Bondi Stories, vol.1.

BONDI STORIES 

Volume One 

2013 

bondistories.com

First issue published 2013 

Edited by Dan Webber 

1/19 The Crescent 

Angourie NSW 2464 

Australia 

Copyright © belongs to the respective authors. 

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be 

reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any 

form by any means without the prior written permission of 

the copyright holders, whose right to be identified is hereby 

asserted. 

ISSN: 1839-2644 

bondistories.com 

Cover art, pastel of South Bondi, by Victoria Peel. 

Artist’s website: victoriapeel.com 

ii

CONTENTS 

Editorial … Dan Webber ............................................................. v 

Acknowledgements .................................................................... vii 

Bondi Royalty … Margaret Dupré .......................................... 1 

Fuck off, trog! … Greg Webber ................................................. 3 

The Lost Valley … Phil Leadley ................................................ 5 

The Hep Pit … Robert Conneeley ............................................. 9 

WindanSea … Ronnie Silcock ................................................. 13 

Bluey Mayes … John Sullivan ................................................. 15 

Hot doggers … (unknown) ...................................................... 19 

The Beach Scene … John Witzig ........................................... 21 

The Beach Inspector … (various) ........................................ 25 

The Hill Crew … Cheyne Horan ............................................. 27 

Panache … Bruce Channon ..................................................... 29 

Salty … Harry Nightingale....................................................... 43 

Bondi’s first larrikin … Bro. Dr. George Bergman ......... 45 

iii

T 

Editorial 

he café culture took over Bondi in the 1980s, when 

property values climbed as dramatically as school 

enrolments fell. The higher cost of living displaced many 

locals to neighbouring suburbs or else further along the coast. 

Suddenly, the “locals” of Bondi were the café goers who 

seldom stepped foot on the beach let alone entered the water. 

The surf had become a backdrop for a steady stream of 

traffic, with the occasional sports car purring past envious 

onlookers. 

Over the past couple of years, Facebook has helped to 

revive the community that loved Bondi before commercial 

interests overwhelmed the place. By sharing stories and old 

photos, the real Bondi is slowly reclaiming its heritage. This 

magazine embraces the growing enthusiasm for Bondi’s past, 

by delving into the stories that helped shape its unique 

character. 

It is an honour to be able to present these stories in the 

form of a literary magazine. If you feel like sharing your 

memories of Bondi, please don’t hesitate to get in touch. 

v 

Dan Webber

I 

Acknowledgements 

would like to thank everyone who contributed material to 

this issue, and the many unique souls mentioned in their 

stories, some of whom are among the dearly departed. It is 

with great pride and a solemn heart that I respectfully 

acknowledge the many voices contained in these pages. 

A huge thank you goes to the artist, Victoria Peel, whose 

pastel of South Bondi graces the front cover. Victoria’s greatgreat-great-uncle 

was none other than Barnett Levey, who is 

the subject of Bondi’s first larrikin, the last story in this issue. 

Vicki’s good friend, Joolee Eadie, is to be thanked for her 

photos of Andy Cochran, Barry Ross, Gary Moffatt, John 

Eccleston, Robert Fox and Wally Newell. These appear with 

the story by Robert Conneeley, entitled: The Hep Pit, which 

was actually taken from an interview by Matthew Ellks, who 

just happens to be his nephew. 

I would also like to thank Margaret Dupré for her poem 

and the accompanying photos, one of which is credited to 

Dick Hoole, the surf film maker. In one of the photos, 

Margaret appears with her daughters India and Saffron sitting 

in front of the Pavilion. The decision to begin this first issue 

of Bondi Stories with a piece by Margaret Dupré is both a 

privilege and a tribute to one of Bondi's classic characters. 

Thanks also goes to Greg Webber, for his delightful 

vignette, entitled: Fuck Off, Trog!, and also for suggesting the 

name Bondi Stories, instead of Scum Valley, which was the 

original plan. Phil Leadley’s piece, entitled: The Lost Valley, 

bemoans the loss of community at Bondi, only to rejoice in its 

resurrection, through the bi-annual surfing contest and Old 

School Bondi Crew reunion. Thanks also goes to Mark Coleman, 

Richard Feyn, Michael Zaracostas, Lawrie Williams and Craig 

Robinson for sharing their accounts of one notorious beach 

inspector. Initially posted on Facebook, their comments 

vii

appear within the article, entitled: The Beach Inspector. We will 

see if this becomes a regular feature. 

A couple of blokes who have contributed immeasurably 

to surf culture through the medium of print, are John Witzig 

and Bruce Channon, both of whom documented Bondi’s 

surfing culture in the early seventies. John Witzig’s article, 

here entitled: The Beach Scene, captures the playground-like 

atmosphere of the urban beach. The piece by Bruce Channon, 

entitled Panache, is a uniquely revealing interview with some of 

the greatest names in Bondi’s surfing folklore: Brad Mayes, 

Steve Corrigan, Bruce Raymond, Ron Ford and Victor Ford. 

I am especially grateful for Cheyne Horan’s contribution, 

entitled: The Hill, because it describes the world I entered as a 

kid stepping off the bus each day from Rose Bay in the midseventies. 

Ronnie Silcock gives us a taste of surf culture in the 

sixties, with a vignette entitled WindanSea. And his 

contemporary, John Sullivan, has given us an insider’s 

perspective on the legendary Bluey Mayes, whose life of 

surfing began in the 1930s. Harry Nightingale’s profile of his 

father, “Salty”, takes us back even further, to the very 

beginning of surfing in Australia. I cannot thank him enough 

for this contribution. 

Last but not least, I would like to express my deepest 

appreciation to the B'nai B'rith Society for granting permission 

to include the article, originally entitled: Bondi’s First Jew, which 

was written by Bro. Dr. George F. J. Bergman and published 

in B'nai B'rith Bulletin, in 1955. I have taken the liberty of 

changing the title to: Bondi’s first larrikin, to suit the broader 

public. The story of Barnett Levey is uniquely relevant to this 

magazine, when you consider that his residence Waverley House 

was named after a famous novel with a social agenda. Perhaps, 

Bondi Stories is echoing the very same sentiment. In light of his 

commitment to literature as a vehicle of social development, it 

is an honour to carry on his legacy. 

viii 

Dan Webber

Bondi Royalty 

The sand and the sea, 

Mean so much to me, 

Sitting in my cave, 

Like I’m Royalty. 

Our men are divine, 

The best you’ll ever see, 

Surfing and jogging, 

Or throwing a Frisbee. 

But when danger lurks, 

You won’t despair, 

’Coz Bondi lifesavers, 

Will always be there. 

At the end of the day, 

We all head on up, 

To the Biltmore our home, 

’Coz that is our luck. 

We are so very happy, 

My kids and I, 

With the sand and the sea, 

We love our Bondi. 

Margaret Dupré

Bondi Stories 

South Bondi by Margaret Dupré 

2

W 

Fuck off, trog! 

hen I was 12 and a half, I went for a surf at South 

Bondi. I was riding a fibreglass board for the third or 

fourth time after two years on a styrofoam coolite. I must 

have got in the way of an older, better surfer, because he told 

me to “fuck off, you trog”. I knew I wasn’t a trog, because I 

was just learning. So, I was more pissed off than shattered, 

even though in hindsight I came to learn that learners are 

effectively “trogs” to more experienced surfers. So, I dealt 

with the feeling of rejection and decided to go back to riding a 

coolite. I had been riding one of those orange coolites with a 

deck concave, and a round nose and square tail. They snapped 

more easily than the Firestone originals, but not as easily as a 

Kentucky Fried. 

Going back to my coolite was a step backwards in coolness. 

But, it also meant being totally free to surf the entire 

north end of the beach right up to centre. It was winter and 

there was a righthand rip sandbank just on the edge of the nofibreglass 

zone. So, I went home to get my coolite, which I 

then felt guilty for having rejected. But, we soon became 

reacquainted, as I removed the flexy white plastic fin and 

replaced it with a larger timber fin recessed into the foam and 

secured firmly in place with Araldite. 

The next day, when John and Mont continued bravely to 

deal with the agro of the south end, I just paddled across the 

imaginary line that marked the edge of the no-fibreglass zone, 

into a level of peace and freedom, which was to more than 

offset the performance back step I had just taken. There 

wasn't even a swimmer on the bank, as I rode scores of 

bowling waves by myself, doing turns and slight slides with no 

one to hassle me, but also nobody to share it with. I missed 

that bit, but I valued the freedom so much more, which is sort


of odd for a 12 year old, where the need to be alongside your 

peers usually determines what you do. I even laughed a bit to 

myself, thinking that I was even more of a kook than ever 

(riding a coolite in the flags). But, I was having a different kind 

of fun that was as much to do with rejecting the south end, as 

it was enjoying the quality of the waves and the absence of 

people. 

Greg Webber 

4

A 

The Lost Valley 

ll beaches have a local crew, guys that have paid 

their dues, done their time and earned their spot in 

the lineup. But, few beaches are as universally known 

and ridiculed as my local. Bondi is known, to the real 

core local surfers, as Scum Valley. The term was coined 

way back before the beach became a magnet for media 

tycoons, yuppies, cafes and would be actors, when big 

Maoris and bikies ruled the streets and tough pubs were 

the norm. Bondi was rock-n-roll in those days, not the 

generic pop shit served up today. But, what is not widely 

known, is that Bondi has always had, and still does have, 

a hard core local crew of surfers. 

