Mamie Watson

If Fremantle is Australia then the Paris confection was right, but I think it has been called the Back Door of the Continent, and certainly no great country has a less imposing gateway. Perth, eight miles inland, may be a more representative town. It may be. I own freely that my outlook is soured. It was this way. I had got up at six; hurriedly, because my cabin steward told me the doctor and the passport official were waiting for me. I queued up for both before breakfast. We meant to have a few hours ashore before sailing, but there came a knock at the door and Mr. Carlisle stood before me. Mr. Carlisle is Mr. Hugh J. Ward’s representative in the West. Arrangements altered—production put forward—must leave boat, travel overland by trans-continental train and save two days. All arrangements made. Reception in Perth arranged for Dot Brunton, wife, and self. Car waiting. Ready now? Good heavens, no! All right, how long?

Great Scott, how long? Packing—farewells—tickets endorsed—PACKING—tips—re-dress for four days in train—and nights—PACKING—how long? Oh, about a fortnight at the present rate of exchange. Where's Peter? (Peter’s the child.) Peter emerges black from games with the stokers, apparently. Packed the soap. Go on without me. We’ll catch you up! Must get those tickets endorsed. Yes, the tickets are packed. Where's the purser? Don't say we've packed the purser! Knock at door. Come in, steward!  Not steward—two gentlemen of the Press. Welcome to Australia—your past life, please—your opinion of Australia? —no, better not—photograph? Ah, yes. Packed in prop basket. Prop-basket? Ah, yes. In hold. Reminds me, must get things from hold. Steward!!

Telegrams of welcome awaited at Fremantle, making us feel a little less like strangers in a strange land. One from Mamie Watson, at present in Sydney with the Melbourne record-breaking “O'Brien Girl.” [1]Mamie figures in my Brownie souvenir book, so that we are naturally delighted at her success. We are hoping to pop over to—there we go again. Or, rather, there we do not go. It's these distances. Melbourne to Sydney on my map looks like a pleasant Sunday afternoon stroll; whereas pass me my calipers, my compass, and my ready-reckoner and lo! it is nearly 600 miles!

The Savoy Hotel (and Barton’s Ltd., drapers) Hay St., Perth—Savoy Hotel dining room c.1920. State Library of Western Australia, Perth.

Perth seems a Woolworth sort of town (but, as I said, my outlook is soured at present.) We dined at the Savoy Hotel, and there met—with great pleasure Walter George and Georgie Martin, still running the Smart Set Entertainers (much elaborated), [2] who were so well known in England at about the same time that I was starting my Brownies. [3] They open for a six months’ summer season on October 27 at Perth Olympia—an al-fresco theatre, I understand. The company, twenty strong, and including our old friends Kennedy Allen and Georgie de Lara, had arrived shortly before from Wellington, N.Z. The transport (I mention this to give pause to those record-breakers of your Concert Party pages) cost Mr. George round about £500. [4] Almost a whole fortnight’s C.P. profits in England gone bang! One is apt to over-look the distances out here. And once I travelled from Ayr to Ilfracombe and felt hard done by!

A locomotive on the Trans-Australian Railway, Western Australia, c.1924. Photo by Michael Terry & poster. National Library of Australia, Canberra.

We boarded the train in a jovial spirit at 9 p.m. on Thursday, and with only just enough time to change trains at Kalgoorlie, Port Augusta, and Adelaide, emerged in a chastened spirit at Melbourne mid-day the following Monday. Ayr to Ilfracombe, indeed! Thousands of miles with nothing to look at but sunshine and scrub, goats, aboriginals (one came along and obliged us with a boomerang performance, but I don’t think he was in the Aboriginal First XI.), desert sand pervading everything—chiefly one’s eyes—a monotony of corrugated-iron shacks (the “stations”). No wonder we thought wistfully at times of the comfort of the boat—in spite of the Bight, which may not be so bad as the Bark, but which I am assured is frequently worse than the Bay. Still, here we are, speeding along and saving two days. Time is Money. Let’s hope Time is Tons of Money.

