nuts to rock’n’roll fans—which makes it hard to process the fact that the city was once so far behind the curve when it came to licensing laws. And this in a decade when it led the country in so many other respects.

More Melbourne swilling. Who'd be a barmaid? (Photo: Herald Sun)

Meanwhile, pub-goers continued spewing out (spewing being the operative word) into the city’s early-evening streets until 1966, in what journalist Reg Leonard called a “daily demonstration of piggery”.

Not quite the Prohibition (but not pretty, either)

As the opening quote from local journalist Keith Dunstan* describes so vividly, the six o’clock swill occurred when men would rush straight to the pub after work to knock back as many beers as they could stomach in the hour or so before closing time. Not surprisingly, the consequences of all these pushing, shoving hordes sculling beer like it was about to go extinct were a little unsavoury!

 “At 6.15 p.m. we are all out on the footpath. Two characters over yonder are chundering into the gutter. Constitutions that have not known food for five hours need to be strong to handle five beers in 20 minutes.”

So much for temperance and moderation. The six o’clock swill was an excuse for high-speed, drunken debauchery.

Civilised sipping

Of course, people's tippling options weren’t completely cut off once the clock struck six. Folks could drink in restaurants, on the sly in some Italian-run cafes, and – if these gorgeous photos are anything to go by – in hotel cocktail bars. 

Drinks at the Bar, Savoy Plaza Hotel, Spencer Street, Melbourne, 1965. Photo: Wolfgang Sievers

Cocktail bar at Menzies Hotel, Melbourne, Australia, 1965. Photo: Wolfgang Sievers (copyright NLA)

Note the presence of women in these pics: being banned from drinking in pubs around Australia until the 1970s (except in specially designated ‘ladies’ lounges,’ and only then if they were accompanied by a man...unless they were willing to risk their reputation), they clearly found other ways to partake. 

So groovy! Cocktail bar of the Southern Cross Hotel (not sure who the photographer was)

Liquor-free live music

Although pubs are one of the main places to catch a band in Melbourne nowadays, this has only been a thing since the 1970s (the golden era of pub rock). Back in the 60s, gig-going was a teetotal experience, with bands performing in wholesome suburban town halls and unlicensed clubs. As inconceivable as this sounds now, I reckon it would've been fine.

I mean, who needs booze when you’re being treated to acts like The Spinning Wheels, The Pink Finks, Normie Rowe, The Mystrys, The Strangers et al? I suppose some punters might’ve smuggled hipflasks in, or done their drinking beforehand (or indulged in another kind of intoxicant), but hell, the music itself would’ve been like a contact high! 

The Spinning Wheels were busy! (ads taken from an old copy of The Livin' End)

More booze-free good times

Post script
No system is perfect, of course, and extended drinking hours at pubs and clubs have been linked to a spate of horrifying late-night coward-punch attacks in recent years. Fact is, Australia’s had a chequered relationship with liquor since the earliest days of European settlement, when rum was traded as currency. But with Aussies’ booze consumption currently on a downward trajectory, maybe the problem will solve itself? 

*(Incidentally, in 1968 Dunstan authored the tellingly-titled book, Wowsers: being an account of the prudery exhibited by certain outstanding men and women in such matters as drinking, smoking, prostitution, censorship and gambling)


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Then and now: Wolfgang Sievers' Collins Street

Happy holidaze, everyone! I hope your festive season has been fab so far. Santa was kind enough to bring me Angus O’Callaghan’s long-awaited opus, Melbourne, which is almost blinding in its beauty—but also quite poignant in its portrayal of an era long-since past. Let’s face it: Melbourne may still be the best city in Australia, but it ain’t what it used to be, and O’Callaghan’s book is a stunning reminder of that.

But it’s not just O’Callaghan’s photos that have this effect on me. The photography of Wolfgang Sievers—subject of today’s post—can evoke a similar sense of longing for times gone by. I wonder if there’s a psychological term to describe nostalgia for a decade you never experienced in the first place? I know I’m not the only one afflicted by the condition.

But moving right along to Mr Sievers: and specifically, his photos of Collins Street, one of the CBD's main thoroughfares which was, as we will see, extremely photogenic in its 1960s heyday.

Collins Street. Photo by Wolfgang Sievers, courtesy National Libray of Australia; vn-3334045-v

An eye for style

As mentioned elsewhere in this blog, Wolfgang Sievers was a German-born photographer who immigrated to Australia and settled in Melbourne in 1938, setting up a studio in South Yarra. After WWII broke out, he volunteered for the Australian Army – just like his countryman Henry Talbot – and served between 1942 and 1946. (Actually, the Gestapo had their sights set on him for aerial photography duties with the Luftwaffe just before he fled Europe!). 