Over the years, numerous Bondi locals have made it 

on the world stage, most notably Cheyne Horan and 

Richard Cram. But, just below these guys were dozens of 

surfers who, at any other beach, would have been the 

standout surfer, guys like Ant Corrigan, Col Sutherland, 

Dean Cook, Spot Anderson, Bill Power, Dave Davidson, 

Mikey Beam and George Wales. 

In the 35+ years I’ve called Bondi my home break, 

I’ve seen a lot of changes, most of them not great, from 

a locals point of view. I've seen some great waves and 

some insane surfing, seen guys come and go, and seen 

way too many of the boys, guys I’ve grown up with, who 

didn't make it out the other side. 

So, that’s what makes this day so special. 

The bi-annual Bondi Single Fin Classic was first run five


years ago. It is now THE event on the Bondi surfing 

calendar. But, this year was a little different. Sure, you 

still had to ride a single fin made prior to 1986. The two 

divisions remained the same: invited surfers only, in the 

Opens and Masters (surfed Bondi consistently for over 

25 years). But, with a little help from Facebook, this year, 

a Bondi reunion was organized to run in unison with the 

comp. 

Local identity and surfer, Cisco, who does a fair 

impression of Maradona, the soccer player, came up with 

the idea and it snowballed from there. Surfers from all 

over Oz and overseas were soon making travel 

arrangements to be in Bondi in early November. And it 

wasn’t just the blokes involved, some of Bondi's finest 

girls too were primed to catch up. 

As the comp draw was released, it became apparent 

that there were no easy heats! A quick glance over the 

names would have most club surfers shaking in their 

shoes. Guys like Sloth, Lizard, Ozzy, Doogsa, Moose, 

Starman, Hideous Creature, Strummer, Turk, Frogger 

and Horse, may not be household names. But, in Bondi 

surfing folklore, these guys are all champions. 

Arriving early on the contest morning, everything 

was in place. Ben and Beau, who run Bondi Boardriders, 

know how to put on a show and had it all happening. 

Three stages, including a dance floor with mirror ball, 

(there is a dance off prior to surfing in your heat), tents, 

tables, chairs, DJs, bands, sausage sizzle, sponsors and 

drinks. Also, that most important ingredient, swell! And 

after weeks of no banks, a little rip right appeared from 

nowhere the day before. We were set. 

And then they came. Heads I hadn’t seen in 20, some 

30 years! The Rock Crew, 3rd Ramp, The Hill, The Wall, 

6

7 

The Lost Valley 

The Office … fuck, they were coming out of the 

woodwork! Some had fared better than others, over the 

years. Teeth and hair were missing (and that was just the 

girls!). But, they all had one thing in common — they 

were stoked to be home and the Valley was welcoming 

them with open arms. Many had previously visited, only 

to feel like outcasts in what was once home. But, today 

was different. If you were Old School Bondi, you ran the 

show and the rest of Bondi better step aside or they 

where gonna get swatted. 

The longer the day went, the better the surfing got 

and the bigger the crowd got. Your truly was surfing in a 

heat mid-arvo and, looking back on the hill at South 

Bondi reminded me of the Stubbies crowd at Burleigh, all 

those years ago, with MP and MR going head to head. 

Bondi had turned it on for its favourite sons & 

daughters, and in keeping with the tradition that anything 

can happen at Bondi, just as the finals were wrapped up, 

and no one was in a hurry to bail, especially with a beer 

in hand, a couple of cool looking dudes appear in the 

throng. There is a bit of a commotion and next thing you 

know, Wu-Tang Clan, the American Hip Hop outfit, is up 

onstage busting out some rapps. The crowd is up and 

digging it. It might not be the Rock-n-Roll that Bondi 

was once famous for. But, today, it seemed just fucken 

fine! 

Phil Leadley

T 

The Hep Pit 

he Hep Pit was a small shed where we could leave our 

boards at South Bondi. It was called the “Hep Pit”, 

because the storm water drain in Knotts Avenue used to seep 

in from above. One guy actually caught hepatitis. We used to 

sit inside the shed on rainy days, but never really thought 

about it. “Where’s Frank today?” “Oh, he’s got hep. He’s 

home sick.” No-one really understood. 

Andy Cochran, South Bondi, 1958. Photo Joolee Eadie.


Clockwise: Barry Ross, Gary Moffatt, John Eccleston, Robert Fox, 

(unknown) and, above him, Wally Newell. Photos by Joolee Eadie. 

10

11 

The Hep Pit 

It was great to hang with guys like Magoo, Tony Rule and 

Bluey Mayes. It was a community. There were some hard, 

tough men. But, they nurtured young blokes. If you showed 

them respect, they’d look out for you; (a) that you didn’t 

drown and (b) that you didn’t fall prey to some creep lurking 

around the toilets. It felt good to know that people cared 

about you. It was like being part of a tribe. 

Robert Conneeley 

Phil O'Reilly, South Bondi, 1958. Photo by Joolee Eadie.


12

A 

WindanSea 

t least once a month, WindanSea would hold an inter-club 

contest, followed by a barbie. So, there was always 

something happening. The rivalry with other clubs was 

intense, but usually good natured. Everyone wanted to beat 

us, but hardly ever did. We had most of the top surfers from 

Sydney, the Central Coast and Wollongong. The Bra Boys 

didn't like our style. We never did compete against them. I 

went to a stomp at the Maroubra Surf Club, wearing a 

WindanSea t-shirt! I went outside, looking for Little Patty, and 

next thing, bang! I got king hit, lights out. I was lucky he 

didn't kill me. Then, some time after that, my cousin got 

beaten up pretty bad. It seems some Bra Boy heard the name 

Silcock and thought it was me. The poor bugger ended up in 

hospital. The Gong was always my favourite. I loved it down 

there. So many places to surf. I would head down south most 

weekends and stay with mates. We would either surf locally or 

explore the coast. The farm was usually good in a northeaster. 

If it wasn't, we would still have fun picking teams and having 

the best cow dung fights. Good clean fun! 

Ronnie Silcock


Jack “Bluey” Mayes, ca.1958. 

14

I 

Bluey Mayes 

suppose I first came across Bluey Mayes as a young kid 

living in Bondi in the 1950s. His mother lived in a small 

flat just up the road from me. It was on the corner of 

Hastings Parade and Wairoa Ave, adjacent to the old Bondi 

Police Station. His brother, Leon, lived there from time to 

time. 

Jack had told me stories about him surfing in the 1930s 

on old hollow tooth picks up to 16ft long and solid cedar 

boards. He told me how, during the war, he and Leon would 

sneak around the barbed wire and concrete barricades on 

Bondi Beach to go out for a surf and how soldiers warned 

them about getting captured by Nazis in U-Boats. 

There is that photo of Jack taken in 1939 towards the 

north end of Bondi. It was used on the T Shirt for the 2000 

South Bondi Reunion. 

It would have been around 1956 that Jack discarded his 

hollow board and got his first “Malibu”. I think it was after 

Peter Lawford was here to make “On the Beach” or else when 

the Hawaiian and Californian lifeguards were here for an 

Olympic Games thing. He was stoked. 

I also remember him telling me about going to surf 

carnivals (he was the sweep for Tamarama) and taking his 

board with him to such places as Coolangatta and Byron Bay. 

I seem to remember Crescent Head also. Magoo also 

mentioned trips down to Green Island and Ulladulla in the 

late 50s. It was also in the latter half of the 50s that Jack was a 

member of the South Bondi Surfboard Riders Club, the first 

boardriding club in Australia. 

From the early 60s, I had lots of contact with Jack; just 

surfing mainly at Bondi and on the South Coast. This


continued through to the 70s and 80s, with his son, Brad, 

coming onto the scene in the latter part of the 60s. 

I remember one day, Jack stopped me to ask about 

pensions. I was working for Social Security at the time. He 

said that during the war, he was in the US Navy and thought 

he could get a pension. I remember my father telling me that 

he had seen Jack in a US Navy officer’s uniform one time 

when he was on leave. Dad wondered where Jack had stolen 

the uniform. As such, I said something like “when were you in 

the war?” and Jack proceeded to show me a bunch of US navy 

stuff including service records, commission, a letter from the 

US President and other stuff including discharge papers. 

He then told me his war story. He was in the Australian 

Merchant Navy and had taken some shore leave in London. 

When he went back to the ship, he and other sailors were told 

they had to take the ship to Murmansk in Russia. They did not 

quite mutiny but said that they had signed on to get back to 

Australia, not to Russia in winter and not past the North 

Atlantic U-Boat fleet. As a result, he transferred to the US 

merchant navy to head back to the west coast USA via the 

Panama Canal. 

Clearly, he did not get sunk by a submarine. 

When back in San Diego, the US Navy was looking for 

some deckhands to work on the US Navy small ships heading 

to the western Pacific. Jack, thinking of a way to get back to 

Australia, signed on. He was made a Petty Officer in the USN. 

He got on well with the Captain of the ship, who happened to 

be an LA Lifeguard in normal life and also surfed. 

