In Fremantle Shipping News’ latest feature – My Favourite Freo Street – we ask a range of Freo folk to nominate their favourite street and tell us why they chose it. In this contribution, Mike Lefroy* – so well known around Freo, along with his wife Joy, especially because of their living history enterprise Museum Without Walls – explains why he has chosen Walker Street in South Fremantle , as his fav. Mike says a subtitle title for his piece might be Lounging in Chesterfield. And you’ll soon discover why!
In 1887 John Chester subdivided a small section south of Fremantle from Lloyd Street in the north and along Chester Street to Douro Road in the south. Until 1930 this enclave was known as Chesterfield.
In the first decade of the 20th century, as demand for workers’ housing and horse stables grew, Chesterfield met the challenge. Five finger streets spread out to the south from Douro Road – Daly, Thomas, Hulbert, Walker and Hickory streets. All vintage South Fremantle, dead-end streets backing onto the tip.
These streets were named after local identities, but the main road Douro, linking Hampton Road, South Terrace and Maritime Terrace, celebrates a famous ‘away win’ in 1809 by the Duke of Wellington during the Peninsular Wars. History records the victory as ‘The Passage of Douro’ where the Duke outsmarted the French by pinching some unguarded wine barges and secretly crossing the Portuguese river Douro at night.
From there he marched on to claim the city of Porto and won a decisive victory for team Britain. For that achievement he added the Marquis of Douro to his impressive list of titles.
Those of us living in the tributary streets of the mighty Douro, realise how appropriate the name is as we battle daily with the current of commuters sweeping in and out of Fremantle.
The origin story of our five Chesterfield tributaries is wrapped around the horse history of Fremantle and WA. A time when there were more horses than people. In the early days there were stables scattered throughout Chesterfield and South Fremantle. Now there is only one, Terry Patterson’s stable at the south end of Daly Street.
Randwick stables, on Rockingham Road, is still very active and the sound of their horses clopping down the bridal path (turned bike path) at sunrise to South Beach for a gallop and a swim is a welcome reminder of a different sort of horsepower.
Our own Walker Street horse whisperers – Albert and his wife Evelyn Mollett at #26 and Arthur and Aileen Bowden at #29 – have passed on now, but their oral histories are safe in the Fremantle Libraries History Collection. Albert was a farrier and a life member of Richmond Raceway and Gloucester Park. Towards the end of his life, with failing eyesight, he would be invited to sit at the door of the farrier’s workshop and listen to the sound of the horses as they crossed the paved doorway and headed out to the track.
“Rear shoes, one is loose…” he would report. He was never wrong. We still dig up horseshoes in our gardens.
Sometimes on a winter weekend Albert would call across the street to ask if anyone needed some
manure for their roses. We would hook on the trailer; he would sit in the passenger seat and ask, “So, what’s it to be: Gallopers, Trotters or Pacers?” He knew them all.
One of the best places was the stables, south of Fremantle, of the legendary Interdominion winner Village Kid.
It takes a Village to raise a rose: Arthur and Aileen at #29 were the champion tomato growers of Walker Street. Arthur, topless, nut brown and skinny as a jockey would tend his crop by the front fence and swap stories as we walked down to South Beach. If it was Sunday he would urge us to get there quickly. “In the old days,” he said, “If you didn’t make it by 4pm there would be no room to sit on the grass.” He would be delighted to know the crowds are back, and not just on Sundays.
It takes a village kid to raise a rose.
Arthur and Aileen at #29.
Arthur told us about his life with horses. As kids he and Albert would go down to South Beach on Sundays and exercise the draught horses that pulled the Manford lorries around town. His first job was in a stable where he slept overnight, at one end of the box, with the horse at the other. Arthur trained horses until 1965. His crowning moment was the 1960 Perth Cup when England’s Dust, the horse he co- owned and trained on South Beach, raced to victory.
Arthur was born in Hickory Street. He and Aileen spent most of their life in and around South Fremantle. He never travelled beyond Carnarvon, Albany and Kalgoorlie and never visited Rottnest.
Albert and Arthur told us stories about the celebrated horse history of South Beach, from Phar Lap’s brother that missed the family racing genes and ended up pulling a Fremantle milk cart, to the famous Group 1 races around Australia where South Beach horses featured prominently. But they’re stories for another time.
All dead end streets, or cul de sacs as our north of the river cousins call them, have a particular magic. There are the comings and goings of residents, friends visiting, those with business in the street or ‘rat runners’ under the thrall of Google who will soon get a ‘route re-calculating’ message from their Bot of choice.
Our five little tributaries streets each have their own stories, but I would like to share some more about Walker Street, where our family has lived for nearly half a century.
We are 33 houses representing a true cross section of Australian life. Our family trees spread out around the world and deep into our ancient history many thousands of years ago. The early buildings were small workers cottages constructed on the front of the block creating large backyards for a vegie garden, chooks and even a horse or two. This arrangement, still reflected in our streetscape, means verandas are close to the footpath encouraging conversation with the passing parade, and with neighbours across the road. From there we sit and contemplate life – Westies have the morning sunrise and Easties the magic hour of sunset.
We are all things our wonderful climate invites us to be. We are strollers, runners, swimmers, hikers, caffeine addicts, sailors, cyclists, skateboarders, netballers and (mostly) Dockers tragics.
We’ve got dogs, cats, goldfish, chooks, tame willy wagtails and visiting wildlife of all description. We are artists, writers, craftspeople, gardeners, apiarists, car enthusiasts, travellers, musicians, and cooks. We swap olives for honey and raid our street Seville orange tree during marmalade making season.
