1Robert Sneyd - oral history interview Robert

Robert Sneyd
Memories of Ipswich
and Ipswich Railway
Workshops
Date of interview: 1995
Interviewer: Robyn Buchanan
Interview available on CD
Robert Sneyd (left) and his brother in 1923, the year
he started an apprenticeship with Ipswich Railway
Workshops
Track 01
I’ve been in Ipswich since 1910. My father was working
in Cairns and he was originally from Brisbane. He was
employed by the railways as a coachmaker and after
serving ten years he had the opportunity to return to
the South and was employed at the Ipswich Railway
Workshops. My father was experienced at all types of
woodwork and he had built his own house and furniture
in Cairns. That furniture was shipped down on the illfated Yongala. He rented a house in Roderick Street, two
doors from the Masonic Temple.
One of my earliest memories was shortly after my father
died - I suppose I would have been four years of age - my
sister took me to town for a haircut to Mr Alf Scott (who
owned the premises in Brisbane Street). When she took
me there, Mr Scott cut my hair. My sister would offer him
the sixpence, which was the price of a child’s haircut in
those days and Mr Scott must have been aware that my
father had died recently (he’d probably been a customer
of his) and he said to Doris,” No thanks, girlie,” he said,
“put that in your glorybox.” Subsequently, years later, I
married one of his daughters.
The Masonic Hall, on the Roderick Street side, was
planted with a row of Black Bean trees, generally known
as Moreton Bay Chestnuts. They were a thickly foliaged
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
tree and produced some very beautiful flowers in season.
That was a refuge for all types of birds at night. In those
days, there was no electricity in Ipswich. There was a gas
lamp post on that corner and a rider would arrive on a
horse at sundown and light this lamp. There was a pilot
light in it, you see, and on horse he could just reach up
and pull down the valve.
I remember at that time too, we had a cat - he was an
old cat - and he was a very good mouser. He’d catch
a mouse and bring it in upstairs into the house and lay
it at my mother’s feet. Then he’d purr and rub himself
against my mother’s leg. Of course, she had to stroke him
and praise him and take the mouse and away he’d go.
Well, eventually, the years went by and old Tom became
incapable of catching of his own food and mum used to
feed him.
So, one day, I remember it because of a terrible hailstorm.
Afterwards, when it was all over, what should happen
but old Tom arrived with a dead sparrow at my mother’s
feet. Of course, we had to tell him what a nice cat he
was and she disposed of it. Later on, about a quarter of
an hour later, another sparrow arrived at her feet. This
continued until she had four sparrows, dead sparrows. We
wondered how he got them. We knew he was incapable
14 - “I was present when the foundation stone for the Memorial Hall was laid by General Birdwood”
of catching them through his own efforts. So, we finally,
walked along near the Masonic Temple and looked on the
ground. Underneath these trees, there were a lot of dead
sparrows. They’d sheltered in the trees from the hailstorm
and were killed by the hail.
In those days, we used to go down and play in the
Pumpyards, where the RSL Hall is now. I was present
when the foundation stone for that Memorial Hall was
laid by General Birdwood. Of course, I lived just up the
road from there. They carried around a flag collecting
donations towards the Hall. I was one of five fatherless
children and I only had a few pence. I know I had about 2
shillings and 10 pence at home among my treasures. I ran
home and I got this money and I threw it into the flag.
During World War I, the Pumpyards was the site was what
they termed the “Allied City”. That was in aid of the Red
Cross and consisted of such things as a slippery-slip and
razzle dazzles and merry-go-rounds and side shows, all
that kind of thing. It drew quite a large crowd. Of course,
the Memorial Hall wasn’t built there in those days, it was
during the period of World War 1.
The College was built on the corner of Ellenborough
Street there. The other building wasn’t established in that
time. There used to be a gas engine inside this Technical
College and an exhaust pipe used to protrude into the park
through the wall. The game was when we were children,
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
to grab somebody’s hat and run up and place it over this
exhaust pipe. And the exhaust would blow the hat off
across the park.
Going further down the street, you’d come to the Blackall
Memorial, always known as the Fountain. It was never
known as the Blackall Memorial, it was always the
Fountain and was on the intersection of Brisbane and
Nicholas Streets. Subsequently, it was removed because
it was an obstruction to traffic.
That was the rallying point for the town of Ipswich.
During World War I, they would hold recruiting meetings
there. Mr Whybird’s lorry would be drawn up there in
front of the fountain draped with flags and provided
with a table and chairs. All the local dignitaries would
be there and the recruiting officer, and a crowd used to
gather round. There were speeches trying to influence the
young men to come and enlist in the War. There was no
compulsion in those days.
Eventually, on Armistice Day in 1918, the 11th of
November, I was just preparing for bed and I heard
a terrible din from down town. Locomotive whistles
blowing, the big bell at St Paul’s Sunday School tower
- that was being tolled. Later, I found out that the man
that tolled it was a man who was my schoolteacher, Mr
Bob Lulham. He became headmaster at Silkstone School
eventually.
14 - Then, of course, out came the good old Salvation Army
band and they marched round the town, all round Bell
Street, up Nicholas Street. Round and round and all the
populace came out. The women with the tin pans and
spoons. They were banging these pans and people were
ringing hand bells. Everybody was rejoicing.
Then, later on, we had the Spanish influenza epidemic.
There was quite a lot of mortality through that. The
undertakers were so busy. They didn’t have the occasion
or the facilities to take everybody out to the cemetery
on the same day so they used to employ drays for the
children. You’d see three or four little coffins in the dray
taken out in horse dray. I was coming home from school
- on the way home from Boys Central School - barefoot
as most of us were in those days. I was passing the Town
Hall and I saw this notice outside about immunisation
from influenza. On my own initiative, I walked inside
there, walked up on the stage where all the action was
taking place. There was Dr Patterson and I received my
injection and was told to come back in a fortnight’s time
for another injection.
The chemist used to sell a gauze face-mask which you
used when you were in a crowd or on public transport.
Also, they had what they called an inhaler. It was a tin
about the size of a shoe polish tin with a gauze pad in
there soaked in a chemical which I’m sure was formalin.
You were supposed to take a sniff of this and it that
would destroy the germ. You nearly destroyed yourself
with that, it would almost blow your head off!