They did a few supply trips around what is now New 

Caledonia, Vanuatu and other islands much like McHale’s 

island. At one of them, there were some great right handers 

breaking off a point. Jack went out for a body surf by himself. 

When he got back to the beach, some MPs or Shore Patrol 

wanted to arrest him for attempting to commit suicide. 

Unbeknown to Jack or the MPs, Jack’s skipper and his mate, 

who was the Executive Officer for the base on the island and 

16

17 

Bluey Mayes 

who also surfed, had been watching Jack and were impressed 

with his ability (I suppose Jack embellished the truth 

somewhat). Apparently, the XO was in the process of making 

a big officers’ rest camp and was looking for a head lifeguard. 

Jack was recommended and they were checking him out for 

the job. 

While Jack was arguing with the MPs in much the same 

fashion as he harangued beach inspectors (before they were 

Americanised to lifeguards), the two officers intervened and 

told the MPs to back off and not speak to an officer in such 

fashion. Before Jack could say anything, the MPs were told 

that Jack was the head lifeguard for the officers’ camp and 

that they would be working under his orders. 

Thus Jack became a lieutenant in the US Navy. But, the 

tale does not end just yet. 

After living the life of a “beach bum” on a tropical island 

and getting paid for it (He did not tell me about any nurses or 

island native conquests), Jack got to return to Australia for 

R&R. He got the tram to Bondi and was walking up Wairoa 

Ave, in his USN uniform, on his way home, when a local 

Bondi cop, who had never had time for Jack, arrested him for 

impersonating an officer. He marched Jack to the police 

station, which was just across the road from Jack’s (Mum’s) 

home to have him charged and locked away. 

Unbeknown to that cop, Jack’s mum got on well with the 

Crown Sergeant, who had been told the story about Jack and 

the USN; apparently Jack did write letters. The sergeant just 

winked at Jack and gave him a zip your mouth signal and 

smiled. When the Constable went off to ring the USN liaison 

people, the sergeant smiled and told Jack he knew the story 

and that the constable was a wanker and he could use this 

“stuff up” to have the c#@t transferred. Jack just sat there 

not saying anything other than demanding to speak with the 

senior naval person at Garden Island. 

Needless to say, within a short while, a shore patrol car 

arrived with a USN officer, who apologised for the


misunderstanding. The Constable was forced to apologise to 

Jack and then carry his duffel bag across the road and up the 

stairs to Jack’s place. The following week he was transferred 

somewhere out west. 

I then arranged for Jack to see a mate, Paul Jeffries (the 

father of Pru, who is/was on the women’s circuit), who 

worked at Veterans Affairs to arrange a pension for Jack. This 

was done almost immediately and Jack got his pensioner card. 

As you know, this came in handy when Jack was in the 

nursing home. 

Jack passed away on 9 September, 1997, Brad’s birthday. 

18 

John Sullivan

B 

Hot doggers 

1958 The Australian Women’s Weekly 

y leaving behind balsa-wood surfboards after a 1956-57 

visit to Sydney, a Hawaiian surf team helped to add a new 

expression — hot doggin’ — to Australian beaches. Hot 

doggin’ is manoeuvring a surfboard at high speed. The 

Hawaiian boards were 20lb lighter and 6ft. shorter than the 

type then used in Australia. On a big wave they could reach 

speeds of more than 50 miles an hour — 20 miles an hour 

faster than Australian boards. Thrilling to the pace of the balsa 

surfboards, Sydney swimmers went on to try other materials, 

using new lighter synthetics, for greater speed and easier 

handling. 

Hot doggin’ now provides thrills for 500 surfers in Sydney 

alone. To cater for them, the Surf Life Saving Association is 

to add a surfboard-riding contest to carnival programmes. In 

surfboard riders’ jargon, the events will be a hot dog meet. It 

will differ from surfboard races. Contestants will be judged on 

ability in riding the waves, not on paddling power. Three 

experts will judge each event for style, daring and “walking the 

plank”—walking as far as 8ft. to the front of the board for 

speed or to the back for fast turning. Instead of riding the 

wave straight to the beach, contestants will move in all 

directions, do reverse turns, trying to out hot dog each other. 

Hot dog meets have been held on Hawaiian and 

Californian Beaches for years. They attract tens of thousands 

of spectators, who have their favourite board-riders the same 

way Australians follow the performances of jockeys or 

cricketers. Because of the popularity of hot dog meets on 

Hawaiian and Californian beaches, action films of expert 

board-riders are big business in the United States. Two


Californian surfboard manufacturers recently spent nearly 

£3000 on photographic equipment and paid all expenses for 

three of California’s best surfers to go to Hawaii for a threemonth 

film-making trip. Brilliant surfer Bud Browne, of 

Honolulu, financed a trip around the world with two exciting 

50-minute films taken on Hawaiian beaches. 

Hollywood is to make a film with a surfboard theme, 

based on an American best seller, “Gidget”, written by 

Californian journalist Frederick Kohler. Introduced to a 

number of surfboard riders by his daughter, Mr. Kohler liked 

their philosophy and jargon. He called his book “Gidget”, 

meaning girl midget, the surfers’ nickname for his daughter. 

20

T 

The Beach Scene 

Tracks Magazine 1971 John Witzig 

he crews hang at various places. At the tunnel, the second 

ramp, the first ramp, the rocks near the end of the beach, 

and at the baths. There are younger kids at the tunnel. They 

are swollen in numbers because it’s hot and it’s nearly 

holidays. They’re young and stoked and they haven’t yet 

acquired specific characteristics like the other groups. Or if 

they have they’re keeping quiet about it so far. 

Bondi gets good in winter. A lot of waves and the crowds 

are not bad. In summer it’s the most populated bit of beach in 

the country. From the harsh dawn there are joggers and 

strollers and sitters and swimmers. There are hundreds of kids 

that walk out of the wilderness with a board under an arm and 

a towel in a hand and sunburn cream on a nose. On those 

summer weekends it’s glary at six o’clock and the sun is hot 

when it’s an inch above the horizon. The kids pull on their 

shorts, squint at the good peak that’s formed in the south 

corner, look around for someone’s wax. Old men do Yoga 

amongst the rocks. Joggers jog out of the hills and along the 

concrete promenade. And the surfers hit the peak, and it’s 

crowded by seven o’clock. 

There are a lot of people. They go by one another without 

recognition. In the water, despite the crowds, there isn’t a 

fierce competitiveness. There are too many people for that 

somehow. They withdraw to their own worlds. The simple 

facts of survival ensure a respect and consideration that is 

implied mostly, and almost carelessly. 

Brad Mayes is one of a lot of good surfers at Bondi. He 

hangs mostly at the second ramp. His surfing shows traces of 

Ted Spencer, perhaps the littlest bit of Nat, and it’s probably 

representative of the strongest group at Bondi. There are


influences from the Wilderness community at Yamba and the 

characteristics aren’t any sort of turn or cutback. They are 

more basic versatility and adaptability. The waves they ride 

have sorted that out. It’s good surfing and Bondi surfers 

handle any place pretty well. They formed a club called East 

Coast last winter. One of the reasons was that they’d be able to 

take the young kids away on trips. They have not done that 

yet, but they’ve won a few contests and they’ve had a split in 

the ranks. The Fords pulled out of the club because they 

didn’t think that they were getting enough out of it. They’re 

called the Reformers. They didn’t get all that stoked about the 

social turns and the kegs that blew some of the club bread. 

And you don’t make it with the Fords if you’ve got a 

girlfriend. 

There are four Ford brothers and five or so others that 

are pretty tight. Most weekends they hit Narrabeen. It stands 

out immediately in the quick arm swinging turn cutback. 

When they’re at Bondi they hang at the baths. And sometimes 

they wear coloured singlets while they’re surfing. When they 

wore them at Angourie it didn’t show too much insight into 

the vibe of the place. They go northside in a white Kombi 

that’s got McCoy stickers and ‘Northie forever’ written on it. 

They look alike and they surf alike and they take some of the 

young kids places that they wouldn’t otherwise get to go. It’s 

three or four hundred yards from the second ramp to the 

Baths. Clashes at Bondi have their own restrained sort of 

style. 

The Fords ride McCoys with the rest of Narrabeen. Brad 

just bought a chined Hayden from Spider and Garry, at Robert 

Conneeley’s surf shop. For the moment there’s no one shop 

that’s the fashionable thing. There are a lot of backyard boards 

and some of them aren’t very good, but no one seems to care 

too much. There is a sprinkling of Shanes, Astro Boy rides one, 

and Wayne Williams rides a board he made himself. Young 

Brock, who’s the artist of the second ramp, rides a Wilderness. 

Naturally. 

Smaller groups of surfers gather at spots along the wall 

22

23 

The Beach Scene 

and on the sloping grass above the beach. It’s not too 

different to any other beach. Except, Bondi has its own brand 

of person and surfer. He’s a product of the density of 

population. There are so many kids who live within ten 

minutes of the beach. To get along, they have to be 

resourceful, and they have their own kind of detached 

consideration. And when you watch the surfers in the water 

you realise how good they are. The locally grown product of 

the most concrete metropolitan beach in the country is pretty 

hot. They get more waves than most people realise. As many 

as anyone who consistently surfs a home beach. They know 

its mood and the hour when it’s likely to be good. In winter 

they’re happy to hang at home. The water south is cold, and 

for short weekend trips, when they go, it’s south. They haven’t 

preached the Southern Trip and so far it’s untouched by the 

media. Some of them think that the southside generally has 

had a bad time from the magazines. That it hasn’t got the 

recognition that it deserves. Others sense that that’s the best 

thing about it. 