Immarna Halt and a track-side shack on the Trans-Australian Railway line, 1924. Photos by Herbert Fishwick. National Library of Australia, Canberra.

The man who had the job of christening those twenty-nine “stations” between Kalgoorlie and Port Augusta had a pretty formidable task. You see, like crows, they all look alike to me. There's the corrugated-iron affair in duplicate—even in triplicate—there’s a dog or two, a goat (with its back to the shack), and a black-eyed Susan or Sam, revelling in “sin, sand, and sunshine” in the foreground. Sand, of course. Don’t let’s forget the sand. We never did, I must say. Well, then, to call these places something characteristic was a super-man’s job. He started off gaily with Cook and Deakin and Fisher and Hunter—so far, so good, and no doubt a neat way of scoring off political opponents—then Hughes, Haig, and Forrest came fairly easily. After that he wobbled, Rawlinna and Loongana were his last gasp. When the next corrugated-iron outburst in the desert came along, he called it “632 Miles” and passed away.

National Library of Australia, Canberra

It is on a long stretch like this—for 300 miles the railway is one level straight line without bridge, embankment, or culvert, can you picture that?—that one realises the value of trifles. A blue-shirted stockrider galloping on the horizon Tom Mix-like lasted us as a topic of conversation for nearly fifty miles. He was displaced by a sun-set effect which reduced most of us to silence. Yes, it is the little things that tell. If Julius Caesar hadn’t been ordered a change of climate and recommended to try Hastings—if Napoleon hadn’t indulged in a surfeit of lampreys or lampoons or something on the eve of Waterloo—and so on. I myself broke a tooth three days out from Colombo, and realised the same moment that my dentist lives in Adelaide Road, N.W.—not Adelaide, S.A. Who knows what great effects—ah, well! It’s a sore point in any case.

It is claimed for the trans-continental that it is the finest train in the world. I can well believe it. There are a library, a restaurant, a lounge, and shower-baths aboard. And there is a music-room, complete with piano. Most of the trip there was a young woman heavily involved therein with “The Battle of Prague” (or some such masterpiece of our forefathers), so we’ll say, in the words of Sir Herbert Tree, “BUT a music-room.” Still, it is a wonderful train, although I am not prepared to admit that it is quite the finest in the world. [5]Personally, I much prefer the Hampstead and Highgate, although I have to admit a lack of shower baths on the Highgate branch. In spite of these luxuries time passed slowly. I compute that in the course of this journey across the desert I read twelve novels and the Encyclopaedia Britannica, as well as Peter’s “Jester” and “Merry and Bright” from cover to cover, I ate dozens of meals, had twenty-five shower-baths, two shaves, and a sleep or two. I have discussed with several Australian gentlemen sheep, the Suez Canal, the Gordon Riots, Ned Kelly, and back to sheep. And it’s eight o’clock. No, it’s 8.45. We must put on our clocks three-quarters of an hour each night to make up the difference between Perth and Adelaide time. A pity we can’t put our clocks on the two days that we are here to save!

National Library of Australia, Canberra

I find people get very confused over this difference in time business. Almost each night during the latter half of the sea voyage we pushed our watch-hands on for niggardly amounts. The explanation is, of course, simplicity itself, and if you would like me to show you, I will. You see, it is spring in Australia at present and we left England at our summer’s end. So our watches have to make up six months between Tilbury and Melbourne, the little beggars. Well, then, if your watch says “September 15” at Tilbury—or, put it another way. Say the sun goes down in Dixie a shade more quickly than it does in Brixton. It stands to reason that when your poor mutt of a Waterbury points to sunset, our richly inlaid Ingersoll says 12.30 a.m. or 4.30 or 5.30 or—or even 5.15, as the case may be. It depends chiefly on whether we remembered to wind it up the night before. That once granted, the rest is simple, as Mr. Drage himself. I would explain it to you in two ticks, but unfortunately my watch has stopped.

