Matilda Devine aka Tilly DevinePhotographed 27 May 1925 at the State Reformatory for Women, Long Bay

Tilly Devine stares out from this image taken upon her entry to gaol. She was an incredibly successful villain who, along with her nemesis Kate Leigh, ruled the inner city vice trade for almost 20 years. Tilly began her criminal career as a teenage prostitute on the streets of London. She toughened up quickly in order to survive on the brutal streets of the metropolis. During the First World War she met an Australian soldier, James ‘Big Jim’ Devine, and they married. She arrived in Sydney on a war bride ship in 1920 and began working as a prostitute immediately.

Tilly had an entrepreneurial streak and worked her way up to owning a string of brothels in East Sydney. She defended her turf with razor, knife and colourful language and was know for her short temper and fast hands. She was a complex character who was happy to sit in the gutter and drink from a bottle with her ‘girls’ but upon returning to her marital home in Maroubra insisted on sipping from the finest crystal. Her home life was marred by incidents of domestic violence and she eventually divorced ‘Big Jim’ and married a sailor, Eric Parsons.

She often appeared before the courts and her criminal record reveals convictions for consorting, malicious wounding, indecent language, vagrancy, assault and soliciting. She vigorously defended all charges and was suspected of intimidating witnesses who chose to give evidence against her.

The photograph was taken after her arrest for slashing a man with a razor as he sat in a barber’s shop on Crown Street, Surry Hills. The events leading up to the attack are disputed but what isn’t is that Tilly used a razor to punish a man she felt hadn’t shown her enough respect. It is interesting that although she had a tall, well built and violent husband who was her ‘protector’ she chose to deal with the victim herself.

Throughout the tour the museum’s negative archive was employed to great advantage allowing participants a face-to-face encounter with the criminals and streetscapes of the past. The revealing portraits and street views photographed by police in the 1920s and 30s document the troubled area and its tough inhabitants. The tour draws on a variety of records, including news stories, documents and published histories, and presents a gripping yet informative view of Razorhurst’s underworld.

The razor became the weapon of choice for intimidation, and if necessary enforcement, after the enactment of The Pistol Licencing Act (1927) made it illegal to carry a firearm without a license. The razor was a persuasive ally and if used to full effect would leave the victim with a deep and recognizable scar, as this image of Edward Dalton testifies.

Prior to its recent incarnation as a jazz venue, serving tapas with a trendy roof top bar the Tradesman’s Arms Hotel was a popular meeting place for many members of Sydney’s underworld. The hotel was commonly known as the “Bloodhouse” due to the countless scenes of violence that played out within its walls. Tilly Devine along with Nellie Cameron and Guido Caletti frequented the establishment and no doubt brought with them a swathe of associates and enemies. Devine’s main brothel was located just across the way at 253 Liverpool Street. Cameron was often referred to as Sydney’s most desirable prostitute who spent much of her working life at Tilly’s address. Meanwhile, across the street, her beau (thug and leader of the Darlinghurst Push), Calleti may have waited for his moll with a Tooths Ale in hand and a concealed razor.

The Tradesman’s Arms Hotel has since been renamed the East Village Hotel and is a popular pub and restaurant in East Sydney. There is little evidence left in the slick interiors to indicate its notorious and bloody history. Yet for all this, the building still proudly boasts “Tradesman’s Arms Hotel” and “1918” on its facade.

The Walk the razor’s edge tour reveals many signs of the past and the subtle remnants of the raging days of Razorhurst are bought to the fore. The unsavory, seductive and criminal history of this area is distilled and its essence presented from the safe distance of 50 years. In a final note I would like to share an extract published in Truth newspaper during September 1928. The passage conjures up vivid description of Darlinghurst during the razor gangs rule:

“Razorhurst, Gunhurst, Bottlehurst, Dopehurst – it used to be Darlinghurst, one of the finest quarters of a rich and beautiful city; today it is a plague spot where the spawn of the gutter grow and fatten on official apathy. By day it shelters in its alleys, in its dens, the Underworld people. At night it looses them to prey on prosperity, decency and virtue, and to fight one another for the division of the spoils……Recall the human beasts that, lurking cheek by jowl with decent people, live with no aim, purpose or occupation but crime – bottle men, dope pedlars, razor slashers, sneak thieves, confidence men, women of ill repute, pickpockets, burglars, spielers, gunmen and every brand of racecourse parasite.” Truth, September 1928

Assistant Curator Nerida Campbell’s current research centers on retelling the stories surrounding women convicted on a range of offences who served time at the State Reformatory for Women, Long Bay.