Track 02
I started my school at the old Girls & Infants School at
the bottom of Bell Street on the corner of River Road
I started my schooling...at the bottom of Bell Street...”
Central Girls and Infants School, formerly Harris’ Stores
there. It was originally a commercial building which was
converted into a school, a double storey stone building.
I remember my sister taking me there because I cried
in Miss Merlin’s lap - she was the infant’s teacher.
Eventually, they built the new school up on Limestone
Hill. That would be about 1914. I was one of the first
pupils to be placed in that school. Later, when I became
seven years of age, I was transferred next door to the boys
school. In between the two schools was a paling fence.
No boy was allowed to come within a certain distance of
that fence. If he did, he received the cane.
The Boys Central School where it was situated, they had
about four or five great big rocks taken from the ground
when they were building the school. It was a favourite
place for the boys to sit during the recess, you know. You
could look right down on the Basin of the river. That was
“They had a crane there that lifted the goods out of the ship into the warehouse...”
The Essex unloading at Ipswich c1925 (Interviewer’s collection)
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
14 - the place the river steamer used to turn around on its
return to Brisbane. Many a time you’d look up in the sky
and there was a pelican circling above on the thermals.
High in the sky, not flapping his wings, just going up on
the thermal, just like that - gliding.
We used to see old steamer, the Essex - it used to come
up the river from Brisbane and load the heavy cargoes
like cement, sugar, flour, kerosene. Kerosene in those
days was sold in four gallon, square tins in a pine box.
That was unloaded at Collins’ Wharf which was on the
river bank there, between Nicholas Street and Bell Street.
They had a crane there that lifted the goods out of the
ship up into the warehouse. Referring to the kerosene,
the tins and the case they were in, they were utilised for a
variety of reasons. Lots of things would be manufactured
out of them. There was beer too - barrels of beer used to
be unloaded that way. The dredges would come up from
Brisbane and dredge the basin out occasionally.
On both sides of the old Bremer Bridge, there were
moored quite a lot of motor launches, quite a few of them.
There was one owned by people called Coles. That could
be hired for moonlight trips down the river to the Junction
or a place called Myora Park. They had a piano on board
and of course football clubs and cricket clubs utilised that
to make a little bit of funding for their sporting clubs.
It was quite a nice trip of a night to go down the river
there.
used to be on that side of the river. You’d see some of the
piles there and the logs jutting out from the bank. That
was where some of the first rolling stock for the railroad
was unloaded - on that side of the river. That was still
there then (when I was young) but of course, only the
remains.. .. there were only a few piles left on that side.
Ipswich was the head of the river. The bullock teams used
to bring their produce down, mostly wool, to Ipswich.
Unload it at Ipswich and then transport it to Brisbane on
the river steamers. I think that the old bullock teams used
to be rested out at One Mile on the river because the water
was there for the cattle to drink, and there were grassy
paddocks round those places.
Little Ipswich was there. It had a police station at Little
Ipswich. They had a local sergeant, of course - in those
days they’d have a local sergeant in the suburbs and he
would know everybody, every boy and every girl. If he
saw anybody misbehave, he dealt with them and sent them
home to their parents. We never had any problems with
street children in those days. We had a bit of discipline,
from the right sources.
On the opposite side of the river from the wharf, there
was the morgue. That was a building there where every
drowned person was taken after they had been removed
from the river.
I remember when I was in Roderick Street you’d
occasionally see a bullock team come along Roderick
Street, probably from Ripley or that direction. They’d
be taking logs down to the mill[(?Spann’s Mill] at West
Ipswich. I forget the name of that. They used to blow their
whistle at 12 o’clock everyday. That’s how the people
used to set their clocks. Sometimes, you’d see the cadets
march down there to the tune of a bugle band. March
down the street, Roderick Street, and back up again to
the drill sheds.
There was a railway line that went round to Hancock’s
Mill. You’d also see the remains of the old wharfs that
Then you’d have the various deliveries. The Sharps
ginger beer wagon, a two horse wagon, four wheeler with
At Ipswich Railway Station, there was a line of horse cabs for hire...”
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
14 - canvas sides and stone bottles of ginger beer inside. Then
the milkman used to call every morning and you’d leave
a billycan or jug out for him. No one every stole it. You
could leave your front door open all night in those days.
There was Mr McFarlane, the butter man. He used to sell
butter. I don’t know how much profit you made out of
that in those days! He used to arrive with an enamel plate
and have a couple of pound and half pound blocks on the
plate. He’d call and he’d say, “But- ter!”. Then there was
the man that sold the clothes props. You’d hear the cry,
“Clothes props. Clothes props!” They’d come down the
street in this cart with the log saplings, forked saplings
to hold up your clothes lines. There was even one chap
with a dancing bear once. Occasionally, you’d see the
constable come along with a poor, unfortunate inebriate
and take him up to the station. There was never a dull
moment there, you know. Of course, it was the inner
suburbs in Roderick Street. You were close and handy to
everything that was going on.
Ipswich Police Station was set well back from the fence.
It was a wooden building opposite the old Congregational
Sunday School. That was a great institution at its peak.
They had a very large attendance of children used to go
there. They used to have a gymnasium which I attended.
They built that where the RACQ office is now. They built
a hall there and that was used for a Scout hall. They had
the 2nd Ipswich troop of scouts there. I was a member.
The Church of England and all the Sunday schools used to
have their annual trip for picnics. The Church of England
used to run two trains down to Sandgate. The first train
would take all the children - that’s how many children
used to attend. The second lot was for the parents. You’d
arrive at Roma Street and somebody would come along
with a basket and every child received a bun. Then we
got to Sandgate and had fun and games down there and
paddling in the water. When it came to lunchtime, you sat
down in rows according to your class and along would
come great baskets of sandwiches, cakes and buns. Great
jugs of lemon syrup, something like that. Everyone was
issued with a mug. It must have been a lot of work for
people who organised that - the mothers.
At the Ipswich Railway Station there was a line of horse
cabs for hire and a line of motor cars for hire. The horse
cabs extended from the front of the station round Union
Street corner to the Central Hotel. The cars were on other
side of the station, around into Bell Street.