Bondi’s got nothing much going for it. It’s a product of 

the worst absence of environmental planning in history. It’s 

garlanded by sewerage outlets to the north and to the south, 

and every time the rain tries to wash the beach into the sea the 

Council get their bulldozer out and fixes things up. If they left 

it alone, the bank in the south corner would probably be 

much better, much more. 

Over population makes the summer weekends 

nightmares. They are gross in the worst possible way. The kids 

recognise it, dislike it, and put up with it. And they carry this 

discipline into their surfing. Somehow, out of it, with the 

normal number of casualties, has come a group of surfers with 

an extraordinary basic strength. As individuals, their surfing is 

balanced and straight. As a group they’re not overbearing. 

Bondi’s got nothing much going for it but its kids.

The Beach Inspector 

D 

uring the 1960s and 1970s, the wholesome tradition of 

surf club membership was steadily losing its appeal to 

the younger generation. Empowered by the short board 

revolution, local kids bypassed the surf clubs to enjoy the 

board-riding lifestyle instead. The Nippers program was set up 

to counteract the decline in club memberships. But, the 

popularity of surfing continued to grow and the clubbies had 

to take it on the chin. But, regimes seldom change without 

some diehards resisting until the bitter end. And so it was with 

one fearsome Beach Inspector, who took it upon himself to 

police the division of North and South Bondi, as though an 

ideological principal hung in the balance. 

Recently, the Beach Inspector’s name appeared on 

Facebook, where a slew of derogatory comments flowed thick 

and fast. Here are some of those comments: 

“I can remember us paddling out to the boat shed and 

running in different directions to escape. He used to harass 

the shit out of us, if we jumped in before the flags were down. 

Unfortunately, he knew where we lived. So, if he couldn’t 

catch us, he would try to get dad to hand over our boards. We 

had a history of disregarding the rules, well, their rules, as well 

as using offensive language. He could never catch us. But, 

bugger, he knew where we lived.” 

Mark Coleman 

“We paddled all the way to the south end, as he walked along 

the sand following us. We just hung in the crowd out the back 

until he left. It was a long paddle, but we laughed all the way!” 

Richard Feyn


“I jumped off the rocks at South Bondi, one day, and found 

the surf was picking up as the tide was dropping. It was so 

sucky and scary that I paddled north to get in. I saw Johnno 

walking towards the shoreline, where I was headed, about the 

middle of the beach. So, when I caught a wave, I gutted it all 

the way, thinking he wouldn't take my board, as I wasn't 

actually surfing; just trying to save my own life by getting in 

where the waves were smaller. But, no. He still took my 

board. No ifs, no buts! Two weeks was the penalty.” 

26 

Michael Zaracostas 

“The Beach Inspector’s confiscation book reads like an 

honour roll of Bondi board riders and yes, the infamous 

Coleman brothers hold the distinction of three siblings listed 

at different times. I believe I read “cheeky” noted against your 

entry Marcus! Surprise, surprise! But, haven't times changed! 

There are a lot of boardriders amongst the lifeguards these 

days. I'd like to think I escaped a shit reputation in my time on 

the beat. A few of my colleagues over the years had a 

tendency towards being 'beach cops' rather than focusing on 

the big picture, water safety and first aid.” 

Lawrie Williams 

“He confiscated my pushie for riding on the promenade … 

made me feel like I’d murdered someone!!” 

Craig Robinson

W 

The Hill Crew 

e evolved from the original Hill Crew of Brad Mayes, 

Steve Corrigan, Bruce Raymond, Paul Manstead, Kevin 

Brennan and Gary Bostock. When we took over the hill from 

those guys, there'd be about 70 boards sprawled all over the 

place. Just down from us, the Wall Crew, they'd have all their 

boards leaned up against the wall. That was the Webber 

brothers and the private school kids. And down past them 

was the Rock Crew. They'd all be bronzing up, caring more 

about how they looked than surfing. Everyone wanted to be 

part of the Hill Crew. But, you couldn't just infiltrate the 

group. If anyone walked up the hill, they had to have a reason. 

So, if they weren't with the crew, you'd pelt them with milk 

cartons. 

Cheyne Horan 

The scene of the crime


28

A 

Panache 

Surfing World 1975 Bruce Channon 

t last year’s Newcastle contest, in the Junior and Senior 

finals, Panache filled seven of the 12 places. They won 

first place in the A-Grade, B-Grade and Junior at the New 

South Wales State Titles. During these titles, Peter Townend told 

Ron Ford, that; in his opinion, the junior strength of Panache 

represented a future threat to the recent Queensland 

dominance of Australian events. In this interview, SW seeks to 

find out how this group of surfers have become so hot, so 

fast. 

Surfing World: What is Panache? 

Victor Ford: It’s an idea that started between Bruce 

Raymond, Brad Johnson and myself. We were in North 

Narrabeen (club) at the time, but weren’t competing in the 

contests regularly enough and because of that, we didn’t feel 

like proper members. We wouldn’t join East Coast (the club in 

Bondi), because of personality reasons. So, we thought, let’s 

start our own club, … because they won’t let you go in the 

Sydney Titles, etc. unless you’re in a club. 

SW: What about the word “Panache”? 

Victor: It came out of a book I was reading at the time. I had 

to look it up in Chambers Dictionary, which is the 300,000 word 

one. It gives a good explanation. I can’t recall it exactly, but it 

basically means “an air of excellence” and “to perform with 

theatrical grace”. It’s a really groovy name (much heckling and 

laughing throughout the room). 

Brad Mayes: Don’t put that bit in the interview (more laughs). 

SW: How many guys did you have to begin with? 

Victor: It started off with 12 kids. But, we had to have 15 to


be recognised as a club. So, we got a few more. It was 

basically just to go into individual contests, if you wanted to. 

Then, we realised we had a lot of good surfers. So, they went 

in last year’s Teams Titles, in May or June, and they came 3rd in 

the A-Grade. We thought, well, we’ve got something, let’s try 

and work with it. Like, it started off as a joke really, just a 

convenience. We originally decided not to have officials or 

meetings or any of that bull — we thought we’d just have a 

club. Unfortunately, the club business has gotten a little out of 

control. Now, we’re getting stickers. We’ve got a Chairman. 

Brad Johnson is Public Relations (laughs) ... 

Kurt Russell: ... and Treasurer! 

Someone else: ... and Real Estate Agent (much laughter). 

Victor: We found that these idealistic clubs sound very nice, 

but they just can’t work without some kind of organisation. 

SW: It’s not an open membership club though? 

Victor: No. You can’t just join the club. You’ve got to be 

invited. You’ve got to have five people invite you. Then, you 

come down and the whole club has to accept you, 

unanimously. This is to keep it small, tight and just kids who 

can stand each other. 

SW: Do many people get upset because they can’t join it? 

Victor: No, I’ve had a lot of people approach me, but I don’t 

think anyone’s been resentful when they’ve been refused. At 

the moment, I’m forming another club down here, separate 

from Panache, so the other Bondi kids can go in the South-side 

Eliminations. There’s already about 20 kids interested and I’ve 

little doubt that it’ll soon swell to 50 or so. But, I don’t think 

anybody resents Panache. I mean, as a club, and as a group of 

blokes who think they’re better than anyone else, I don’t think 

anyone thinks of it like that. I know a lot of people who 

would like to get into it. That’s expected. But, that’s good for 

the club also, because it’ll make sure the kids in the club stay 

at a reasonable standard. I know that within the club itself, 

there’s a lot of competition, which is to be expected with a 

group of good riders. It keeps them on their toes. I just hope 

30

31 

Panache 

it doesn’t develop into bad feelings. But, I think we can keep it 

under control. 

SW: Do you think being in a competitive club is essential to getting 

better? 

Victor: Well, I haven’t seen anyone do it, lately, who hasn’t 

been in a club. 

SW: Brad, you’ve really had a change lately, from being up at Angourie 

for two years and then corning back to this tight group atmosphere. How 

have you found it? 

Brad M: Well, I’ve got that way that surfing’s just so much a 

part of my life that up there, I didn’t need contests and the 

like, to do my surfing. But, back here you tend to be drawn 

away from it because there’s heaps of other things to do. 

Being a part of this club keeps you surfing, it keeps you out 

there every day. So this, plus the fact that the guys in this 

room here are the guys I surf with every day, made me want 

to be in on it. 

Victor: When Brad first came back from Angourie, I don’t 

know if it was just readjusting to the bad surf, but he couldn’t 

handle it. However, since he’s been back a while, his surfing’s 

improved out of sight. 

Brad Johnson: Do you reckon you went stale up there, Brad? 

Brad M: Oh yeah, for sure. 

Victor: You could really notice the difference. Like, if you saw 

Brad when he first came back, and you saw him now, he’s just 

twice the surfer. 

An obscure voice in the background: Yeah, now he can 

stand up. (Uncontrollable laughing). 