National Library of Australia, Canberra

Between Port Augusta and Adelaide—a Sabbath day’s journey—we occupy wicker basket-chairs in a train which seems to me an infringement of the Swansea-Mumbles Railway copyright. The guard comes along inquiring, not tickets, but whether we prefer beef or mutton. This seems cryptic until at some “halt” (I forget its name) all the passengers make a dash for the doors. We do the same (we are now in the sheep district), and find ourselves sitting down in a farm-like building confronted by three plates of soup—the beef—or mutton—to follow. Twenty minutes heavy work, the bell rings, and we are all fed and smiling and jogging along in the train again. The scenery here is very pastoral, and the long range of low, green hills which accompanies us for miles reminds me irresistibly of golf on the Eastbourne Downs. Five-thirty and out we dash to find the plates of soup waiting for us again. Excellent meals, if rough, and I can't help thinking I am back at one of the “Harvest Hawkies” of my youth, and wondering why the red-faced agriculturist opposite me doesn't burst into “Two Little Girls in Blue, Lads,” or “Goodbye, Dolly Gray,” entirely unaccompanied except by his own confusion. But I expect he’s a millionaire squatter if one only knew the truth, and gets his music out of a gramophone.

A panoramic view of Spencer Street Station, Melbourne, 1923. State Library of South Australia, Adelaide.

Melbourne! I put on my last remaining clean collar, and there is Mr. Hugh J. Ward on the platform, and cameras and notebooks are snapping and deputations are advancing (I told you Dorothy Brunton is with us, and she's “Our Dot” here, you know!), and reputations are receding and hands and knees are shaking, and it’s Monday, October 22, and we're there!

Then up speaks Harry Hall, “Say, now: no excuse! Eleven o'clock to-morrow, please. Saturday, we PRODUCE!”

That will be five weeks since we left London. Some hustle, bo!⁶

Endnotes

Compiled by Robert Morrison

[1]The American musical comedy The O’Brien Girl (music by Louis Hirsch, book and lyrics by Otto Harbach and Frank Mandel) was the inaugural production staged by Hugh J. Ward Theatres Pty. Ltd. and received its Australian premiere on 26 December 1922 at the newly-remodelled Princess Theatre, Melbourne, where it enjoyed a highly successful run of 202 performances over the following 5½ months. The title role of ‘Alice O’Brien’ was played by English musical comedy star, Mamie Watson, who made her Australian debut in the show and subsequently played the female lead of ‘Shirley Dalton’ in Hugh J. Ward’s premiere production of Tangerine (music by Carlo-Sanders, lyrics by Howard Johnson, book adapted by Guy Bolton from a play by Philip Bartholomae and Lawrence Langner) at the Princess from 9 June to 5 September 1923 (closing on the night of its 100th performance.) Ward’s musical comedy company then travelled to Sydney, where it opened in The O’Brien Girl at the Grand Opera House on 15 September and played through to 15 December 1923. The company then returned to Melbourne for the Australian premiere of George M. Cohan’s Little Nellie Kellyat the Princess from 22 December 1923, with Mamie Watson in the title role.

[2]Walter George’s concert party was billed as the “Sunshine Players” during their Australian and New Zealand tour and the company members included Miss Linda Dale (soprano). Miss Eileen Daglish (soubrette), Miss Kitty Crawford (soubrette), Miss Diana Tabers (solo dancer), Miss Georgia de Lara (dramatic and comedy actress), Miss Georgie Martin (comedienne), Mr. Kennedy Allen (comedian), Mr. Gus. Dawson (dancer), Mr. Fred Moore (bass). Mr. Tubby Stevens (vest-pocket comedian), Yorke Gray (baritone), Robert Raymond (tenor), William Butler (musical director). Tom Belsey (mechanist), and Mr. Walter George (producer). (Ref.: Everyones(Sydney) Vol.4, No.190, 24 October 1923, p.31)

Newspaper advertisement for the commencement of the concert party’s 1923 Perth season. The Call (Perth, WA), 26 October 1923, p.3

[3]The Brownies concert party was co-founded by Charles Heslop and Ernest Crampton and commenced performing in England in May 1908 at the Castle, Richmond (followed by other British seaside resorts, including Yarmouth and Norwich) with Miss Dorothy Webb at the piano and vocalists, Miss Maud Gardener, Miss Maidie Field, Ernest Crampton (aka Crampton Bryant) and vocalist/comedian, Charles Heslop (joined variously throughout the year by Arthur Longley and Victor Kerr Davidson).