On the corner opposite the Masonic Hall, there was the
Temperance Hall. I think the Rechebites owned that. It
was on the same side of the street as the temple.
I remember one funeral - Alfie Stephenson used to be
mayor of Ipswich. Well, his father [Alfred J. Stephenson]
held the highest office of the Masons in Queensland.
When he died, they buried him from the Masonic Temple
of Ipswich. That was a great turn out, that was. The
hearses in those days! Jimmy Reid of course, they had
two black horses pulling the hearse with glass sides.
All the embellishment on the hearse, the engravings
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
and decorations on the glass windows. The horses were
caparisoned, in black overlays with sort of a drapery over
each horse. And there was the undertaker sitting up in the
box and his driver, dressed in black with black top hats.
Then would come the mourning coaches after that, two
or three black coaches pulled by black horses. Then after
them came all the representatives of the various lodges
carrying Bibles and swords and that sort of thing. It was
quite an eyeful.
Track 03
If I go on to Bossie Martoo, that might be interesting.
Well, Martoo’s Olympia was the name of the theatre. It
wasn’t one theatre, it was two theatres. It was on the site
of where the Westway Centre is built today. It extended
from Limestone Street to South Street. The South Street
entrance was the entrance to the open air theatre and
on the other side - the Limestone Street side - was the
covered theatre. On each side inside, there were tiers of
seats which were just bare planks. We used to call them
hen roosts. Up at the rear and on the side there were these
great tiers of seats we’d call the balconies. In the centre,
of course, were the canvas chairs. They had an orchestra,
a piano, drums, cornet, violin. The lady who used to play
the violin was known for obvious reasons as “pegleg” she had one false leg. Anyway, their occupation was to
play because they were silent pictures. They had to keep
up this continuous music while the screening was on. I
remember at one period we were sitting at the back of
the theatre and the music stopped. One of the lads there
14 - pulled out a mouth organ and started playing tunes on the
mouth organ!
To get back to Bossie. I don’t know any facts about him.
Everybody had assumptions and hearsay. He appeared to
me to be from the Levant. He was either Syrian or Egyptian
or Lebanese or something like that. Anyway, when he
came to Ipswich, he was reputed to have commenced his
business by carrying a tray of goods from house to house
- little household requirements, dress articles, that kind
of thing. But he must have prospered. I don’t know how,
but I do know that he owned premises next door to the
old North Star Hotel in Brisbane Street. He sold dress
goods in there, particularly silks which he imported.
I remember in the windows a great display of ribbons that
he had. Oh, the beautiful ribbons. They were all different
widths and colours. In those days, the ribbon was a
necessary accessory to any ladies dress or children’s
dress. The girls used to wear their hair in plaits and on
the extremities they used to tie bows of ribbon. Of course,
this is where I diverge a little. They wore that for so long.
As they approached puberty, the plaits were loosened
and combed out and the hair was piled on her head and
secured with a multitude of hair pins. Everybody would
say, “Oh, Mary so-and-so has her hair up.” Everybody
knew that Mary was becoming a young lady.
To get back to Bossie: he had two brothers Vaggie and
Nicholas, and there was his mother. I don’t know if they
all arrived in Australia at the same time. Perhaps he might
have sent for them after he became established. Bossie,
he was a man of medium height, muscular build. He was
reputed to excel in the sports of cycling and wrestling.
He was always a man who was well dressed in the mode
of the day.
To get back to the theatre, there was a great storm water
drain in Ipswich which still exists. It ran from up in Thorn
Street somewhere - perhaps near the old Council works
- right down underground until it came to Bossie’s South
Street theatre, then it was open. It was still open until
it came to Limestone Street where it went underground
again. It never diverged from that until it got to Brisbane
The Lyric Theatre
“On a summer’s night...they had a sliding panel on the
roof and they’d open that up...”
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
Street - there was a short opening which was bridged by
a short wooden bridge. Then it was closed again until it
got down to the river.
What used to happen, some lads would get in this drain at
the Brisbane Street entrance once the lights had gone out
in the theatre and they’d get a candle or something and
work their way up this drain. They’d come out underneath
these hen roosts. They’d sneak in there and just sit down...
till Bossie woke up to it one day. He came along, “How
you get in here, eh? You come in the big gate or you come
up a tunner? By cri, I give you one crack you never heard
of before. Now get out of there!”
He used to stand in front of the theatre with his thumbs
in his armpits, his gold watch chain across his vest and
wearing his hat. Of course, nobody was dressed unless
they wore a hat at all times. He’d stand there with this
expansive smile on his face watching the crowd come in
the gate.
The Model Band under Horace Harper would be there.
Horace Harper was a builder, one of the old-style
carpenters, excellent tradesman too - he was the conductor
of the band, the instructor of the band too. There were
two bands in Ipswich in those days, the Model and the
Vice Regal. If you wanted to join the Vice Regal Band,
you payed for tuition. Horry Harper never charged any
tuition.
Anyway, they used to assemble on the corner of Bell and
Brisbane Streets outside Cribb and Footes, about seven
o’clock at night and they’d play for about half an hour.
Of course, there was no electric light in those days. What
they had to read their music by was a acetylene lamp with
long stems on them. They were carried by several urchins.
They’d distribute about two to each rank of the band.
About half past seven off they’d go and they’d march
down to the theatre with the boys carrying the lights.
Their reward was free admission to the theatre. When
they arrived outside the theatre, they stood there and they
played their tunes until it was time for the picture show
to commence.
Then we’d go in and used to see such stars in those days
as the immortal Charlie Chaplin, Mary Pickford, Theda
Bara, Norma Talmage, William S Hart, Chester Conklin,
Fatty Arbuckle, The Keystone Cops - that kind of thing.
All silent. They’d have stage shows at some periods. There
was one they called Godiva and Her Seals. They had a
great, glass sided water tank on the stage, with two seals
in that. And there was Godiva in her bathing suit, you see,
and she’d plunge into the water and swim around there
with these seals in different poses. Then there was Billy
Maloney, the boy with the gold- headed cane. He was a
song and dance man complete with his chorus girls. They
had some great shows. Interval come, half time interval,
and you’d troop outside and there were two piecarts with
lovely hot pies - threepence each. Free sauce. There was
also a paper called the Sports Observer that contained all
the latest sporting information, like the races, football and
cricket and so on. That was alright.