SW: Environment wise, Bondi is a cesspool. How do you guys handle it? 

Brad J: We’ve grown up with it. 

Victor: We’ve just gotten used to it. Everybody’s aware of the 

pollution. We’d all like to do something about it, and we 

would if we could, but like all surfers, I think we’re all a little 

bit too complacent. 

Brad M: In winter, when you wake early, there’s a westerly 

blowing, you come down here and there’s good waves — it’s


nice enough. If you can surf here at least once a day, the 

whole pressure of what’s behind you there (points towards the 

mass of buildings and traffic) goes off you. If you can go out and 

pick off a good wave, you can live here. 

SW: But really, how dirty is the water down here? 

Brad J: I don’t think there’s a guy here who’s never had either 

ear infection, flu, gastric or something, as a direct result of the 

water. 

Steve Corrigan: This may sound insane, but it’s true. A guy, I 

know, knew a person who had tinea on his feet. He swam in 

the pool at North Bondi and he ended up having to get his 

feet amputated, they got so badly infected. 

Brad J: When it’s blowing south-east here, you get a film or 

smell off the top of the water, it gets in your eyes, and makes 

them sting and water, and when you take a deep breath, your 

chest seems to cloud. 

Brad M: On a good rainy day, it looks like a glassed-off 

North Coast wave, except it’s not river pollution, it’s sh.. . 

Steve: That’s why sharks don’t come here. They’re afraid 

they’ll die. 

Brad J: But, sometimes it’s not so bad. 

Victor: Yeah, I remember once, you could even see the 

bottom. 

Bruce Channon: (I laugh, thinking it was a joke, but then realise 

everyone else took it seriously). 

SW: Getting back to actual wave riding, there are basically two schools 

of surfing; the style and positioning school, and the lip-rigging full-on 

manoeuvre school. Which do you guys lean towards? 

Brad M: We’ve got both styles here. 

Victor: Yeah, like, we have Steve Corro and Ronny, who are 

radical and on the other side, we’ve got Colin Sutherland and 

Brad who are smooth. 

Brad M: And Gluefoot (Steve Gibson) is a positioning surfer. 

SW: Do you guys have proper contests between yourselves or other clubs? 

Victor: No. We’ve only had one with Cronulla. 

SW: But you’re not going to have a contest between yourselves? 

32

33 

Panache 

Brad M: No. 

Victor: Well, some people in the club would like to. But, 

every time it comes up at a meeting, there’s been mixed 

feelings. I, myself, don’t think the kids need it, because they’re 

in other contests so often, and they’re all so contestorientated. 

Ron Ford: We virtually have a contest every time we go out 

in the surf. (a jumble of voices confirm that they are continually pushing 

each other to improve all the time.) 

Victor: What we’ve also discussed is having club expression 

sessions, where we all pile into cars, go down the coast 

somewhere, get into a good surf, take it in turns — three in 

the water at a time and film it. Then, when we come back, we 

can all look at it carefully and figure it out. Anybody else like 

to answer some questions? My throat’s getting sore. 

SW: What are your thoughts on professional surfing? 

Victor: Money corrupts. That’s been proven right through 

history. However, for people who like to surf, and to support 

surfing as a whole, money’s probably needed. For example, 

surfboard design couldn’t have progressed to the extent it has, 

if you didn’t have shops paying professional surfers. For 

design progression, and even in what kids are going to do on a 

wave, you really need that financial support. 

Brad M: I think the guys over here are on a whole different 

circuit to North-side guys, in that here, we’re surrounded by 

an everyday working element, and the guys that do surf are a 

tight group. I think a lot of us consider it now as a sport. It’s a 

part of our lives, but it’s a sport thing, an athletic thing, too, 

because you have to keep healthy and fit to go in contests. 

When I learnt to shape, manufacturers were prepared to teach 

you. But, that doesn’t happen anymore. If kids go in contests, 

they might be able to get a chance in the surfing industry that 

way. 

SW: What about the Bondi surfing crowds? 

(The answer is a large spontaneous moan). 

Victor: The biggest crowd is right in this room (much laughing).


Brad M: To tell you the truth, when it is big, we get it to 

ourselves. 

Victor: But when it’s small and good, it’s just ridiculous. 

Everybody out gets hit and run over. 

Brad M: But, the crowds come in bursts. They’re not here all 

the time. 

Steve: There’s three main groups. There’s the Bronte blokes, 

the Tamarama blokes and the Bondi blokes. Bronte doesn’t 

break any more and Tamarama, you can only surf at certain 

times in the afternoon. So, they all come over here. Plus the 

blokes from the Western Suburbs. 

SW: Brad, you were in Windansea when it existed here years ago. Does 

Panache bear any resemblance? 

Brad M: It’s along the same lines, but Windansea was a really, 

sort of boosted thing. It was the same originally, in that it was 

tight. But, then it opened up and took in people from all over, 

and that’s what killed it, in a way. So, I think the idea of 

having only 18 guys is good. Also, I don’t like the idea of 

having contests among ourselves, because at the moment the 

atmosphere is good. If you start having contests every month, 

bad feelings might develop and let’s face it, you’re only in it 

for the fun. 

Victor: It is good. This is probably the tightest Bondi’s been 

as a group in years. Another reason why all these formerly 

split factions have tightened, is that we feel, as a beach, that 

we’ve been missed out a lot, in both representation at contests 

and by the Media. Before this interview, it’s been dabbled at a 

couple of times, but nothing comprehensive, just a light touch 

on the surface. 

SW: There have always been good surfing clubs appearing at Bondi from 

time to time. Brad you probably know all about the “Cornell Wilde” 

crew, etc? 

Brad M: Yeah, my father (Jack “Bluey” Mayes) was in that. 

Then, there were clubs like South Bondi Boardriders, Windansea, 

etc. 

Victor: They’ve always sprung up, but, unfortunately, they’ve 

34

35 

Panache 

always gone back down again. We’re hoping to keep it up this 

time. 

Brad M: It always goes back to the same thing. Some parents 

say to their kids that you’ve surfed in your younger days, but 

now you’ve grown up, you’d better start falling into your 

career for the future, and that’s what I think is one of the 

problems that causes these groups to part. 

Victor: Well, it’s the Australian way of life. You do so many 

things until you’re 15, so many things until you’re 18, different 

things until you’re 21, then after that you settle down, get 

married, and give up everything, except drinking (everyone 

laughs). 

Kurt: Join the Icebergs (room erupts into laughing). 

Brad M: But, none of that matters, if you keep to your main 

track. 

Victor: The attitude of surfers, in general, has changed. I 

know the attitude of kids here is not that surfing’s something 

you give up when you turn 21. I don’t think you get too old to 

surf at 30 or 40. You should just get more experienced. If you 

become inflexible, it’s because of your diet and exercise 

problems. 

Brad M: I think the Senior Mens one day is going to be it. 

Victor: If we take Hawaii as an example, it will for sure. Most 

of the Hawaiians that I saw getting into sizeable waves were 

the men, not the kids. 

Brad M: People over there probably hang in there longer 

because of the money thing. If you’re good, you get paid, 

whereas here, you’ve got to battle. 

Victor: But, this professionalism will happen here. 

Brad M: But, it’ll only be for a select few. 

Victor: Well, that’s professionalism all over. For example, 

there must be millions of golfers in the world, but there’s 

only, say, 140, who make top money from it. So, because the 

surfing population isn’t nearly that many, you’ve got to expect 

the number at the top to be a lot less also. It’s up to ourselves, 

though, how we present, or deliver, the sport, or art, or


whatever it is, to the public. This is what will govern its 

progression. 

SW: Here’s the old “standard” question: Is it a sport or an art? 

Victor: To me it’s an art, nothing less. 

Bruce Raymond: It’s art. 

Victor: You’ve got to sell it as a sport, but underneath it’s an 

art. 

Brad M: I think on a normal day’s surfing, you like to look at 

it as an “arty” thing. But, when contests are coming, you 

definitely turn the other way. That’s why I don't think there’s 

any difference between art and sport. It’s whatever you make 

it in your own mind. 

Victor: If there’s ever a time when sport and art combine, 

then surfing is that time. Gymnastics and some other sports 

come close. But, surfing would be first. 

Bruce: It’s the intensity of it. 

Victor: Yeah, right. It’s the concentration and total effort. 

Like all the kids here, on some mornings, will surf for three or 

four hours in a session, then do the same in the afternoon as 

well. But, they go in a contest, and in just two heats, 20 

minutes each, they come home and they’re exhausted. They 

just flake. I think this is because the demand on them to 

concentrate is so much more intense. On a normal day, it’s 

relaxation. If you fall, it’s no worry. Just swim in to your 

board. But, in a contest, it’s 20 minutes of full-on 

concentration. You’ve got to pull off manoeuvres and they’ve 

got to be precise. Most people don’t think you see the best 

surfing in competitions. But, I disagree. I reckon you do. 

Brad M: When you see Lennox on a 12 foot day, mate, that’s 

when you’ll change. 

Victor: In a contest, the end result may not look as good, 

because they probably lose a lot through nervousness. But, 

they catch that up in concentration. It makes them think 

about their surfing, and helps them improve. 

SW: Ron, do you feel you surf better in a contest? 

