13 June 1935

EARLY CLOSING RIOT IN RUNDLE STREET 

When Shops Kept Open Until 10 O'Clock on Saturday Nights

In these days of Saturday half-holidays one is apt to forget that such a state of affairs did not always exist, yet it is only a little more than 50 years ago that a riot occurred in Rundle street, then as now Adelaide's main shopping centre, because the owner of one of the shops refused to close at 9 p.m. on Saturday. In those days Saturday was the late shopping night, businesses remaining open until 10 p.m.

For some months prior to the riot, which occurred in November, 1882, an Early Closing Association had been advocating the closing of shops at 9 o'clock instead of 10 o'clock on Saturday nights. It had received considerable public support, and had persuaded a number of shopkeepers to close at the earlier hour. The first Saturday night in November was chosen for the new rule to come into operation. 

Shortly before 9 o'clock that night, November 4, a man wearing a fake beard walked down Rundle street from Pulteney street to King William street ringing a bell as a warning to shop keepers to close their doors. He soon had a host of followers, as Rundle street was unusually crowded even for a Saturday night. 

Almost all the shop keepers closed their doors according to agreement at 9 o'clock, but at 9.45 it was noticed that Mr. G. Hunt still had his doors open. Cries of 'Nine o'clock' from the crowd which quickly gathered outside persuaded Mr. Hunt to close his doors, after turning out a number of customers without serving them. The crowd, appreciative of his action and no doubt delighted with its victory, cheered the shopkeeper, and passed on.

When the shop of Mr. Stone was reached next door to Marshall & Co.'s music warehouse, which was situated at the corner of Rundle street and Gawler place, it was noticed that his doors were still open. 

Three thousand [sic] people had collected by this time, and finding that their cries of 'Nine o'clock' had no effect, they began hooting and yelling. Two constables and a mounted man were powerless to control such a crowd. 

Eventually Mr. Stone sent an assistant outside the shop to bring in the goods displayed at the door, but the crowd decided that he was not doing his work quickly enough, and proceeded to help him by overturning a table on which were placed a number of hats, which were not improved by the treatment to which they were subjected. Clothing hanging over the shop door was torn down and a stone was thrown through the window. 

It most cases where a mob is in charge, if only temporarily, a similar action would have incited the people to rush the shop and wreck everything. This crowd, however, be came silent. Groans and hisses subsided, even when a second stone was thrown at the plate-glass. 

The police, by this time, had been somewhat strengthened, and as Mr. Stone 'had shown his willingness to accede to the evident wish of the people by closing his premises,' as the 'Register' stated in its report of the incident, the mob next passed on to Mr. McDonald's tailoring shop on the other side of the street, but here 'no violence was perpetrated.' 

Various other establishments were visited, but gradually the crowd dwindled. Mr. Stone's willingness to accede to the evident wish of people did not last long, and on Monday he issued a placard headed — 

EARLY CLOSING ASSOCIATION RIOT
Intimidation, Robbery, and Wilful Destruction of Property. 

The letterpress stated that a reward of £50 would be paid 'for such information as will lead to the conviction of the offenders representing the Early Closing Association who, on Saturday night, November 4, between the hours of 9 and 10, did wilfully smash a plate glass window and break and remove a table from the premises, whereby goods, amounting to over £40, were damaged or stolen.' The offenders, however, remained undiscovered. 

The Early Closing Association vigorously denied any connection with the affair at first, and the secretary's version of the affair was that a dozen or so assistants met outside Smith and Parker's shop at about 9.20 p.m. and began to groan, until Mr. Smith turned out a shopful of customers and put up the shutters. Mr. Hunt's clock, it was explained, was ten minutes slow, and this was the reason he had not closed at 9.25. Mr. Stone had not promised the association that he would close. 

The fact that a bellringer had paraded the streets caused the association a little trouble. Eventually the president (Mr. P. N. Linington) admitted that he was the masked man who had rung the bell. He explained that he had engaged a man to ring in the streets from 8.30 to 9 o'clock to remind shopkeepers and customers of the early closing request. This man said later that he would not do the job. 

Linington then arranged with two others to be at the office of the secretary (Mr. P. A. Westbury) at 8 o'clock, but neither of them had arrived by 8.30 p.m. 'It means either you (Westbury) or I,' said Linington, and as Westbury did not want the task, Linington had to ring the bell. It was realised that it would be below the dignity of the president of the association to become a bellman, so he borrowed a heavy overcoat and bought a false beard from the barber's on the way. 

He said that he had returned to the secretary's office by 8.55 p.m., and the bell and the beard never left the premises afterwards. 'I deny that any disturbance was caused by my action,' said Mr. Linington, and most people preferred to leave the incident at that. 