14 - The Wintergarden Theatre
We came out of the theatre afterwards and you moved up
Limestone Street a short distance and there was Freddy
Klopsch’s shop. Mrs Klopsch was a wonderful cook and
she made the most beautiful hot pies, absolutely full of
gravy and beef right up to the top. Not just a little spoonful
like some of the other pie merchants. Not only that but
you could have a lemon squash and that was made out
of fresh lemon squeezed into the glass. Nothing artificial
about them. Then they made their own icecream too. Poor
old Mrs Klopsch, she did all that.
And Freddy, he was a large man - corpulent, that’s a
better word for him. He was typical of what people
imagine a Hamburg German used to look like, with fair
hair, blue eyes and fresh complexion. He used to peddle
the icecream around the inner suburbs in a little icecream
cart pulled by one horse. They had this churn of icecream
in there and he’d sit in this cart with his posterior hanging
over the side in dangerous proximity to the wheel.
He’d be calling out, “Ice! Ice! cep! cep! cep!” It wasn’t
“icecream”. “Ice cep.”
He was one of the peddlers there of icecream in those
days. Of course, there was not the scoop that they use
today that gives you the nicely rounded piece of icecream
on a cone. It was with a spoon and he’d plaster it on. There
were two icecreams in those days - the icecream and the
frozen custard icecream. You could either have a penny
icecream or a threepenny icecream. Naturally, the penny
icecream was smaller than the threepenny icecream.
Klopsch’s shop was in Limestone Street in those days
and just a few doors along from the theatre going towards
East Street. Later on, when they built the Wintergarden
Theatre, they opened a new shop next door to the theatre.
There were a son and a daughter and I think they managed
that shop in those days.
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
I was at the first talkies there (at the Wintergarden). Al
Jolson in the “Jazz Singer”. They had some great shows
there too, you know. The Chinese magician show - Long
Tac Sam. Short Nail Jim some of them called him.
Getting back now to Bossie’s theatre, that drain. I told
you about that. I’ve seen that open air theatre absolutely
flooded. There’d be chairs and the piano floating around.
The water would come down through this big storm drain
in a heavy downpour and they’d be floating around. If
you were sitting there on a summer’s night and it started
to rain, you just got up and walked into the covered part
on the Limestone Street side.
Whenever Mum managed to have sixpence each for
us - there were five of us children to support and there
weren’t the social services in those days that there are
today - if she could spare the money, we would go and
sit down on the back hen roosts there at Bossie’s. The
people next door named Zillman, they had a dog, a fox
terrier dog. They had no children and they used to play
with us, this dog. We’d go down to the theatre and Hanko
would always follow us down to the theatre and sit on
the seat beside us, on the long plank seat. He’d sit there
until the show was over and walk home with us. That
was Hanko.
There were three theatres in Ipswich. There was Martoo’s
Olympia, there was the Lyric in premises that were later
occupied by Faulkner Motors and there was the Rialto
in North Ipswich. There were two theatres in Booval but
that was terra incognito to me. I never got down that way.
I think one was the National Hall, the other one was the
Alpha.
The Lyric, oh dear, that had a sloping floor so that you
could see over the heads of the people in front. In those
14 - “They had these two Rolls Royce motors on display and they started them up. It was quite a sensation... “
days, everyone wore hats and some of the women would
come into the theatre with big hats on. You’d sit behind
them and wouldn’t see a thing. There was a brick wall on
each side of it. A fairly narrow theatre. On a Summer’s
night it was that hot - they had a sliding panel on the
roof - and they’d open that up. You’d hear this terrible
grinding and scrunching and shrieking noise as this roof
was pulled back. I think the same management controlled
the Rialto Theatre in North Ipswich. At interval, they’d
exchange films. A pony and trap used to convey it from
one theatre to the other. They had enough time. There
wasn’t much traffic in those days.
Track 04
When Sir Ross Smith arrived in Australia in his Vicker’s
Vimy Plane. He damaged his engines and his prop in one
of these rough landings in the West there. I think there
was something in the paper about that a while back. They
manufactured a new propeller in the pattern shop at the
Railway Workshops and overhauled his motors under the
supervision of Ross Smith’s mechanic, Sergeants Bennet
and Shears. When the job was completed and both motors
had been overhauled and new parts manufactured and
everything was assembled and put in order, they allowed
the public into the shops on one Saturday. They had these
two Rolls Royce motors on display and they started them
up. It was quite a sensation - the draft from the propellers
and the noise of the two Rolls Royce engines.
A couple of years later after that, I started my
apprenticeship over there. I started off as an apprentice
brass finisher. A brass finisher was actually a fitter and
turner that worked in brass locomotive steam valves,
carriage fittings, lubricators and injectors and that kind of
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
thing. The term was a carry over from the old Victorian
days. A lot of brass fittings were made in England, in
Birmingham and those places. They used to make a lot
of decorative railings, lamps and lighting and that sort of
thing. They re-classified us later as fitters and turners.
During the War, first of all I was working on naval
contracts for some of the Corvettes they were building
in Brisbane, I was working on the evaporator units they
used to convert the salt water into fresh for the boilers.
That was a good job. I was under a naval inspector,
E.R.A. Druit [Engine Room Artificer] very strict, a very
strict man and respected. First thing, they had a lot of
big, bronze castings for this job -big pump cylinders, a
lot of valve castings. They came from the foundry in a
rough condition and every one had to be hydraulically
tested before it was machined. They gave me the job of
testing all these valves. You kept them on the pump and
pumped the pressure up into them, the water pressure,
and there would appear a little tiny spot of moisture on
one of them. Not a leak, just a bit of moisture.
The inspector would have a look, the naval inspector in
his uniform and he’d say, “Get me a hammer and chisel”.
Righto. He’d take a little skim off the top and look at it
again. “All right,” he said. “Take it off the pump. Get
your big hammer. Right. Smash it up. No welding. Smash
everything up.” So, I learned a lot from him. The naval
work was very, very strict and very accurate.
