Skip to main content

121 Rose Street, Fitzroy, Victoria

121 Rose Street, Fitzroy, is where my great-grandfather, William Arthur Empey, was born in 1866. Nearly six years beforehand, Fitzroy was proclaimed the first suburb of Melbourne. Previously, the land of Fitzroy had belonged to the Woiwurrung tribe. 

Progressively over time, crown land and privately owned hectares of land were sold. They were broken up into smaller lots. The swamps and paddocks were developed. Buildings and roads were built. Fitzroy became surrounded by suburbs. It developed into an inner city of Melbourne.

In 1866, the juxtaposition of brick cottages, stone houses, terrace houses, and wood and tin-roof cottages interwove the diverse character of Fitzroy’s residents. Chimneys dotted the skyline. Wooden picket fences lined the unpaved footpaths. Roads were made of dirt with bluestone kerbs. Cast-iron gas street lamps lit the starry nights. Wooden stables stood at the back along unpaved lanes. 

Its people walked. They rode on horses. They sat in open-air and roofed carriages pulled by horses. Men wore top hats. Women wore dress hats. The unpleasant odour of horse manure lay where it dropped.

In 1905, ironfounders Anderson & Ritchie Pty Ltd set up shop. The property, situated at the corner of Rose and Young Streets, encompassed 121 Rose Street. Since then, the property was redeveloped into housing in 1994. 

Nowadays, the red brick building has a pitched tin roof and nine-square window frames. The name of the ironfounders is still embossed in black over white painted bricks. On the second floor, glass doorways open up to verandahs with black metal railings. Underneath, metal roller doors give cars access to garaged parking. 

The road and pavement are made of black bitumen. On the walkway, concrete lids provide access to underground cables. White painted lines mark the spot to park a car on the road. Overhead, electric lights and wires connect to the poles lining the streets. Metal signs display street names and road rules.

The last time I had driven down Rose Street, Fitzroy, was in the 1990s. I knew then, it would not have resembled the property of 1866.

Jennifer Empey

Bibliography

Popular posts from this blog

8 January 1969 Fires in Victoria. (Content Warning: May be Distressing)

On 8 January 1969, the temperature climbed to a century . Sixty miles per hour winds swirled in a west-northwesterly direction. Percy and Ivy, my grandparents, left Bookaar and travelled home to West Footscray. Outside of Geelong, they rattled along the Geelong-Melbourne highway and neared Lara. ‘Look at the dark black smoke, Perc,’ exclaimed Ivy. ‘Something must be wrong,’ said Percy. Sweat ran down his face. ‘Cars are turning back. There must be a fire.’ He made a U-turn and headed back in the direction they had come. They pulled up on the side of the road, got down low in the car, and covered themselves with the blanket. A knock at the driver’s window startled them. Percy peeled back the blanket and wound down the window. ‘Are you alright?’ said the policeman. ‘Yes, thank you. We are fine, said Percy. Ivy peered out from under the blanket. ‘The fire has moved on. You can move out now. Be careful! Electric wires have fallen along the road. Up ahead, a pole...

Panmure Cemetery Victoria

On the way to Warrnambool, I made a detour at Panmure. I was looking for the final resting place of my great-great-grandparents. I didn’t know so many Bants were buried there together. Imagine my surprise when I had driven past a dirt road named Bant St. [1] I turned off the highway in Panmure, the town where my granny, Ivy Bant, was born.  [2] I headed down a street, drove over a bridge up a hill, across the railway track and parked near the white wooden fence. I stepped onto the crushed bluestone path into Panmure Cemetery, which was surrounded by trees of different sizes. It was a dull, cloudy, cold day. My feet sloshed in the patchy wet grass, breaking the silence that prevailed. Near the entrance, I stood at a row of graves of my granny’s uncles. William and his wife had a stone slab with an engraved headstone. [3] William’s son, John, had a grave with an inscription etched in stone. [4] An orange-brown coloured headstone with a white painted wrought iron railin...

Vikings

The next season of the TV series Vikings is nearly here.  And, it reminds me of my family history research. S omeone traced my family tree back to the brother, Sigurd, that Ivar killed in Vikings.  I don't know if it's been verified or not!  So, I don't know if it's true or not!  I just find it interesting that someone could trace a family line back to Ragnar and his sons, whether it's true or not.  So, it makes it a bit eerie to watch, especially Ragnar's sons doing battle.  But then, if I weren't interested in my family history, I would never have known and followed the breadcrumbs that someone left in tracing it back to them. Whether it was a true or false claim.  It just leaves me to wonder.  And, it makes history even more fascinating to me cause of all the ancestors that I stumble across. And, I want to learn about the kind of lives that they might have led.