Once back in civilian society, Sievers moved his base of operations to Grosvenor Chambers, a suite of artists’ studios at the Parliament end of Collins Street that had once housed Aussie Impressionists Charles Condor, Arthur Streeton and Tom Roberts, among other luminaries. And when he wasn’t off taking eerily epic architectural photos and pics of menacing-looking industrial machinery, Sievers was outside snapping the local streetlife. 

Photo by Wolfgang Sievers, 1964; courtesy National Library of Australia; WS 2523-Na

I love the dappled shade on the footpath, and the shop signage: particularly the neon ‘Spectacle Makers’ sign. I mean, do optometrists even call glasses ‘spectacles’ these days? And judging by the trio of women strolling together in the foreground, and the lady going into a shop behind them, white was obviously a là mode.

Here's another one taken from a similar vantage point: 

Photo by Wolfgang Sievers, 1964, courtesy National Library of Australia, vn-3353435-v

Note the partially obscured sign for ‘La Caprice’. From the little I’ve been able to uncover, La Caprice was a café, the interior of which Sievers actually photographed in 1956. Now, I know it falls outside this blog's chronological remit, but get a load of this for some schmick mid-century style: 

La Caprice. Photo by Wolfgang Sievers, 1956; copyright holder unknown. I bet they made a mean espresso.

....And here’s how that particular stretch of Collins Street looks now: spot the difference! 

No caption required.

Admittedly, my amateur photographics don’t exactly enhance the aesthetics, but honestly, can anyone tell me what the hell’s happened to women’s fashion in the last 51 years? Not to mention trends in street umbrellas. 

Meanwhile, a spot of research prompted by the following photo of the Oriental Hotel yielded some interesting history. It turns out that this hotel, once located at 17 Collins Street, was quite the local legend once upon a time....

Photo by Wolfgang Sievers, copyright holder unknown

Not only did the Oriental establish Melbourne’s first side-walk café in 1958, it was also responsible for the city's first American-style cocktail bar (whatever that means), its first steak restaurant and its first discotheque. A favourite with the sophisticated set, the Oriental’s consciously Continental style was the impetus for the top end of Collins Street becoming known as the ‘Paris end’, a label which, as we all know, endures even now.

Mind you, not all those who frequented its public spaces were frocked-up in their Friday-night finest. A group of journalists from the Herald, who liked to call themselves the ‘Morning Tea Club’, used to meet at Oriental bar at 11am every day for their morning, ahem, heart-starter. I can only imagine how lively those sessions got...

Sadly, like the historic Southern Cross hotel, the Oriental was sacrificed in the name of ‘progress’, being demolished in 1971 to make way for Collins Place. These days, you’d never even guess it’d been there….

But we don't want to end on a sad note, right? 

So here's one final, fond farewell to Collins Street as seen through Sievers' keen eyes...

Photo by Wolfgang Sievers, courtesy National Library of Australia, vn-3353472-v

Groovy guru: the photography of Henry Talbot

When you think about some of Australia’s biggest (and best) bands of the 60s --The Easybeats, Masters Apprentices, Purple Hearts et al – it’s impossible not to be struck by what a great contribution European and British migrants have made to this country’s rock’n’roll tradition.

The same can be said of our photography, with European-born luminaries like Bruno Benini, Wolfgang Sievers, Mark Strizic and Helmut Newton all having a profound impact on the national photographic scene during the 50s and 60s.

Henry Talbot

Henry Talbot (formerly known as Heinz Tichauer) was another one. Fleeing his natal Germany in 1939 to escape the Nazis, he ended up in England — interned as a suspected German agent! Along with thousands of other German and Italian detainees (some of whom were prisoners of war; many more of whom were Jewish refugees like Talbot), he was deported to Australia in 1940 aboard the notorious hell-ship, Dunera.

After spending a couple of years interned in Hay, NSW, Talbot volunteered for the Australian Army, where he became friends with fellow German refugee Helmut Newton. 

Both Talbot and Newton ended up in Melbourne, having established independent post-war careers as photographers. They went into partnership in 1956, specialising in fashion and advertising: needless to say, the Newton & Talbot Studio became one of Melbourne’s most successful. 

Work it, baby!

Photo: Henry Talbot, 1967 (copyright, Lynette Anne Talbot)

Groovy OR WHAT?! Sure, Melbourne was hip in the 1960s (or this blog wouldn’t exist) but this photo, part of an ad for New York fashion label Brooks Brothers, takes it to a whole new level. That sports car looks like it’s been snatched from the set of some trippy late-60s Italian spy flick, while the slinky chick in the background could be Emma Peel’s — or Modesty Blaise’s — stunt double. The guy’s pretty sharp too.