From there, I got up into the Tool and Gauge section with
all the parts for locomotives and aircraft parts. The dies
and all the equipment for making small arms ammunitions
out at the Rocklea munitions factory. Everything had to
be...well, pretty high precision. With some jobs, on the
gauges, you’d work to about three tenths of a thousandth
of an inch. You were permitted to be one tenth over or
14 - one tenth under on some jobs, but we never had a lot of
them. Pretty tight tolerances.
I was working in an airconditioned room. The
airconditioning wasn’t for our benefit. Everything had to
be kept at 20 degrees, because all the gauges all over the
world were measured at 20 degrees. What measured one
inch in London or San Francisco had to measure one inch
out here. Our outside temperature might be about 60 or
70 degrees, but that was the idea of it. Everything was
measured at 20 degrees Centigrade.
We used to make such things as taps and dies, reamers,
machine covers, special tools for doing special jobs on
lathes - everything that required a bit of precision.
Three thousand men (worked at the Workshops during
the War.) In the Tool & Gauge Shop, we worked in three
shifts there at one time, I was only on one shift so I don’t
know how many worked there. There would only be
about half a dozen of us in the gauge room. On the other
floors, they had a lot of these dilutees, they had them on
lathes roughing out some of the work.
The Gauge Room was right up the top, towards the office,
right up on the highest part of the complex. Then they
had the Metrology Section right next door to us, you see.
So, when we had finished a gauge, we could pass it over
and they checked it.
We had Commonwealth police officers there on the doors.
Everybody had to have a pass before they could get in the
door. If you didn’t have your pass with you, he wouldn’t
let you in the door. I still have that pass somewhere.
After the War, there was a lot of work for locomotives.
Special taps, dies, tube expanders and things like that. I
was personally on the manufacture of all the press tools
that made the first airconditioned trains down in Brisbane.
It was made down at Commonwealth engineering and we
supplied all the dies and punches and that sort of things
to press all the metal work out. There was always more
work with the steam locomotives than with the diesels.
We did get some diesel work later on, though. Crank
shafts, commutator, axles and that sort of thing. At the
wheel shop, they needed a lot of special tools. I was on
for the wheel shop. I made gauges for them and special
The Tool and Gauge Shop
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
tools for the special machines. In the old days, they’d
make about four axles a day. They used to forge their
own. The old lathes would do about four a day. The new
machines that used carbide tools speeded it up to produce
12 axles a day. That was just after the War.
Also during the War, they built a lot of special lathes
for doing marine work and big, long lathes for doing
propeller shafts for ships. They did a lot of work for
mines. I never saw half of what they did there. They had
a couple of shifts running there too for munition work.
It’s just a pity someone couldn’t write the history of the
Railway Workshops.
I was up in the Tool and Gauge section and we were
segregated from the rest of the shops. We never saw what
was going on there. It was a Commonwealth building,
erected by the Commonwealth. The Commonwealth
supplied most of the machinery and machine tools. There
was one particular machine tool we got. It was what they
called a thread grinder. You hardened your taps first.
Before, they used to make them in the lathe - cut the thread
in the lathe and they would harden them and you could
never get them very accurate. They’d distort and that kind
of thing. But this thread grinder, you completed your tap
except for the threading. You hardened a tap and put it in
this thread grinder and it ground an accurate thread on the
hardened steel. The first one we got was commandeered
by somebody else, the first one we ordered. The second
one was sunk by a Japanese submarine and then we got
the third one.
Up in the building behind where we were, that was where
they used to do all the testing. Physical testing. A fellow
14 - “During the War, they built a lot of special lathes for doing marine work and a big long lathe for doing propellor shafts
for ships....” (courtesy The Workshops Rail Museum & QR)
by the name of Vince Preston would be able to tell you
a lot about that. He’s still around in North Ipswich. He’s
retired now. Very nice chap and I think he’d give you any
of the assistance that he could.
Interviewer: Was the Power House working then?
It was just compressing air, reticulating compressed air.
They changed over you know. They used to have DC
current. They changed over to AC from the Brisbane
supplied powerhouse. That was in Robby Chalmers’ day.
[Chalmers was the CME - Chief Mechanical Engineer at
the Workshops]
Track 05
I started on a five year apprenticeship at fifteen shillings a
week. They advertised it in the paper. You had to sit for an
examination and pass a medical examination. According
to where you passed in the examination, you had your
choice of whatever jobs were available. We got in there
and they only wanted one electrician which was one job
I wanted. I couldn’t get that because I came about fifth I
think, fourth or fifth. There was one carriage builder, one
fitter, one turner and then it came down to coppersmith,
brass finisher, painter, boilermaker, wagon builder. I can’t
think what else there was.
It came down to me then, and a fellow named Johnny
Goodwin who had a cleft palate but he was a very clever
man at mathematics when he was at college there. Anyway,
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
it came down to Johnny. Johnny had his choice before
me. Coppersmith, brass finisher. I looked at Johnny. He
looked at me and he said “I’ll take coppersmith”. So I said
“Alright. I’ll take brass finisher.” I didn’t know anything
about it, what it was. It was just a railway job.
Anyway, I got in there in my short trousers and they
put me in my job there. They had to bring in a wooden
footboard out of one of the locomotives out in the yard
to stand on, it was four inches high, I suppose, so I could
reach the vice. I was paid 15 shillings a week. It was
1923, I’d be 15.
They gave me this job. In the old coaches, they had these
brass brackets holding up the luggage racks with QR on
them. Well, they gave me an order of them. I had to file
them up all over with a rough file and a smooth file and
mark them off and drill the holes in them. They gave me
an order of one gross - 144. I had to produce so many
a day. They saw to that. We had a leading hand there
and didn’t dare leave your vice. If he saw you talking
to anyone else, he’d be on to you straight away. “Some
of you jolly fellows will be getting sent home! If Bobby
Chalmers were to come in here we’d all get the sack.”
Anyway, I produced the 144 and they gave me another
144. It finished up I did 12 gross.
There was no technical instruction. The only thing we got
of any value to us was half a day at college for mechanical
drawing, blueprints and that sort of thing. That was the
only technical instruction that was any good that we ever
got.