Ron: No, I’m scared stiff. When I first go out, I’m really 

36

37 

Panache 

shook up. But, if I can get a good wave straight off, then I’ll 

start to loosen up. Like in every contest before the NSW Title 

that I won, I used to think, for example, I’ve got Simon 

Anderson and Dappa and so I used to aim at coming third. 

But, then I was talking with Steve Jones and he said you 

should always push for first. At the time, I thought, well, that’s 

being a bit of a head. But, it’s not. He’s right. You have to go 

for first, to come anywhere. Every time I went in the water in 

the State contest, I aimed at first and it worked. I was lucky 

enough to win. 

SW: Did you surf better in that final than you normally surf? 

Ron: No, I was too shaken up. One time, I went for a cutback 

and my legs just turned to jelly. Normally, I would have made 

it. But, I was thinking about what would happen if I fell off. 

So, I did. 

Victor: Same as Brad. His nerves hamper him. There’s only 

one person in the room that really excels himself in contests 

and that’s Bruce Raymond. He just loosens up. Steve Jones 

gets really nervous. But, he knows how to contain it and he’s a 

really good contest surfer. But, Corro here (Steve Corrigan), he’s 

just hopeless. He’s so nervous, it’s ridiculous. 

SW: Do you agree, Corro? 

Steve: Yeah. But, the last one (State Titles) wasn’t so bad. I 

conditioned myself better, mentally. I could see all the other 

finalists on the beach psyching each other out. So, I just 

stayed clear of it and tried to surf positive, not to get nervous. 

Victor: Another really important point there, too, Bruce, is if 

they can get it together in a contest, if they can learn to 

control the pressure, to discipline themselves, then their 

surfing is doing so much more for them than being an art, a 

sport, a distraction and a release. It’s mental training. It’ll 

make you a better person, because what you’re talking about 

here is a form of fear, and it’s going to be the same as when 

you’re surfing big waves, or driving a car, or handling any 

situation in life. 

SW: Didn’t a lot of you guy used to surf Narrabeen every weekend?


Brad J: Yeah. Going right back to the start, I remember the 

first time we went over, everyone was so completely blown 

out by the waves and the standard of surfing there. It was 

much more advanced than Bondi. We couldn’t believe it. 

From that time on, Victor made a study of it and Panache 

developed from that. 

Victor: What happened was Bondi was having a particularly 

terrible run of surf, at the time. It was frustrating beyond all 

belief. 

Brad M: That’s also when there was a bad split in 

communication down here. 

Victor: Yeah, everything here was just wrong: the surf, the 

club and everything. We were fanatical surfers at the time. We 

just wanted to get as much surf as we could. We used to get 

up at 4.30 am to go over to Narrabeen. Eleven of us would 

pile into the combi. We used to see Wicka hurrying over in his 

slippers, he’d see the combi coming and he’d break into a jog, 

throw off his clothes, rip on a wetsuit and sprint for the water. 

I think when we first went there, we were resented, and you 

can’t blame anyone for that. There were so many of us. 

Brad J: I really used to get blamed for being the first guy to 

take everyone over. 

Victor: Anyway, we’d surf in the morning. Then, they’d hold 

the contest and we used to just stay out of the water and 

watch. That was when Mark Warren and Dappa were juniors. 

They were so red hot, it wasn’t funny. Col was always there. 

Midget used to go sometimes. Nat and Drouyn every once in 

a while. Fitz and Harvey. There was so much good surfing 

going on there on the one beach. Every day, it was just great 

to watch. 

SW: What caused the “communication split” that existed between the 

surfing here (Bondi)? Was it different social lives? 

Brad M: Yeah, they were totally different. But, now 

everyone’s a bit older and they’re leaving each other alone. We 

were all younger then, and were putting each other down for 

living differently. 

38

39 

Panache 

Victor: We were really fanatical. Like, this sounds crazy now, 

but we had a rule that no girlfriends could go over to 

Narrabeen with us, because a chick would take up the place of 

another surfer. 

SW: You’re not serious? 

Victor: I am! I said to Bruce Raymond, just recently, how 

much we’ve changed over the years. Like, Robert has now got 

a girlfriend with a car. There was a time when he’d have been 

in disgrace if, in a week, he hadn’t organised racks for her car, 

loaded half his mates in, and figured out how he could leave 

her behind. We bought the combi specifically to pile up with 

kids and hit Narrabeen. We were trying to expand the outlook 

for kids over here. Beforehand, we’d almost written off Bondi 

as ever having good surfers again. But, I think that Bondi’s as 

good as it is now, simply because we went to Narrabeen. We 

started improving because of that, and in doing so, forced the 

other groups here to either get better or get out. 

Brad M: I got out. 

Victor: But, he’s back, and he’s in it now and he’s in it at our 

level. Like before, there were social surfers and hard core 

surfers. Now, Brad’s back here, but not as a social surfer. His 

attitude is more professional. 

Brad J: Mark Warren was telling me, the other day, that North 

Narrabeen had a contest in 8-foot waves. It worked right up to 

the final, but everyone either went off and played basketball or 

they went up the pub. They just said, stick the final, and Mark 

was left sitting on the beach. 

Victor: I think we got better, because we were in Narrabeen. 

But, I think the Northy kids would get better now, if they 

were with us. The push, enthusiasm, competition, whatever 

they had then, is here now and we’re going to try and keep it 

here, force each other to improve and hold it at that 

progressing level. Clubs normally get bigger, get more social, 

then die. 

SW: What can you do to stop that? I think most clubs start out with 

this “tight group” plan. But, it always seems to fail.


Steve C: We hope to keep recirculating members. 

Victor: You see, you can get voted out of this club. If 10 

members vote against you, you’re out. 

Brad M: I didn’t know all this, sounds like the Communists. 

Victor: The idea is that, eventually, all the kids in this club 

won’t be good enough for it. There’ll be hotter kids forcing 

them out. This is way off in the future when arthritis, or 

whatever, sets in. But, it’ll happen, if everything doesn’t fold. 

SW: Do you really think that you can prevent Panache from folding, for 

example, in a few years, when this group of guys drift apart? 

Victor: Yeah, because we’ve seen what’s happened in the 

downfall of a million other clubs. You’ve got to keep that 

spirit of enthusiasm going, and also the competition amongst 

themselves at a level where it won’t crush the club because of 

inflated egos. At the moment, we’re on a good thing. We’ve 

been doing well. We haven’t been pushing it yet. But, we will 

be from now on. For example, doing this interview is good. 

When the magazine comes out with photos of Panache, you’ll 

make stars of these kids and the other kids on the beach will 

look up to them. They’ll expect big things of Panache, and it’ll 

make Panache a group they’ll want to get into. When that 

happens, it’ll put pressure on these kids here. More than that, 

it’ll put a responsibility on these kids to surf better, to surf up 

to the demands of the not-so-good riders. 

SW: But, that’s what happens every year to individuals and to clubs and 

that’s when it seems everyone fizzes out. 

Victor: Right. But, if they fizz, someone will take their place, 

and the people who’ll replace them will have to be good, so 

the club will progress. Take this group here. I can keep it 

going as long as the people here can keep themselves going. 

As long as I can boost their egos and push their surfing, they’ll 

improve. And I’ll push them as far as they can get, because I 

want to see these kids get there. I want to see them make it. 

Brad M: Yeah, Bondi’s had it rough. It’s never had publicity. 

Victor: But, I’m not just thinking of Bondi. I want to see 

these kids do it. I’ll try and push them to a level, where they 

40

41 

Panache 

will be as good as they can possibly get and to the point where 

they can make most out of it. Then, it’s up to them. 

SW: Do you think that better surfers should try to put forward a good 

image? 

Victor: Young surfers do look up to all the older good 

surfers. I’ve noticed kids looking up to this group lately and 

it’s not just me that’s seen this, lots of people have told me the 

same. Whether they like it or not, upon becoming a top surfer, 

they have that responsibility to the younger kids. They’re 

going to be actually influencing those people’s lives. Look 

back on the “Animal” era. A lot of people took on that image, 

that attitude, and it was so bad for surfing that we’re still 

having repercussions from it. Surfers are now asking sponsors 

for money. To get it, you have to show these people that you 

have some kind of responsibility. They won’t give you a lot of 

money, if they think that you’re just going to go and blow it. 

To do this you have got to keep that professional attitude. 

You have to be presentable. In Panache, we’re trying to keep 

that level up. What you do outside, what you do in your 

private life, doesn’t matter. But, when you’re representing 

Panache, when you’re operating in surfing, you’ve got a 

responsibility to yourself, to the people who look up to you 

and to surfing in general. I feel that surfing is just beginning to 

move out of its infant stages. If it’s going to develop, we’ll 

have to realise this responsibility and act in relation to it.


Harry “Salty” Nightingale and Frankie “The Blade” Griffiths 

42

D 

Salty 

ad was one of the original solid board-riders, surfing 

Bondi in the mid-to-late 1920s. He had been inspired by 

the board Duke Kahanamoku shaped in 1915, on his first visit 

to Australia. The Duke arrived without a board. So, he carved 

one, using the local sugar pine. Harry carved his board to The 

Duke’s specifications, 10ft in length, weighing 100lbs. 