The Long Bay negatives, as with much of the archive, are found stacked in the original film manufacturers packaging. Photographers of the time chose to reuse these perfect sized boxes for storage of the exposed negatives. They also added their own numbering system to the boxes. The bold ‘LB’ prefix stamped on the cardboard end indicates the prison of origin, in this case Long Bay, and the digits indicate identification numbers for the prisoners within.

Some plates were not in original boxes but the women can easily be identified as Long Bay inmates by the ‘LB’ prefix inscribed onto the emulsion. This inscription usually also includes the name and date details vital for retracing the criminal history of the sitter.

The 434 individual Long Bay negatives created between 1915 and 1930 were used to record the inmate’s identity on each prison record sheet. Between some of the oldest glass plate negatives we were fortunate enough to find corresponding contact prints. In total 48 photographic prints, often discoloured, folded or faded, were found. These photographs are printed to a scale that is just big enough to frame the sitters face, 9 x 5.5 cm or less. Contact prints are made by placing the negative directly over the photographic paper prior to exposure resulting in a 1:1 positive print after processing.

The working context for the negatives was highlighted further when we also discovered charge sheets, complete with prisoner details, in the State Records Authority of New South Wales holdings. In the case of May Brown we are able to view the two full frame negatives, contact prints and then selected prints affixed to the criminal record sheet. A lovely insight into how the Department of Prisons actually used the photographic medium and how different the final, functional form of the portrait appears from the negative version.

To find out more about May Brown and those who shared the cells at Long Bay keep an eye on Nerida’s posts or visit the current exhibition on at the Justice and Police Museum, Femme Fatale: the female criminal.

Photographed 27 November, 1919 at the State Reformatory for Women, Long Bay . FP07_0215_005

Many criminals give false personal information to police in the hope that their previous convictions will not be discovered. Jean Harris used a large number of aliases that included the names Emma Rolfe, May Mulholland and Eileen Woods.  She sometimes successfully fooled police into believing she was a novice criminal. In fact she was a career criminal who specialized in theft from houses and shoplifting. Her many aliases created confusion amongst police and she made multiple appearances in the New South Wales Police Gazette under different names. She was a convincing actress and when interrogated by police would strongly protest her innocence and say she was going to consult her solicitor.

The Police Modus Operandi (MO) branch published an internal document, the New South Wales Police Criminal Register, containing details about criminals and the pattern of their criminal behaviour. A 1934 report on Harris states that she waited until householders left before forcing a window or breaking a leadlight door. In one case she was convicted because her fingerprints were found on leadlight glass. Harris chose to steal from ‘the homes of those in superior circumstances’ or worked with a gang of shoplifters in order to steal valuable silks and furs from Department stores. She would disguise herself by wearing a wig, changing her hair colour or by wearing glasses. According to the police MO report she had a ‘Sullen disposition and dresses well’. The Justice & Police Museum collection has another image of Holland in the special photographs collection in which she is identified as Emma Rolfe:
http://collection.hht.net.au/firsthhtpictures/fullRecordPicture.jsp?recnoListAttr=recnoList&recno=31177

Photographed 10 January 1924 at the State Reformatory for Women, Long Bay, NSW

During the early 20th century many unmarried or widowed women with children lived in circumstances of abject poverty. Unable to work during a time when there were no welfare payments, they were often driven to commit desperate acts. Whole columns of the Police Gazette were dedicated to tracing the parents of abandoned children. A typical example being:

A woman who can only be described as of medium height and build, and fair complexion, called on Bella Leek, residing at 182 Underwood-street, Paddington, and asked her to hold her male infant, about 2 months old, for a few minutes, but failed to return. The child has since been admitted to the Scarba Home for Infants, Bondi.
New South Wales Police Gazette, 19 December 1923, p.659