The Oriental Room, Bridlington, c.July 1908—(l to r) Dorothy Webb, Maude Gardener, Ernest Crampton, Maidie Field & Charles Heslop

The Brownies continued to play the British seaside resorts in succeeding years, with various changes of personnel (other than Heslop and Field) and made their London debut in A Yuletide Revel at the Ambassadors’ Theatre for a matinee season from 21 December 1916 to 6 January 1917, after which the company disbanded for the remaining duration of the war when Heslop joined the R.F.A. (Royal Field Artillery.)

The concert party was revived by Heslop post-war following his return from army service and made sporadic appearances throughout the early 1920s whenever Heslop and Field were otherwise free of engagements in the ‘legitimate theatre’.

In 1923, Heslop published a “Brownies’ Souvenir”, which included a brief history of the concert party and listed the various performers who had been members of the company down through the years.

(Ref: The Stage: assorted articles and adverts from 1908 to 1923. With thanks to Tony Liddington of the British Music Hall Society for additional information.)

[4]Heslop’s quotation of around £500 (British) spent on transportation costs from Wellington, New Zealand to Perth, W.A. in late 1923 would be of equivalent value to £24,388 in today’s currency, or $45,782 (Australian.) (Ref: https://www.bankofengland.co.uk/monetary-policy/inflation/inflation-calculator )

[5]The following facts and figures were reported in a newspaper article published in late 1923.

The Trans-Australian Railway

The Trans-Australian Railway, which was opened for through traffic on 17th October, 1917, runs for a distance of 1051 miles across Australia connecting the East with the West. The length of the line is practically the same as that of the combined railways from Sydney to Adelaide, and it is the only railway in Australia the plate-laying of which was carried out by machinery, “Roberts” tracklayers being used for the purpose. Being essentially an Australian railway, it is appropriate that the first rails manufactured in Australia should have been used in its construction. Of these rails-of which 140,000 tons were absorbed—16,000 tons were made by J. & C. Hoskins Limited at Eskbank. The Broken Hill Proprietary Limited also supplied from its Newcastle works 42,000 tons. The fish-plates, spikes, bolts and nuts, crossings, etc., were all of Australian manufacture, and two and a half million sleepers were the product of Australian forests …

The Trans-Australan “through” passenger trains make three trips each way per week, and a very high standard of comfort and speed is maintained. World-wide travellers are not sparing in words of praise, and of the hundreds of expressions of appreciation the following may be taken as typical:—

The Prince of Wales, in writing of the Trans-Australian railway, said: “The railway struck me as being extremely well managed and equipped, and the journey interested me very much.”

Edward, Prince of Wales (centre) on-board in 1920. National Library of Australia, Canberra.

General Birdwood said: “I do not think I could have been more comfortable. The trip was full of interest.”

Another traveller said: “I have travelled in many parts of the world, and I do not know in any service more careful attention to the travelling public, or more efficient working.”

Another: “I have travelled in most of the famous European expresses, and this year crossed North America by the N.Y. Central and C.P.R. Your cars exceed anything I experienced in America in comfort.”

The trains are electrically lighted throughout, and first-class sleeping cars have a special reading lamp at the head of every berth, and there is also an electric fan in each compartment. The first class sleeping cars have two berths in the compartment, and the second class four berths. There is a shower bath on each train for the use of first class passengers free of charge. Undoubtedly a feature of the train is the beautiful lounge car with smoking and non-smoking saloons, each fitted with writing and card tables, stationery, etc. Every day a telegraphed summary of important news is made available in the lounge car at certain stations. A piano with music and songs is provided in each of the lounge cars, and the convenience is much appreciated by the passengers. This is a unique provision not only in Australia but in the rest of the world; and a famous pianist who journeyed across the railway recently wrote:-- “I have played in many extraordinary places, but never in a train before.”