Although the Early Closing Association had gone to such pains to bring about closing at 9 p.m. on Saturdays, it failed to do so. The possibility of mob violence if they kept open did not deter some shopkeepers from doing so, and the association passed this motion unanimously at its February meeting:— 'This association views with contempt the action taken by several firms in Rundle street in having broken their promise to the association in keeping their establishments open after the stipulated hour on Saturdays, and this association, in justice to other firms who have faithfully fulfilled their promises, now releases them from the engagement.' 

So failed a movement which asked what today would be considered a trivial reduction of hours.— H. 

The Tragedy At Gurdlawindy Well 

In 1914, when I owned Miller's Creek station, in Central Australia, I sent my son George and one of my stockmen, Wally Lennon by name, out to muster some of the horses which we had running on the station. I expected them to be away for two or three days at the very least, and when I saw them coming home the following day without any of the horses, I guessed that something was amiss, and walked out to meet them. 

'We found a dead man at the Gurdlawindy well,' my boy announced as they rode up. 'We thought we'd better come back at once.' Telling them that they had done the right thing, I sent a man off to the nearest telephone, to inform Constable Ridge, at Tarcoola, of the discovery. We waited until the police officer arrived, then went out to the well. 

I have seen some pitiful tragedies in my time, but this was one of the worst. Under the shade of a near-by bush lay the scattered bones of a human skeleton; tooth-marks on the bones, together with the fact that most of the smaller bones were missing, showed plainly that the wild dogs had eaten the body. I have often heard men say that a dingo will not touch a dead human being; here is proof to the contrary. 

By the well lay pitiful proof of how hard the dead man had striven to get water. Some time previously we had camped at that well; the man who had perished there had gathered up the old pickle bottles which we had left behind and had tied them to bits of old fencing wire, sticks, and anything else he could find, in vain attempts to bring up some water. We had given up using that well, and had removed the rope and bucket; in any case the dead man could not have reached the water with his lengths of wire and stick, as it was 180 feet deep. 

We helped the police officer search for some clue to the dead man's identity; we even sifted the sand through our fingers, but found nothing. He had evidently thrown away his swag before reaching the well, and had probably thrown away all his clothes, too, as men do when in a bad way from thirst. 

How hope must have been renewed in that unfortunate man's heart when he saw the mound of earth and windlass ahead, and what must have been his feelings when he reached it, to find the rope and bucket gone! His identity was never discovered, and the remains of an unknown man lie buried beside the Gurdlawindy well, on Miller's Creek station. — William Oliffe. 

See also photos by W. Oliffe, at https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/catalog/4737671

Attacked By A Bull Camel 

A really vicious bull camel can be a terrible thing. They are liable to become savage without any warning, and seem to go completely insane. Their long legs can kick in any direction, and their teeth can inflict terrible injuries. 

Their usual method of attack is to lash out unexpectedly with one of their feet, savage their partly disabled or stunned victim with their teeth, then throw him on the ground and crush the life out of him with their chest. 

I have handled a few vicious 'Oonts' in my time, but the worst of the lot was a big bull, which strayed away from the Government camel depot at Maloorinna, and found his way to Miller's Creek station. That same day Mr. J. H. McNamara, who later became Surveyor-General, came to the station on one of his many tours of the Far North I pointed out the camel to him, and told him that it bore the Government brand. 'I'll take him along in my string,' he replied. 'We'll yard him in the morning and put a new nose-peg in him.' 

We duly yarded the camel, put a new peg in his nose, and then led him to the woolshed where McNamara's other camels were being loaded. I must state that Mr. McNamara had had a life-long experience of handling camels, and was always very gentle with them; he was not the type of man who brings trouble on himself by ill-using them. 

I was helping to load the packs, and heard a shout and a thump behind me; I turned and was horrified to see that the new camel had seized McNamara by one arm and was lifting him up and dashing him on the ground. His assistant had caught McNamara by the coat and was trying to pull him away. 

I ran to one of my waggons, picked up a thick stick which was lying in it, and ran to the camel. As he dashed the surveyor on the ground again I brought the stick down across the camel's head; he released his hold on Mc Namara's arm, sank to the ground, struggled to his feet again, and then I gave him another smashing blow on the head. 

That second smack took all the fight out of him; I grabbed the nose-line, tied him to the waggon, and then went to see how badly the surveyor had been injured. By a miracle no bones were broken, but his arm was a fearful sight. The camel's teeth had crushed the muscles to pulp. My wife washed the injured arm, bandaged it, and we put McNamara to bed. 

After a day's rest he got over the worst of the shock, and then I drove him into Coward Springs to catch the first train south. He went to a doctor as soon as he could, had his arm re-dressed, and it healed without any complications in the way of blood-poisoning or gangrene setting in. Usually a bite from a camel turns septic. 

Some idea of the strength of a vicious bull camel can be gauged when I state that the brute which attacked Mr. McNamara was able to toss him about as easily as if he had been a sheaf of hay.— H.A.L.