Other women, like Sarah Boyd, went further and killed their baby. In November 1923 a group of children visiting the seaside discovered a suitcase containing the remains of a baby girl, who had been strangled. Police investigations led back to 39-year-old Boyd who had been seduced and abandoned by her lover. Boyd had a young son from a previous relationship and, due to ill health, she was unable to maintain steady employment. She was struggling financially and her situation became dire in the months leading up to the birth of her daughter. In her statement to police she said “I was desperate – I strangled it…I had no money and I had not got any word from its father”. Boyd then asked a friend, Jean Olliver, to help dispose of the body. They wrapped it, placed it in a suitcase and threw it from a Harbour ferry. The court found both women guilty and sentenced Olliver to 12 months gaol and Boyd to death with a recommendation of mercy. In 1927, after many sympathetic public petitions, Boyd was released from prison and reunited with her son.

Photographed 3 June 1927 at the State Reformatory for Women, Long Bay, NSW

The care and management of young offenders has always presented difficulties for the police and courts. Authorities are reluctant to send teenagers to prison and seek to give them an opportunity to turn their lives around. During the 1920s the courts would often place juvenile offenders in the care of church and charitable institutions if the parents were deemed unfit to care for them. Attempts would be made to remove female offenders from their friends by sending them to convents and homes in rural areas. This strategy was rarely successful and police records detail numerous ‘missing friends [persons]’ who had fled charitable homes in order to return to their criminal associates in the city.

Eileen O’Connor’s story is an old yet familiar one. It would appear that she came to the authorities’ attention as an ‘uncontrollable child’, a term often used by the courts to describe runaway children or those frequenting unsavoury places such as sly grog shops. O’Connor was placed in the care of the Salvation Army but soon fled and was reported missing by the Matron. Soon after, the seventeen year old began to make appearances in the New South Wales Police Gazette as a wanted person. She stole a wallet from a man, possibly as part of a prostitution scam, and a warrant for her arrest was issued. Within a month she was apprehended and sentenced to nine months hard labour at Long Bay.

Photographed 3 July 1924 at the State Reformatory for Women, Long Bay NSW

When researching the criminal backgrounds of the women photographed at Long Bay Gaol it is common to find convictions for drunkenness on their criminal record. The connection between criminal behaviour and alcohol or drug addiction has long been established and many different methods of dealing with the problem have been trialed. In 1924 when Annie Matthews was gaoled it was common to detain alcoholics at the Shaftesbury Institution at South Head.

Annie Matthews was born in 1867 and lived most of her life in the working class suburb of Paddington. She had been previously imprisoned for stealing, vagrancy and drunkenness. Her convictions for drunkenness were so numerous that officials didn’t note them individually but resorted to writing on her record in red ink ‘Over 200 convictions for drunkenness’. At the time when this photograph was taken she was convicted of drunkenness and confined indefinitely under the Inebriates Act, 1900. It is probable that she was transferred from the gaol to be detained at the Shaftesbury Institution for Inebriates.

In January 1908 the Shaftesbury Reformatory for Girls was transferred to the management of the Department of Prisons and was renamed the Shaftesbury Institution. Male and female alcoholics could be detained there instead of serving time in the prison system. It was argued at the time that alcoholics should be treated, not punished, and that the institution was the ideal environment in which to ‘cure’ the detainee. The staff was to assist the women to regain ‘their womanly self-respect’ through education and work. By 1927 a government medical officer noted that 62% of the alcoholics housed in the institution suffered mental illness and were unlikely ever to be cured. In 1929 the Shaftesbury Institution was closed.

Photographed on the 14 May 1925 at the State reformatory for women, Long Bay

The process of photographing offenders upon their entry to prison is highly regimented. In the early 20th century images were taken from a specified distance and a measuring stand was included in every full-length portrait to indicate the offender’s height. From late 1923 onwards three images, detailing the face from the front, a side view of the head and a full-length portrait, were taken. Information regarding the prisoner’s weight, fingerprint classification and police reference number was inscribed on the glass negative. The most important rule was that the inmate was not to smile; their expression was to be neutral and they were not to consciously engage with the camera. Kathleen Ward broke this cardinal rule.