14 - 10
If you wanted to know how to do a particular job, you
asked the tradesmen. “How do you do this Jim?” Of
course, you went to the man you thought was the best man
at it. They were all very good. They’d show you how to
do a job and keep an eye on you. That was it. Nowadays,
you only serve a - what? -three year apprenticeship isn’t
it? They get paid an allowance for tools. We had nothing
like that.
give him your billycan with tea in it and he’d hang it on
this stick and carry it out. Take it outside and fill it with
boiling water and bring it inside. Then the whistle would
blow at 12 o’clock and you knocked off for lunch. You
had three quarters of an hour for lunch and just sat down
amongst all the grime and grit where you were working.
There was no dining room [where you could sit to eat a
lunch brought from home].
If you wanted to make yourself a pair of callipers, you
did it at the risk of your job. Oh yes. I managed to make
myself a pair of callipers. In those days, money was tight
and I couldn’t afford to buy myself a lot of tools. I bought
myself a foot rule, a pair of special callipers which were
used a lot. They were very strict on you there. They saw
you doing a job, even though it was to make your work a
little bit easier, they wouldn’t allow that.
If you got sick or hurt or anything, it was too bad. There
was no sick pay or anything like that in those days.
I worked in the Brass Shop which was an adjunct to the
Machine Shop. It used to be a separate building with
galvanised iron walls and was erected during World
War I as the munitions shop. They had munitions lathes
in there. Then after World War I, they converted it into
a brass shop. We did all the boiler mounts, fittings and
engine fittings. As I say, lubricators and injectors, all the
carriage fittings, hinges and brackets and door handles,
locks and that sort of thing.
Interviewer: How many apprentices did they take at a
time?
Only one in our shop. Overall, some years more than
others. Might have been a dozen, an average of about
a dozen I’d say. There might be two in some trades, or
more.
Track 06
Interviewer: What was the daily routine?
You would come through what they called the “Time
Office”. It was facing the street and you would collect a
brass check with your number on. We had to have number.
You’d file through there and there’d be somebody in
attendance just behind a little window and call out your
number and he’d take it off a board and give it to you.
You went into the shop and at half past seven the whistle
would blow and you’d commence work.
Of course, you had no morning tea break or anything like
that. Nowhere to put your clothes, nowhere to wash your
hands. There was a trough outside with river water which
used to come into it. In winter time, there’d be an icicle
hanging off the tap. There were no amenities in those
days. There was a first aid box. One of the tradesmen with
a certificate would attend to that.
You’d have to go and ask the leading hand for a job and
he’d bring this job to you and tell you what to do. You did
that. Getting towards lunch time, they’d have a big boiler
outside fired with offcuts from the wood mill. There was
boiling water in that. A labourer would come around
with a long stick singing out “All cans, all cans”. You’d
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
Of course, the people today go on holidays. I think there
were two weeks holiday at Christmas plus the statutory
days like Christmas Day, Boxing Day, New Year’s Day.
We took some off long service to make it three weeks.
People today get a month off and they probably think that
it’s given to them by Santa Claus. We had to struggle to
get all these things.
You mustn’t wash your hands either before that whistle
went. They would blow a whistle just before 12 - five
to 12 and you were allowed to wash your hands then.
Twelve o’clock, they would blow the whistle. Then in the
afternoon, you knocked off. You started at half past seven
and knocked off at quarter past four. Eight and three
quarter hours for the day. It was a forty-four hour week
you see. They broke it down to eight and three quarter
hours a day was the nearest they could get to it.
You filled in a piece of cardboard with columns on it.
You had to book your time, what your job was, the order
on your job, the time you spent on it and you put that in
a rack. The time keeper would come along of a morning
and take this card out and take it into his office and record
all the time that you spent on this particular job. Because
every job was costed. And if that job cost more than what
they considered it should, you were in trouble. You were
given a notification from the Top Office “Please explain
why this so and so job cost more than so and so.”
It got that way there, I was doing a lot of new work - some
jobs that had never been done before. So I just completed
in a time that I thought was pretty good and I added a little
bit to it and they accepted that and I was right. Nobody
complained.
We were making a special kind of a valve for the boilers
and they were a patent. There was a five pound royalty
on each one. We were manufacturing them cheaper than
what they could buy them for so they had nothing on us
there.
The Top Office was right up the hill, top of the hill. It
used to be a drive where the Tool and Gauge was built,
there used to be a bitumen drive right up to the Top Office
lined with palm trees either side.
Then there was the Dining Room run by a committee.
You could get a meal there. I think in the early days when
I was there you could get a ninepence - ninepence for a
three course meal. It wasn’t bad either. During the winter
time, the labourer could go up there and get a billy of
soup for threepence.
14 - 11
Railway ambulance team which won the Commissioner’s Shield at Narangba about 1932. Left to right are : Robert
Sneyd, “patient” F. Boulter, team captain A.J. Meyers, V.E. Nozette and S.H. Haley. The team built a stretcher in the
record time of 5 minutes.
There were a lot of characters that worked in there.
Englishmen and Scotsmen, Irishmen, Russians, Germans.
There was even an Austrian - Rudolph Varlach. We had
some good men there.
We used to manufacture special steam nozzles. They
were precision jobs for the water injectors for the boilers.
Where they used these locomotives in the western parts
of the state where the bore water was, the soda in the bore
water used to affect these steam nozzles and they had to
be absolutely perfect to get the velocity of the steam to the
injectors and shoot the water into the boiler against the
boiler pressure. So, what they did, they finished up with
the metallurgist there cooked up a special sort of nickelbronze. We produced them. You couldn’t buy them, of
course, for what we were manufacturing them for.
We got water from the river. The pumps on the electric
motors to drive it were stored in what they called the
Dome. That was a domed structure, waterproof structure.
When the floods were on and when they were inundated,
they just closed it down and protected the equipment and
so on.
They had a great sewage farm there too. During the last
World War, they dug air raid protection shelters there, on
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
the river bank. They had everybody organised to occupy
certain areas of it. I was supposed to be in charge of the
first aid post.
Track 07
We used to have a railway ambulance. We had a very
good record in team competition. We won one Australian
Championship in Melbourne. I think we got a third in
Sydney. We got that because a boot lace stretched,
otherwise, we would have been further up the ladder.
See, what happened, one of the events was you had to get
make a stretcher out of standing timber, whatever apparel
you might have been wearing. Each man was allowed a
pocket knife and the team was allowed one tomahawk.