With his wingman, Frankie “The Blade” Griffiths, he’d 

surf off the boat-shed at North Bondi, riding “green walls” 

right to the beach. The most difficult part of the wave was the 

close-out shore-break, where they’d throw themselves across 

the deck of the board, wrapping themselves around it, before 

going “over-the-falls”, hanging on for dear life. Madness, yes. 

But, imagine losing control of a 100lb solid beam that could 

knock your head clean off! They were often chased away by 

Stan McDonald, Bondi’s first Beach Inspector. So, they’d surf 

the south end, which was a favourite spot for them in winter, 

because it was protected from the prevailing SW winds. 

They had many shark encounters. In those days, huge 

schools of salmon would attract sharks into the bay. 

Fishermen often caught “tigers” in the deep gutter that runs 

alongside the rocks at the north end. They called it: “Shark 

Alley”. Whenever they hooked a shark, someone would lasso 

its tail and then, with the help of a few onlookers, they’d 

pull the thrashing monster ashore. This practice was stopped 

as surf swimming grew in popularity. 

Dad made a modest living, teaching swimming at Bondi 

Baths. But, he had many famous friends, including Peter 

Lawford, Peter Finch, Donald Friend, Rolf Harris and Sir 

Frank Packer. He also taught many famous people, including 

Margaret Whitlam, who became an accomplished back-


stroker. His expertise took him to the Berlin Olympics, where 

he coached the Australian Swim Team. He actually saw 

Adolph Hitler refuse to shake hands with Jesse Owens. 

In the 40s, Dad went to Ceylon, where he introduced and 

fostered the surf lifesaving movement. He met my Mum, Zoe, 

and romance bloomed. They married in 1949 and came to live 

in Bondi, where the family grew. His association with surf 

lifesaving continued into his 60s, coaching several Australian 

Title winning teams, and eventually earning a place in the Surf 

Life Saving Hall of Fame. 

Harry Nightingale, Jnr. 

44

Bondi’s first larrikin 

This article first appeared in B’nai B’rith bulletin in July, 1955, under 

the title: “Barnett Levey: First Jew in Bondi”. 

W 

By Bro. Dr. George F. J. Bergman 

hat was Bondi like in 1833? Turning the pages of the 

N.S.W. Calendar of this year, I found the description of 

a “bush walk” from Macquarie Place in the City to Bondi 

Beach. 

There was no Central Synagogue, neither were there flat 

houses there: but “some good specimens of weeping birch are 

seen here which, when in bloom, are singularly beautiful. 

There are also specimens of zunika palm, also the fern tree, 

and on the right, in the bush—where the Shanghai Jews now 

live in Bronte flats—the fan palm commonly called the


cabbage tree may be found; a little further is a grassy spot 

indicated by the ruins of a house. The bays on this part of the 

coast, backed by barren rising ground, have something of a 

peculiar loneliness about them. The solemn roar of the 

breakers, the shiny shady beach, unmarked by human foot— 

and the low but beautiful shrubs make up a scene to be 

peopled by imagination. Botanists resort hither to view, in 

flower, many shrubs rarely to be met elsewhere”. 

Here we are! Bondi, the lonely botanical bush garden of a 

hundred and twenty years ago. The beaches never trodden by 

thousands of feet . . . a ruined house, that was all! 

The Calendar speaks also of a “bushroad, leading to a hill 

on which stands Levey’s tower, an octagonal obelisk, 

commanding an excessive view”, and “a quarter of a mile 

further we come to Waverley House, built by Mr. Barnett 

Levey”. 

Here Barnett Levey, first Jew 

in Bondi, and more or less the 

first permanent inhabitant of this 

suburb lived in a marvellous 

home which for many years 

formed the attraction of the 

district. And he even 

foreshadowed the great builders 

of the great flat houses of the 

twentieth century, because we 

read also in the Calendar: 

“Adjoining is Waverley Crescent, 

a range of cottages projected by 

Mr. Levey, but of which only 2 

or 3 are completed”. 

Who was Barnett Levey and what kind of a man was he? 

Barnett Levey was an English Jew and a free settler. It was 

in 1817 that we first hear of him, and at this time, although 

only 19 years of age, he was already a perfect businessman. 

His brother, Solomon Levey, who was one of the greatest 

46

47 


merchants in the city and partner of the renowned banker and 

general merchant Daniel Cooper, bought in 1817 for the price 

of £400 a property at 72 George Street which was then called 

“Sergeant-Majors Row”, as many Non-Commissioned officers 

lived in this street. Solomon sold this property in the same 

year, 1817, to Barnett. This is the property on which Dymocks 

Building stands today. 

Barnett opened there a store and established himself as 

General Merchant, selling not only tobacco, sugar, tea and, of 

course, spirits, but also providing spiritual nourishment by 

selling books and prints. 

The business flourished well and in 1826/27 he erected a 

warehouse behind the store. He called it “Colchester 

Warehouse”. It was an imposing five storey building, the plans 

of which had been designed by Sydney’s leading architect, the 

convict Francis Greenway. 

He also built there a flourmill and Colchester House was 

topped with a windmill which provided the power for the 

flourmill. 

He then had the store remodelled as a hotel —the Hotel 

Royal—for which he obtained a license. 

His fortune seemed to be made. 

It was at this time that he built his residence on the corner 

of what is now known as Old South Head Road and Pine 

Avenue and called it “Waverley House” after the novels of Sir 

Walter Scott, his favourite author. It was a two storey building 

in pure Georgian Colonial style, in an elevated position, 

commanding the view of Sydney to the west and of the ocean 

to the east and surrounded by gardens. 

There is a reference to Waverley House in the “Sydney 

Gazette” which, one cannot doubt, caused widespread 

comment and amusement in those days. In the “Sydney 

Gazette” of October 15th, 1827, we read: 

“Mr. Barnett Levey, besides the erection of his frightfully 

lofty temple in town, is also building a handsome dwelling


house upon his estate on the South Head Road, within a 

few minutes from Bellevue. As soon as the house is 

finished, Mr. Levey intends erecting a church near his 

estate for the benefit of the neighbourhood in that 

direction”. 

This note, inserted probably by a practical joker, very 

soon found the appropriate answer. Two days later, the 

following “Letter to the Editor” was published in the 

“Gazette”:— 

“In this morning’s paper you make a great error. As far as 

your statement goes as to building on my little estate is 

true, but as to building a church is totally wrong. I think a 

grog shop would find more inside passengers on that 

Road. 

I am, Sir, your obedient servant, B. Levey.” 

The house was demolished in 1904, after it had served as 

a convent and subsequently as a school for destitute girls and 

later as a boy’s school. In 1924 a modern house, called 

“Eurangai” was built on this place. 

Barnett held open house in Waverley and in May 1828 he 

was broke. He had to borrow £4402 on the security of his 

famous mill. And in addition, through this mill, he had come 

into trouble with the Government. 

Levey must have had very good connections in 

Government circles as long as Macquarie and Sir Thomas 

Brisbane were Governors. He was, with Sir John Jamieson 

and the three first explorers of the Blue Mountains, the only 

person to whom land in this district had been granted before 

the general opening up of the area and the land sales there 

started. 

But under Brisbane’s successor, Governor Darling, the 

situation must have deteriorated very much and he must have 

fallen out of favour. The reason for it was that famous mill 

48

49 


and a letter concerned with it. 

We are in the year 1827 and in the time of the awakening 

of the Australian settler to national independence, of the 

revolt of the free settler against the tyranny of the Governors. 

This revolt was led by the lawyer William Wentworth, famous 

through his participation at the first crossing of the Blue 

Mountains in 1813 and later to be one of the greatest 

Australian statesmen. It was Wentworth, who in his first 

“free” and not Government inspired newspaper “The 

Australian”, seconded by Wardell’s “Monitor”, attacked the 

Government. 

It seems that many of Sydney’s Jews and Barnett Levey in 

particular took an active part in the agitation and in the open 

criticism of the Government which had started by the end of 

1826 approximately. The Jews were not afraid to speak up. 

The Jewish community of this time was by no means 

negligible. 

The first report of the York Street Synagogue, dated 1845, 

says that “in the years of 1827/28 the worldly conditions of 

the Hebrews in this colony had considerably improved for 

various reasons”. And it was then that a Mr, P. J. Cohen 

offered the use of his house for the first organised Jewish 

services. From different sources it is evident that the first 

Jewish congregation was founded in 1832 Mr. G. B. 

Montefiore being its first president. A temporary synagogue 

was used and called “Beth Tephilla”. 

But let us return to Barnett Levey and his mill. 

In Series 1, Volume XIII of the “Historical Records of 

N.S.W.”, I found a private despatch of Governor Darling of 

6th February, 1827, to the Under Secretary of State, Mr. Hay, 

in London, after whom, by the way, Mount Hay near 

Wentworth Falls in the Blue Mountains had been named. 

Here Darling opens his heart to his superior and writes:— 

“I have alluded to Mr. William Wentworth in some of my 

late letters, as appearing desirous to lead the public and


degrade the Government on all occasions; I cannot 

perhaps furnish a better proof than by sending the 

enclosed copy of a letter to the Attorney General, written 

in Mr. Wentworth’s hand, but signed by a person by the 

name of Levey, who is of the lowest class, having 

commenced erecting a windmill in the centre of the town 

of Sydney on ground to which he has no claim. The 

Attorney General was instructed to desire that he should 

desist, to which he sent the answer drawn up by Mr. 