Ward was born in 1904 in Goulburn, a large settlement in southern New South Wales. Her criminal record sheet details prior convictions for drunkenness and indecent language that indicate she had a tendency to create mischief in public places. In 1925 she was convicted of theft and received a custodial sentence that was served at the State reformatory for women at Long Bay, 14kms south of the city of Sydney. Soon after her conviction this image was taken by the prison photographer using a now obsolete form of photographic technology that involved glass plate negatives and long exposure times, which relied on the subject remaining still or else the image appeared blurred.

Few forms of non-violent resistance were available to prisoners during the prison registration process. Ignoring the photographer’s instruction to remain still the smirking Ward is deliberately fluttering her eyes, making them appear eerily translucent in the photographic print. In the side view she appears to have closed her eyes for much of the exposure. This childish behaviour was her way of snubbing her nose at the authorities – she could be forced to have a photograph taken but she would do her best to render it useless. This type of mildly subversive behaviour can be seen in some of the informal mugshots taken by police, known as ‘special’ photographs, in which suspects refuse to open their eyes or continuously move in order to create a blurred image. Ward’s photograph is the first time I’ve detected this kind of behaviour in prison records.

Photographed 15 August 1923 at the State Reformatory for Women, Long Bay NSW.

I thought it would be easy to track down the stylishly dressed woman in this offender photograph. The name ‘Mary Harris’ has been scratched into the emulsion side of the glass plate by the photographer and is clearly visible on the right side of this image. The date the photograph was taken at Long Bay gaol is also evident which gives a rough indication of when she appeared before a court. Despite all the information I gleaned from the negative itself no record of her conviction appeared in the usual sources. A trip to the New South Wales State Records repository, located at Kingswood, was necessary before her story could be told.

Mary Harris was only 18 years old when she entered Long Bay Gaol. She was convicted of vagrancy and received a short custodial sentence. Her criminal record sheet showed that during 1923 she had accumulated two other convictions for vagrancy but it seems she may have paid a fine to avoid serving time. The obvious problem with this conviction is that she does not look like a vagrant, a term which conjures up an image of a hobo or tramp with no fixed address. Harris wears a luxurious fur and has even accessorized it with a fur hat. Her hair is shiny and her white stockings are pristine – she certainly doesn’t look homeless.

In all probability she wasn’t. Women charged with ‘vagrancy’, ‘indecent behaviour’ and ‘disorderly conduct’ where often, although not always, street prostitutes. Prostitution was an unlawful occupation and the term ‘vagrancy’ encompassed all those who had no visible or legal means of support. It was a useful charge for police to use, as they only needed to prove that a woman did not have a job or a male who supported her financially instead of the more complicated task of proving she was soliciting men for sex.

Photographed 20 September 1922, Female Reformatory, Long Bay NSW

When I first found this image I was entranced by the fur coat which dominates the frame. It is thick, soft and so lush that you can imagine touching it and having your fingers sink deep into the fur. It conjured up a couple of questions: Would you ever need such an extravagantly warm fur in the balmy climes of Sydney? And if so, why would you wear such an expensive piece of apparel in a daytime prison mugshot? I turned to the NSW Police Gazette for some answers.

Annie Gunderson was only 19 when she was convicted of stealing from Winn’s Limited, a department store located in Sydney. Shoplifting was a popular crime in the 1920s and quite a few of the women in the Long Bay photographs were convicted of this form of theft. Legend tells that the famous madam Tilly Devine would send her girls into the city for a spot of shoplifting if business in the brothel was slow. Police reports and daily newspapers detailed daring thefts from major stores such as Sidney Snow Ltd., Grace Bros., Anthony Hordern & Sons and Mark Foys Ltd., all of which have since disappeared from the mercantile landscape.

A fur coat in Sydney was a symbol of luxury. Aping the fashions of Europe, Sydney women would buy heavy fur coats and swelter in our tepid winters. The longing for this luxury item created a market for the theft and sale of fur. Upon further digging I discovered that Annie Gunderson, replete in her gorgeous fur, had actually been charged with stealing a fur coat from Winns. History does not tell us if the fur in the photograph is the stolen item but I suspect it is.