They let you loose on the bush and you had to cut the
poles and the cross pieces and construct this stretcher to
a template design. They had a template they put over the
top of it. If it diverged from the size of the template then
you lost points. Not only that, it was tested for comfort
and stability. They’d turn it up on its end and see-saw it
backward and forwards and see if it would break up.
14 - 12
Over the years, we’d perfected a design. You had the two
long poles and you had your cross piece at each end but
then you had a diagonal piece underneath to brace it. Over
the top, you had some thin little saplings a bit thicker than
your finger that you laid over there. You put leaves on
top. This was all held together by belts which could not
exceed a certain length, bootlaces which could not exceed
a certain length, neckties which were restricted. It was all
held together by these things.
Well, down in Sydney, we used new bootlaces but when
we put them on the stretcher, they stretched when we’d
tie them up. When they examined them after the event
to see that everything complied with the regulations,
they measured our bootlaces and they were an inch or
so over the regulation size and we lost points and we lost
our place on the ladder. But oh, we won the Queensland
Shield so often that they eventually broke us up and made
two teams out of us. All the other teams were getting a bit
discouraged throughout the state. That was the Ipswich
Workshops A Team.
They had a railway ambulance section in the railway,
with headquarters in Brisbane. They ran classes to St
John specification. We used to go down every Sunday to
Wacol. They had quite a lot of scrub down there in those
days and we used to go and practise on a Sunday building
stretchers and carrying them, practising first aid. I started
off as the patient and finished up as number one bearer. I
think it was up at Narangba, we won The Commissioner’s
Shield in competition. That was the highest competition
in Queensland in those days. You had your district
competition and the winner from that graduated to the
Commissioner’s Shield from all districts. We had one
competition at Narangba, I think we set an Australian
record. We constructed the stretcher from standing timber
in five minutes. Four men. They credited us with five
minutes. I think it was a little bit over.
Interviewer: During the War, were you involved in first
aid?
No, I was too busy working in the railways. We always
had a first aid man in the shop to look after that particular
shop. Now they have nurses there, hot water to wash their
hands in, dining room with tables and chairs, lockers to
put their clothes in. It was unheard of before the War.
Interviewer: Did everyone have their own personal
locker?
They did in later years, after the War, not before the War.
It was unheard of.
Interviewer: So did everyone have to carry their tools
backwards and forwards?
No, you had a tool box. Your personal tools and you kept
them in there, because there were a lot of railway tools
you used. You’d get a drill, a tap, dies out of the store. A
micrometer - which I should pronounce as micrometer
I suppose. Kilometre, that’s not on. I worked with the
man in charge of the metrology section. He was on the
metrification board. They published a booklet when the
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
An early railway ambulance team: The “patient” is H.
Julian and carrying the stretcher are J. Woods, Dimmick,
C. Newman and G. Sterling. (courtesy M. Mullins)
metric system was introduced. In there, they definitely
stated, the correct pronunciation for the word kilometre. Two words. Two Greek words. Kilo: a thousand.
Metre. Now micrometer, everyone called it micrometers.
A micron was a thousandth part. Meter was a meter.
So it was a micro-meter actually. But nobody called it
that. That’s one thing that I used to be on too, repairing
micrometers.
Interviewer: Do you remember the end of World War II?
I was home. I was off shift. The neighbours came down
and we listened on the radio, but I don’t remember a lot
about it. We used to work night shift. We worked a twelve
hour shift once. They had some operation in New Guinea.
They had to fly in gliders and the ship bringing the parts
out from the United States was sunk by a submarine. We
had to turn around and replace all this equipment that was
lost. We had people working twelve hours a day, rigged
up lathes to do special jobs, rigged up lathes to do milling
machine work. I was working with steel most of the time,
grinding machines, precision grinders. That sort of thing.
One thing I can tell you about - it’s rather indelicate - I
don’t know whether you can publish it. There were toilets
there in between the Boiler Shop and the Machine Shop.
A long building. Instead of having individual toilet bowls,
they had a long trough which used to flush at regular
intervals. There were no doors, partitioned off. Anyway,
what would happen - people would be occupying this
place and just before the water was due to flush down
the trough, someone would drop a couple of sheets of
newspaper in at the top end and put a match to it. Away
would go the water, and you see all the heads bobbing up
high! They used to get up to some jokes.
They’d get a cardboard box which probably had contained
chalk or something. Inside, they’d place a block of solid
steel and put it in the centre of the track and somebody
would come along and kick it out of the road - that kind
of thing.
14 - 13
One end of the brass shop was partitioned off and that
was the room where they did all the polishing. They had
buffs there. One eyed bloke there called Charlie Smith,
they called him - remember Circy Smith the footballer? It
was his father, anyway. Charlie was in there and they had
these buffing machines and grinders there. It was walled
around with corrugated iron. There were a few holes in
it. Now and again they’d have a group of school children
drop around looking through the shops. Charlie would
see them coming and have a tub of water alongside him
to cool off the jobs as they polished them, you see. He had
a big syringe for syringing them out. What he’d do, he’d
wait until the children got there and fill up the syringe full
of water. They’d look through the hole in the iron and he
squirt them. They were looking around and they wouldn’t
know where it came from.
Track 08
Interviewer: Tell me more about your memories of early
Ipswich.
I went to Boys Central School. Barefooted. On the way,
I would pass Devil’s Gully which in those days, was
the city garbage dump. In it, apart from the atrocious
aroma that exuded, there were large rats running around,
newspapers blowing about. Eventually, the Gully was
almost filled and today there’s a road right through it.
It was definitely a great gully - a natural watercourse.
Satan’s Depression some people called politely. That was
it you know. Imagine a garbage dump right in the middle
of the city.
St Mary’s Park too, that was a garbage dump right on the
river bank in between the railway bridge and St Mary’s
Church there. They dumped all the garbage there. In that
vicinity, there used to be the old swimming baths. We
used to go to from school, you’d bring your penny in and
at a certain hour on a certain day away you’d go down
through the fence and over the railway line, onto River
Road - running all the way of course. Till they came to
these swimming baths. They were roofed on the sides, not
completely roofed on top and from the rafters they used
to have Roman Rings installed there. You were taught to
swim there by the senior boys by the method of throwing
you in the deep end and watching you struggle out.