Brooks Brothers were eager to cash in on the burgeoning Aussie youth market — and Henry Talbot was just the man to help them, with his unerring eye for the aesthetics and vibe of the times. The fabtastic stunner below is part of the same series. David Bailey, eat yer heart out!

Photo: Henry Talbot, 1967 (copyright, Lynette Anne Talbot)

In 1959, the Newton and Talbot studio scored a lucrative contract with the Australian Wool Board, and moved their studio into the basement of the Board’s office in Bourke Street. Concerned about the rising popularity of synthetic fabrics, the AWB was relying on Talbot and Newton to give it the cred it needed to remain competitive in a market that was becoming ever more youth-focused. 

This gorgeous promo photo, taken by Talbot for them in 1964, certainly delivers the goods.

Photo: Henry Talbot, 1964 (copyright, Lynette Anne Talbot)

When Newton departed for London on a self-declared mission to become the world’s greatest photographer some time around 1960, Talbot carried on alone, racking up an impressive folio of work for a who’s who of big-name clients such as Vogue, Vanity Fair, Sportscraft, General Motors and Holeproof Hosiery (below). 

Photo: Henry Talbot, 1962 (copyright, Lynette Anne Talbot)

Dating from 1962, this glamorous tableau was shot on location at the long-since closed Walnut Tree restaurant in William Street, Melbourne. It’s especially noteworthy for the male model standing in the background – none other than Bruno Benini before he became a fashion photographer himself! (Anyone else think the dark-haired bloke at the front looks like Don Draper’s cosmic twin?)

Photo: Henry Talbot, 1965 (image found on http://www.joseflebovicgallery.com/)

A vintage print of this candid and evocative photo appears to be for sale on the Josef Lebovic Gallery website, with the following accreditation:

Helmut Newton...and Henry Talbot. [Behind the Scenes at a Fashion Parade], c1965…Studio stamp reads "Helmut Newton & Henry Talbot Pty Ltd. Latrobe Court, 165 Latrobe St. [Melbourne]. [Ph] 662 2199, 662 2208. No. 506/35 Pos. 186." 

I’m guessing it’s a Talbot: by 1965, Newton was long gone, pursuing world domination on the other side of the world.

Here’s one final jaw-dropping example of Talbot’s work, taken for Fibremakers Australia. I mean, wowsers! Not only does this photo of Jackie Holme (Billy Thorpe's ex) grooving against the Parkes telescope tap into the decade’s obsession with all things space-age, it also captures its sense of freedom, fun and female fabulosity. They don’t make fashion photography like this any more…

Photo: Henry Talbot, 1964/5; National Gallery of Australia; NGA 89.1436

Given his eye-catching style, it’s no surprise to learn that Henry Talbot won a raft of prestigious awards during the 50s and 60s, the Australian Photo News’s Fashion Photographer of the Year (1958) and a Distinctive Merit Award from the Art Directors Club of Melbourne (1968) among them. 

He went on to Head of the Photography Department at the School of Art and Design at Preston, (later the Phillip Institute of Technology), from 1973 to 1985, after which he moved to Sydney with his family. He died of cancer in 1999, aged 79.

UPDATE
There is currently an exhibition dedicated to Henry Talbot's photography at the Ian Potter Centre in Federation Square, which is well worth a visit. You can see the special e-book the gallery has prepared to mark the occasion here.

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Then and now: Fashion Street

So much for that saying, ‘The more things change, the more they stay the same.’ 
Looking at the photos below, I’d say that while things have changed a lot, very little (besides the location) has stayed the same.

Check out 262-270 Collins Street as it looked in 1969, when Angus O’Callaghan took this photo and called it ‘Fashion Street’.

'Fashion Street'. Photo by Angus O'Callaghan.
I love how his photos are often cropped square. He'd be a hit on Instagram.

Now check out how it looked the other week when I took a photo during my lunch break and called it ‘Non-descript city scene’… Not a groovy old car or chic pill-box hat in sight.

'Non-descript city scene'. Photo by Yours Truly. 

The glory days

A 12-story modernist gem, the Hotel Australia opened in 1939. Beneath nine floors of lavishly appointed bedrooms, there were three levels of public space, including the Venetian Court Ballroom, the Main Dining Room, several bars, restaurants and even two basement cinemas.

Hotel Australia dining room. Photo: Wolfgang Sievers, 1969. Courtesy NLA (nla.pic-vn3309841)

The hotel was a hit with Melbourne society from the get-go. The Packer family kept a suite there for 25 years; Robert Menzies dined there so often they named an omelette after him; and Harold and Zara Holt held their wedding reception there (as did my colleague Norm, who’s featured in this blog before).

Attached to the hotel was a shopping arcade which led through to Little Collins Street. Thousands of pedestrians passed through on a daily basis; many of them commuters who’d stop at one of the hotel’s bars for an after-work bevvy on their way home.