The design of the train permits of passengers moving about freely, and it is not long before all are on good terms with each other. There is a commodious dining car on each train, where first class meals throughout the journey are provided at reasonable rates. After dinner, coffee is served in the lounge. Early morning tea is brought to each first class sleeping car compartment, and afternoon tea is provided for first class passengers in the lounge car. Mail steamers from the United Kingdom arrive at Fremantle fortnightly. Passengers may leave by rail on the same day for the Eastern States, arriving in, say, Melbourne it least 48 hours earlier than by continuing the journey by steamer. Passengers for the United Kingdom may leave Sydney on Sunday, arriving at Fremantle on Friday in good time to connect with the steamer. The Sydney passenger thus saves three days by travelling on the railway.

In journeying from Brisbane to Perth the disadvantages and the expense involved in the break of gauge are brought home forcibly to the travellers. The Trans-Australian railway provides an illustration of what would be possible if the lines were all of one gauge. At the present time all goods, mails, etc., have to be transhipped at Wallangarra, Albury, Terowie, Port Augusta and Kalgoorlie. Fortunately the passengers shift for themselves, but the inconvenience of leaving a comfortable compartment and perhaps being separated from friends made on the journey are nevertheless apparent. This, of course, will have to be rectified, and with that rectification will come a considerable saving in time and money, and an increase in the comfort of travelling.

The climate of the country traversed by the Trans-Australian railway is undoubtedly good. There is probably no better winter climate in the world, the sun, which shines from a cloudless blue sky, imparting a gentle warmth to the body. The summer days are inclined to be warm; but if the day temperature in the middle of summer is high, the nights are invariably made cool by the breeze from the Antarctic which sweeps the Nullarbor towards the close of the day.

The Horsham Times(Vic.), Friday, 2 November 1923, p.4 [extracts], http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article72736399

[6] With the premiere of Tons of Money set for Saturday, 27 October, Charles Heslop, Dorothy Brunton and Maidie Field (Mrs. Heslop) had less than a week in which to join with the rest of the cast for the final rehearsals before the opening, as noted in the following newspaper item.

"Tons of Money"

Dorothy Brunton’s Return

 A season of quick-action farce comedy will be entered upon at the Palace Theatre on Saturday, when Mr. Hugh J. Ward will present the London laughter-maker, “Tons of Money.” Everybody in the play makes money, and it has brought fortunes also to its authors, Arthur Valentine and Will Evans, and its backers, one of whom was Tom Walls, well remembered in Australia as the original Peter Doody of “The Arcadians.” From the first performance in London considerably over a year ago, “Tons of Money” has never flagged, and is still going strong. At least four companies are also playing it on tour.

Dorothy Brunton has come back to Melbourne for the new production. She arrived from London on Monday after a lengthy absence spent at work and holidaying in America and England, during which she played in the piece in which she is to make her reappearance here. With her is Charles Heslop, a young English comedian, who is to play the leading role. “Tons of Money” is not a musical comedy, so that the interest in Miss Brunton’s return is not only in seeing her again on the stage, but in observing how she is suited to a class of play that she has not previously done in Australia. A particularly strong cast has been rehearsing the comedy under Mr. Harry Hall’s direction, but as both the principals are already familiar with their parts, everything will be in readiness for the opening on Saturday.

Harry Hall, who is producing “Tons of Money” for Mr. Hugh J. Ward, is just as much at home in handling straight comedy as he is with musical shows like “The O’Brien Girl,” “Tangerine,” and “Rockets.” Before coming to Australia, he directed a number of plays of the lighter type, including “Turn to the Right” and “Potash and Perlmutter.” “Tons of Money” is taken at a much faster tempo than either of those comedies; in fact, speed is the essence of its humor. But Mr. Hall is experiencing no difficulty in getting hold of the technique of the piece.

The Sporting Globe,(Melbourne), Wednesday, 24 October 1923, p.13, https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/184813681