Wentworth. The style and the tone of the letter speak for 

themselves”. 

The letter is indeed, impertinent enough. It is dated 30th 

January, 1827, addressed to Mr. W. H. Moore, Attorney 

General, and reads:— 

“It is not true that I have ever had any notice to 

discontinue the building of the mill on my premises, 

although it has been notorious to the Governor and the 

whole Colony that this building has now been in progress 

for upwards of nine months. The enclosed certificates 

from my neighbours, who are most interested in the 

abatement of this nuisance, if it be one, will shew they do 

not view it in this light; and I can only say that, if it be a 

nuisance, the Government windmill is an equal nuisance, 

and I will take care, shall meet with the same fate as mine. 

I decline furnishing you with the particulars of my title to 

the yard upon which the building is being erected. I 

believe it to be as good a title as any in the town, and I 

will take care to defend it, if it be sought to be impugned. 

If this notice had been given me in due time, I might have 

desisted. To desist now, would be next to ruin; and if the 

Government are really anxious about the lives of His 

Majesty’s subjects, as it pretended, let them pay for their 

default in not giving me notice sooner, and I will leave 

off. [signed] I am B. . . . . . B. Levey”. 

50

51 


No wonder that Governor Darling, depicted as 

“remaining hypersensitive to criticism” became enraged by 

this letter. 

But nothing happened and Governor Darling went very 

soon afterwards the way of most of the early Governors, back 

to England, into temporary disgrace. 

Although under the new Governorship of Sir Richard 

Bourke, Levey came into grace again, his finances did not 

improve. 

It was then that he conceived the idea of retrieving his 

shattered fortunes by establishing a theatre, the first 

permanent theatre in Australia. 

To finance this enterprise, he started with giving concerts. 

He obtained in June 1829, a license from the Governor to 

open a concert for vocal and instrumental music and for the 

performance of plays. Colonel Allen of the 57th Regiment 

gave him permission to use the Regimental Band at the first 

concert. 

Barnett gave several concerts in the “grand saloon” of his 

hotel. He was his own star artist and although his pathetic 

rendering of the still famous convict ballad “My Love has 

gone to Botany Bay” was loudly cheered, money came in very 

slowly. 

By May, 1830, his finances were desperate. Soon 

afterwards even the windmill was taken down. He then 

evolved a scheme to sell the “Royal Hotel” on the so-called 

“tontine system” under which, as the original subscribers to 

shares died off, the capital and interests accumulated in the 

hands of the survivors until the fortunate one who lived the 

longest owned all the property. However, although the 

impressive name of the grazier-magnate John MacArthur 

headed the list of the subscribers, the scheme flopped. The 

Hotel was eventually sold in auction in 1831 and Levey 

became a jeweller and watchmaker. 

But this indefatigable planner was by no means beaten. In 

1832 he popped up with a series of nice “At Homes” in the


Royal Hotel at which he induced 500 persons to take out 

modest subscriptions of 5 shillings towards establishing the 

theatrical venture so dear to his heart. At these “At Home” 

concerts he was again mostly his own actor and sang to nine 

songs at one evening, patriotic, sentimental and comical ones. 

And now he started in earnest on his theatre plans. He 

gathered a company of actors and prepared a temporary stage 

in the saloon of the hotel and in a shed at the rear of the 

building. The 26th December, 1832, may be regarded as the 

birthday of all legitimate drama in Australia. It was on this day 

that Barnett Levey opened his theatre with Douglas Jerrold’s 

play “Black-eyed Susan”. 

On 25th December, 1827, he inserted a notice in the 

“Sydney Herald” as follows:— 

“To the Poets of Australia. Barnett Levey offers a silver 

medal with a suitable inscription engraved thereon, for an 

approved opening address to be spoken on the first night 

of the Theatre Royal, Sydney, composed and written by a 

Native of the Colony and to be submitted for the 

approval to the Committee of Management who are 

gentlemen of talent and of the first respectibility”. 

In 1833 a licence was granted to Levey by Governor Sir 

Richard Bourke for instituting dramatic performances as a 

regular thing, with the restriction on that he would only 

perform such pieces as were licenced in England by the Lord 

Chamberlain. 

In the same year, 1833, Barnett Levey built the “Theatre 

Royal” on the land adjoining the hotel, a large handsome 

structure, seating nearly 1000 people in the pit, gallery and two 

tiers of boxes. Admission charges were 5/- for the dress 

circle, 4/- for the second circle, 3/- for the pit and 2/- for the 

gallery. 

Sydney had been starved of drama for so long that the 

theatre was crowded when it opened its doors on 5th 

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53 


October, 1833, to witness the opening performance of “The 

Miller and His Men”. 

Barnett Levey, surveying the scene, might well have 

believed that his troubles were over—but he was to be sadly 

disappointed. 

The newspapers with one accord, blasted the 

performance, declaring the feminine players “timid” and the 

males either “mouthed abominably” of “moving with a jerking 

stiffness”. The troubles increased when brawls broke out 

among the tough ex-convicts who frequented the gallery. 

A letter to the “Monitor” complained that the theatre was 

full of “unshaven, half-intoxicated filthy scoundrels” and the 

“Sydney Gazette” thundered about the “half-tipsy, halfstrumpet 

audience”. 

I cannot describe the troubles he had with his actors who 

went sometimes on strike, or went off on a drinking bout. 

They were a colourful and eccentric lot. And they had to be 

versatile. His leading Shakespearian was Conrad Knowles. In 

one evening he played Shylock, sang a duet “Pretty Polly 

Perkins” with Mrs. Jones, gave a comic recitation in broken 

English—that will say probably in Yiddish—and wound up 

the night’s work in playing the leading role in a bloodthirsty 

melodrama, “The Italian Brigand”. 

Despite squabbles with the players, financial crises and 

the blast of the critics who accused him of encouraging the 

“mass of debauchers and gaping idlers”, Levey battled on. 

In 1835 he lost control of the Theatre to six lessees, but a 

year later was back in control again. 

He kept the wolf from the door with a long series of 

bloodcurdling melodramas, including “The Wizard of the 

Moor”, “The Devil’s Ducat”, “The Spectre Bride”‘. “The 

Murder on the Hearth”, “The Shadowless Man” and many 

others. 

He was occasionally able to bask in vice-regal patronage, 

as Sir Richard Bourke several times honoured the theatre with 

his presence.


On October 1st, 1836, Levey could proudly advertise the 

appearance of the first London actress on the Australian stage, 

Mrs. Chester, straight from the hallowed boards of Drury 

Lane. 

At this time he was obviously still engaged in other 

enterprises, as the Minutes of the Australian Gaslight 

Company record that at a General Meeting of the 

shareholders held at the Royal Hotel on 29th June, 1836, 

Barnett Levey was appointed one of the directors of the 

Company. 

In April, 1837, he staged a “grand national and patriotic 

pageant” at which 40 members of the 4th Regiment “by the 

kind urbanity of Major England”, joined the cavalcade, rigged 

out as members of Napoleon’s Old Guard. 

But by now, although only 39, Barnett Levey was a sick 

and exhausted man, worn out by the interminable wrangles to 

make his theatre pay. 

The mass of complications proved too much for him. On 

October 2nd, 1837, he died, leaving a distressed widow and 

four young children. 

His widow closed the theatre for a week, then re-opened 

it and struggled on until March 22nd, 1838, when Sydney’s 

first theatre, the Theatre Royal of Barnett Levey closed its 

doors. It stood empty and deserted until it burnt down on St. 

Patrick’s Day of 1840. 

What were the Jewish connections of Barnett Levey and 

what position did he hold in the Jewish community of 

Sydney? About that we do not know very much, because the 

first records of the Sydney congregation date only from a time 

after his death. But there is hardly any doubt, that he was a 

member of the first congregation and took part in its religious 

and social life. His brother Isaac Levey—Solomon had 

returned to England—was a foremost member of the 

congregation and its president in 1854 and the family is still 

existing in Australia. The late Colonel A. W. Hyman, a wellknown 

personality in Sydney who, in the first volume of the 

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55 


Journals and Proceedings of the “Australian Jewish Historical 

Society”, published a short biography of Barnett Levey, was 

his great-grand-nephew, a great-grandson of Isaac Levey. 

I would like to close this lecturette with the testimonial 

which Mr. C. H. Bertie gave to Barnett Levey in his “Story of 

the Royal Hotel and the Theatre Royal”:— 

“Barnett Levey was a true pioneer. He possessed initiative 

and force and above all, he had the unquenchable courage 

which defied defeat and is only conquered by the hand of 

death. He was a little in advance of his time, otherwise his 

descendants today would number probably a baronetcy in 

the clan and a large rent role to support it”. 

And I may add to this appraisement of the “Father of the 

Australian Theatre” the words which were written quite 

recently in the “Sydney Morning Herald” when the person of 

his contemporary, the philanthropist J. G. Raphael, was 

remembered on the occasion of the demolition of his old 

house at 54 Young Street, Sydney:— “He was one of the 

many worthy Jews who came to this country in the early days 

and who made good”.


56

Bondi Stories, vol.1.

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