We are health professionals, public servants, teachers, university academics, lawyers, architects, physios, sport and life coaches, FIFO workers and small businesspeople. And an increasing number of us are stuttering towards retirement.
But with all our combined interests and skills we do struggle for home grown tradies. That’s where our febrile Walker Street Now WhatsApp comes into play. There are regular callouts for sparkies, plumbers and home maintenance people. We have Stephen our peripatetic hairdresser (Ex Chelsea High St London and Fremantle) who comes on demand. A local Pest Control company who sweeps into the street each year to drive out the pesky white ants. Phil our Man with the Mulch provides a street dump outside his house, and our weekly rubbish collection is finely curated through WhatsApp each Wednesday to maximize bin space.
“Any empty green bins?” “Yes #19 here…help yourself. “
There are also occasional Outdoor Movies, and announcements if Sunday drinks are on, and whose driveway is hosting.
And at dawn on ANZAC day Tom the Trumpeter plays the last post before we head across the road for a bit of R&R at the annual (legal) Two-Up School.
Our WhatsApp is also a potent force in neighbourhood watch. Unusual events are discussed: ‘Wildlife warning…a big dugite is crossing the street towards Jack-down-the road (not to be confused with Jack-up-the-road, who is currently snake free.) For many years we had the luxury of our own snake catcher. Sadly, she recently moved to more reptilian pastures near Manning Lake.
In the late 1970’s, a new wave of western district citizens crossed the bridge and settled in Walker Street. Big John led the charge. He was not put off by his bank manager suggesting he look for a neat brick and tile place in the suburbs rather than a rundown wooden beach hut in a blighted suburb near a working foundry, a coal fired power station and an abattoir.
His mother, keen for him to have a house but rather dismayed at his choice, assured him he would soon be able to sell up and move to Cottesloe!
After half a century he and his family are still here…
Walker Street is also the ancestral home of the RSBCA – the Royal South Beach Cycling Association. On a Sunday morning forty years ago three likely Walker Steet lads saddled up their Rottnest bikes, took packed lunches and telephone money to ring home, and set off to ride around the river. Soon the group was 50 strong and the Walkerians who enjoy a lie in on a Sunday morning suggested the noise of 100 shoes being clicked into pedals was too much. So, the peloton moved to Papa Luigis on the Cappuccino Strip. And the rest is history.
The Old Papa’s Ride has now established an international presence in the world of cycling and is sometimes mentioned in the Tour De France commentaries as a winter holiday destination for European professional cyclists looking for a bit of sun and a desire to win the famous Port Beach Sprint as the peloton sweeps downhill towards Fremantle.
Over the years we’ve shared droughts, Lock Downs and floods. One Easter there was even enough water for sailing on the street. The two- year-old zoo that roamed the village back then were mightily impressed their parents could summon the Rain Gods for their pleasure.
The Council terrified by the thought of this re- occurring during the up-coming America’s Cup Defence, dug a large hole at the end of the street. It has been empty ever since…
While on a leave pass from Walker Street, Big John nipped over to Newport, USA and helped pinch the America’s Cup from the New York Yacht Club.
During the Cup defence in 1987, we shared our street with some of the New Zealand Team and the American Eagle Team perched in a temporary village on the tip. Our Street Christmas Carol Singing that year featured a 250 strong multinational choir.
But we’ve had our victories. In the 1980s we saw off the greatest threat to South Fremantle and the memory of Chesterfield. The government proposed a new Southern Link freeway to come crashing across the tip site, slicing off the end of our sanctuary streets and obliterating Wilson Park. The idea was defeated in a close vote.
We’ve also come to terms with the mighty Douro and figured out how to leave our streets at rush hour. Wait at the end of the street, kind driver, and progress slowly to the roundabout. Once there you have three exits to look right, smile sweetly at the oncoming traffic, turn left and jump into the gap provided by the choose from and you’re on your way.
The next move might be to question Main Roads about the green filter light on Hampton Road that always seems to be on.
In 2016, international scientist and business professor Carlos Moreno gained significant traction in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic by reviving the plan for the ’15-minute urban planning concept’ where residents can access most of their daily needs within a 15-minute walk or bike ride from their homes.
Well…Hello…Welcome to our World.
Walker Street looking North. The wire fence is a product of the Great Easter Flood of 1985.
By Mike Lefroy
*In 1978 Mike Lefroy received a phone call from his great mate John Longley who told him there was an old house across the road from him in Walker Street coming up for auction. He and his wife Joy had recently bought a terrace house in Rose Street opposite the Seaview Hotel and had caught the South Fremantle vibe. But the house was small and they wanted to start a family.
On 5 August 1978 they stood in the main room of 19 Walker Street with a number of other punters as the auctioneer began proceedings. They were keen to buy. The house was condemned – a small point, no kitchen or bathroom – but had ‘good bones’ as they say in the trade. And what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you.
Mike was unaware of the auction protocol… stay cool…stand at the back…don’t show your hand… but his arm shot up in the air like a celebration of a South Fremantle Bulldogs premiership win at the first bid. There were no other takers. Did he scare them all off with this rather unusual approach? He will never know.
The reserve price had not been reached, and the house was passed in, but Mike and Joy settled with Mr Roche the auctioneer within the hour.
As they walked through the house admiring their new purchase, they paused again at the beautiful mantlepiece and wrought iron fireplace in the front room – the feature that first caught their eye. Standing in the middle of their new street looking back at number 19, they suddenly realised there was no chimney above their special fireplace.
There was work to do.
~ If you’d like to hear Mike Lefroy tell more of his own story, don’t miss our illuminating podcast with Mike Lefroy right here on Fremantle Shipping News.
~ You will find more My Favourite Freo Street articles right here
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