One of the hotel bars. Photo: Wolfgang Sievers, 1969. Courtesy NLA (nla.pic-vn3309872)

Yet rather like another well-known Melbourne grand-dame, Dame Edna Everage, the Hotel Australia’s glitz’n’glam was shot through with a distinctly risqué vibe. Almost from the day it opened, the hotel was popular with the city’s gay population, and during World War II, it was the hang-out for frisky servicemen on the prowl. The cocktail bar and one of the basement theatrettes were acknowledged pick-up joints. 

According to one website I came across, the hotel was even offering a call-girl service by the 1960s. Camp romance and girls for hire: that’s what I call covering all bases! 

Centreway Arcade on the other side of the street: Photo by Wolfgang Sievers, 1967
Courtesy NLA (nla.pic-vn3314126)

Sadly, when the famous Southern Cross Hotel opened in 1962, it stole much of Hotel Australia’s thunder, soon becoming the new in-crowd favourite. Neither hotel survived into this century. The Hotel Australia was demolished in 1989 (ten years before the Southern Cross) to make way for the shiny new Australia on Collins shopping arcade. 

Now Australia on Collins has been demolished to make way for ‘luxury shopping precinct’ St Collins Lane. The more things change, the more they stay the same? Hmmm. Maybe there is something in that after all...

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Then and now: time-warping in Port Phillip Arcade

I’d never been in Port Phillip Arcade until a couple of weekends ago — it just hadn’t registered in my consciousness, despite its Flinders Street frontage and intriguing metal King Neptune sculpture above the entrance. Compared to some of this city’s better known, grander arcades (Block Arcade, for example) Port Phillip Arcade isn’t what you’d call a head-turner.

In fact, with the exception of Neptune, it’s rather drab.

 
Still, there’s something defiantly no-frills and untrendy about it, which in this faddish age is kinda sweet, I guess. Home to cheap’n’cheerful Asian eateries, a cake-decorating emporium, an enormous stamp shop that’s apparently been there since the year dot, an engraver and a café, Port Phillip Arcade is nothing if not utilitarian.

But let’s face it: it’s seen better days…

Photo: Wolfgang Sievers, 1969 (National Library of Australia)

Photo: Wolfgang Sievers, 1969 (State Library of Victoria)

Photo: Wolfgang Sievers, 1969 (National Library of Victoria)

These gorgeous photos by Wolfgang Sievers show the arcade looking shiny and modern, with its American coffee shop and its ‘cake bar’ (anyone know what a hamburger puff is?).

Photo: Wolfgang Sievers, 1969 (State Library of Victoria)

I’m guessing Lillian Lingerie (below) catered more to the budget-minded shopper than the babelicious if the window display is anything to go by. 

Check out the painting above the doorway of the store next to Lillian's! Photo: Wolfgang Sievers, 1969 (State Library of Victoria).

For those whose historical interests extend to ye olde colonial times, here’s an interesting fact: Port Phillip Arcade stands on the site of the former Port Phillip Club Hotel, a venerable old building dating from 1838. But who should come along to demolish it in 1960? None other than the notorious Whelan the Wrecker — a name synonymous with the loss of much of Melbourne’s pre-modern architectural heritage… 

Photo: Wolfgang Sievers, 1969 (State Library of Victoria)

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Where once there was this…

Wolfgang Sievers: Elegant shopping at La Pastorale Frocks, 125 Collins Street, Melbourne, 1965 (National Library of Australia)

…and this…

Wolfgang Sievers: Pedestrians in Collins Street, 1964

There is now this…

Image: Grand Hyatt Hotel (http://melbourne.grand.hyatt.com/)

Was La Pastorale boutique one of Whelan the Wrecker’s innumerable demolition victims? I’ve been unable to find out. But the demolition company did become notorious in the 1960s for its role in the destruction of many Collins Street buildings, so it’s not inconceivable. 

To be honest, I have nothing against the Grand Hyatt (well, besides the fact that it's far beyond my budget), and it certainly lives up to expectations of what a five-star hotel at the Paris end of Collins Street should be … but it’s not exactly La Pastorale, is it? Not a crazy paving stone in sight, much less a hoity-toity shop mannequin.


A note about the photographer

You’ll be seeing a lot more of Wolfgang Sievers’ (AO) work on this blog. A German-born photographer who arrived in Australia aboard the P&O Cormoran in 1938, he settled in Melbourne, where he lived until his death in 2007 at the ripe old age of 93. 

Having fled Germany after being conscripted by the Luftwaffe to be an aerial photographer, he later enlisted in the Australian Army, serving between 1942 and 1946. On his return, he built a prolific and influential career photographing primarily architecture and industry.