Cribb and Footes, I could tell you a lot about Cribb and
Footes. They had all horse transport, Cribb and Footes in
those days. They used to have stables over near St Mary’s
Church. They’d bring their horses out every morning and
put them on drays. They would deliver all around town.
What would happen, the order man would ride forth
on his horse round the suburbs and call door to door to
collect his grocery order. Next day, it would be delivered
free in horse and cart.
On the weekend, the horses were taken out somewhere
out towards Raceview - they had a big paddock, Cribb
and Footes. They put their horses in there for the weekend.
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
Early Monday morning, they’d drive them through town
up to the stables in Mary Street. [?Martin St]
Those days, Cribb and Footes grocery, you’d walk in with
Mum and go up to the counter and you’d be greeted by
the floorwalker there. He’d give you a chair for Mum to
sit on, a high chair to reach up to the counter. Mum would
sit there and you’d stand beside her. Your favourite grocer
- everybody had their favourite grocer - there they were
in their white aprons and they’d attend to you. Everything
you’d want they’d turn around and take it off the shelf.
Nothing much was prepacked in those days, although
Cribb and Footes eventually did get round to pre-packing
sugar, potatoes and things like that. All the tinned goods.
They’d walk behind these shelves and take things down
and place them on the counter, “Will that be all?” Then on
the end of the counter there’d be a roller containing brown
paper. They’d pull a sheet out of that and pull it off, place
it on the counter and they’d stack all these grocery items
neatly in this brown paper, fold it over, make a parcel out
of it. Overhead, there’d be a ball of string hanging down
and they’d pull it down, wrap round their finger and snap
it off like that. They’d tie up the parcel, a nice, neat parcel
and they’d say, “Now, Mrs Sneyd, are you going to take
it with you or will we deliver it.?”
“Oh, deliver it please.” And they’d deliver it free of
charge. “Alright. Are you paying cash or do you want to
enter it?” “I will enter it.” “Very well.” At the end of the
month, you’d pay your account and you got a discount.
Nothing like that today. You got service.
The school children would come in and they’d ask for
“a threepence worth of broken biscuits mister”. And they
used to have the loose biscuits in the big tins. Swallow and
Ariels which you don’t often hear of today and Arnotts.
They’d be in the big tins. Some of them used to be broken
you know and you’d get a packet of broken biscuits, all
sorts mixed up there, for about threepence or tuppence
- something like that.
Track 09
Of course, this building out here at the front, St Michael’s,
I think Hancocks built that originally. There is a vaulted
ceiling in the hall there. Ben Tatham lived there later
on. Ben Tatham was a stationer. He had his shop where
Woolworths built their shop in Brisbane Street. You
remember Woolworths in Brisbane Street? Well, Ben
Tatham had his stationer and newsagent shop there and
it was a dim, dark old place too. They had no electricity,
just a few gas lights. Next door was Mr Saunders and he
conducted a fruit and vegetable shop. I worked with one
of his grandsons.
Next door to that I think was Charlie Minnis, the chemist.
That used to be Alan’s. And Alan used to manufacture
certain medications. There was one particular one,
Eumenthol Cough Lozenges and they had a world wide
sale. Infants Friend. Indian Cerate for boils. I think it
14 - 14
The Blackall Monument (on right of photo)
was Venus Turps really, but very effective. Alans Red
Acid Cure, that was some sort of an acid for coughs and
colds. New Pines Cough Lozenges. The chemist in those
day used to have a great big glass urn, capped urn in the
window filled with coloured water.
Cribb and Footes had their own pharmacy. It was next to
the Post Office. There is a real estate agent there now and
it was the London Pharmacy, Cribb and Footes owned
that. Old Harry, he had a place up here at Eastern Heights.
At the end of Smart Avenue. Harry Smart Cribb was
one of his sons. He later shifted into the other place in
Whitehill Road - Garowie. There used to be a motorbus
run from Blackstone, an old international with solid
tyres. It was driven by a fellow who used to be known as
Ginger Jones. He was ginger too. Anyway, one day I was
told it happened that some little thing had gone wrong
with the bus and he happened to hit Harry Cribb’s fence.
Old Harry, bided his time. One day, Harry caught up with
Ginger Jones and said to him, “Are you the man they call
Ginger Jones?” “Yes,” he said. “Are you the man they
call Black Harry?” Harry Cribb.
Oh, it was a great institution Cribb and Footes. Of course,
it was blamed for monopolising most of the trade in town
because they had departments for everything. They used
to send out catalogues all over Queensland. They used
to get big orders from all the cattle stations and sheep
stations, right up the Gulf and out west there. Clothes
and firearms, food, fodder and everything. They had their
own produce store too which ran through from Nicholas
Street into Bell Street, just over the other side of Union
Street.
restaurant. Right up in Burnett Street. Know that place?
I remember when electricity was reticulated in Ipswich.
The only electric power-houses in those days were
railway workshops which also supplied the railway
station, and Bossy Martoo’s which was just around the
corner in Gordon Street. Bossy lived quite near to that.
The other one would be Cribb and Footes, they had
their own power station there. Behind Barry & Roberts.
You know Barry & Roberts grocery, well, there’s a lane
behind there. They had two units there. They used to burn
coke. I used to go through up there the back way to Barry
& Roberts sometimes.
Most people had their nicknames. Old Jack Crabacoski
was known as the Count. There was another one known
as the Professor. Another one known as Sapi or the Dingo
Pup. Then there was chook - Charlie Beasly - Chook.
“My name’s Charlie!” he would say. Stumpy. A little
fellow called Stumpy. Scotty. A man named Clements
was called Tonic, Cliff Risson was called Chaff because
of Rissons Produce Store, Badger was an Englishman,
Captain was Jim McNamara, a returned soldier.
I wish they would restore the Blackall monument in its
former position. As I say, that was THE rallying point
of the city. There were not only meetings for enlisting
troops, it was also for election meetings. You’d have
quite a crowd around and a few policemen there. Anyone
who interjected was removed. [Meetings were] at night,
at St Paul’s Corner.
I lived (in Roderick Street) until I was about thirteen or
fourteen years of age. Then we moved up to a place called
- it was known as Leeks House in those days. Now, it’s a
Robert Sneyd - oral history interview
14 - 15