Tag: objects

Collection Story: Double Helix Staircase

Join our volunteer Therese as we learn more about the Double Helix Stair Case model we have in our collection.

Education has changed a lot over the years and, in 1888, a good education was all about observation or ‘learning by looking’. That was the year instructor John Lyon Gardiner built his double helix staircase model and took that idea to the next level.

It’s probably a bit difficult to see the size of the object on screen, so it should be emphasised that Gardiner’s double helix staircase is not your average small-scale model. It is actually a full-size staircase – 2.73 metres in height to be exact, although the way the two sets of stairs wrap tightly around the central column means there’s no head room to be able to climb up.

Instead, the purpose of the model was to demonstrate the principles of stair construction to Gardiner’s evening classes in carpentry and joinery at the Sydney Technical College. This also explains a couple aesthetic differences between the two sets of stairs. For example, the underside of one has a smooth surface constructed from a series of planks whereas the underside of the other has panelling. You can see this in the photos on the left and right.

As well as being an impressive feat of engineering, the double helix staircase model also has some pretty significant connections to place. The Sydney Technical College was located right next door to the Sydney Technological Museum, which was home to the Powerhouse Museum between 1893 and 1988. The Sydney Technological Museum was where objects like this staircase model were displayed to teach lessons at the Technical College that ranged from veterinary science and geology to more mundane things like house painting and sign writing. In addition to sitting in the Sydney Technological Museum, the staircase featured in the Centennial International Exhibition Melbourne in 1888.

The staircase model is also one example of the role the Sydney Technological Museum played in showcasing the use of local timber in commercial applications. Specifically, this object is constructed from cedar, a sample of which is visible among other local timbers in a photograph of a room at the museum on the right.

More than a structure, the double helix staircase model tells a narrative of innovation, education, and heritage. It stands as a symbol of the methods of learning of a past era and the elevation of trade skills to an art form, leaving a legacy that continues to inspire to this day.

Volunteer Patrick on the History Behind Sydney’s Leyland Atlantean Buses

Volunteer Patrick Rummery shares a blogpost on the history behind Sydney’s Leyland Atlantean buses.

If you’ve ever lived in Sydney, you may have noticed that it doesn’t have many double-decker buses, unlike many other cities throughout the world. However, this was not always the case. Double-deckers once formed the backbone of Sydney’s bus fleet for decades, but certain events in the 1970s changed this forever. The Powerhouse’s Leyland Atlantean double-decker bus tells a fascinating story as to why this happened.

The Leyland Atlantean was a revolutionary and popular bus when it was first sold in Britain in the 1960s. Previously, older double-decker buses (such as the Powerhouse’s Leyland Titan Bus) had their engines at the front, meaning that passengers could only enter through a rear platform. As a result, conductors had to be employed to collect fares, which was effective but expensive to maintain. The Atlantean saved labour costs by having a rear engine, like a modern bus, which enabled drivers to be seated next to a front door and collect fares themselves. This was ideal for bus operators when cars were increasing in popularity.

In the early 1970s, the New South Wales Government purchased 224 Leyland Atlantean buses to phase out conductors. These were the first and only Atlanteans delivered new to Australia. The Powerhouse’s bus, No. 1001, was the first Atlantean delivered to Sydney, entering service in April 1970. 

But there was one problem with this transition: the Union disagreed with the whole plan. They argued that fare collection and passenger supervision of both decks would make working conditions too hard for the drivers. So the Union organised many large-scale strikes in order to keep conductors employed on the new Atlantean buses.

The resultant dispute, which lasted throughout 1971, was very bitter on both sides. Union members were sacked from their jobs, passengers were left stranded and politicians had a major industrial crisis on their hands. There were even some violent moments. Drivers who were not union members, named “scabs” by their colleagues, were injured or assaulted, and some Atlantean runs had police escorts to protect the driver!

In December 1971, the Government gave in to the Union’s demands, and Atlanteans were to be driven with conductors thereafter. But since the Government couldn’t pay for it, the Atlanteans were instead under-utilised. So they were retired early and sold off to private operators around Australia, which ended double-deck bus operation in Sydney for good. 

After the dispute ended, the Government decided to focus on purchasing articulated buses, which did not have the same conductor requirement from the Union. This policy has remained until recently, when the Opal smart card made it more acceptable for drivers to operate double-decker buses. A small fleet of double-deckers have since entered service, but the scars from the dispute small linger as most of Sydney’s buses today are still single-deck.

Bus no. 1001 had a short career of just 10 years and travelled less than 200,000 kilometres. In 1981, after retirement, it was donated to the Powerhouse. Here it remains as a reminder to an unsuccessful experiment in Sydney’s transport history that changed the city forever.

Patrick Rummery
Volunteer

Volunteer Anna on Judith Beheading Holofernes Needle Lace Panel

Volunteer Anna Cowles shares a blogpost on Judith Beheading Holofernes Needle Lace Panel…

When I first saw this piece of lace, I was intrigued by its subject matter – what story is it telling, and for what audience? It seemed like a biblical story, but not one I was familiar with. As it turns out this is because the story of Judith beheading Holofernes comes from the book of Judith, which is a deuterocanonical book. This means it’s accepted as part of the Catholic and Orthodox bibles but is considered to be apocryphal in the Anglican tradition, which is the one I grew up with.


The story takes place during an Assyrian invasion of Judith’s homeland. She is a beautiful widow who is faithful to her God, who gradually gains the favour of the enemy general Holofernes by predicting that he will be victorious in battle. Eventually, she is invited into his tent, where she waits for him to fall into a drunken stupor before beheading him with the help of her servant woman. In doing so, she protects her city and prevents the Assyrian forces from attacking Jerusalem.


We could get into the historicity of this tale, whether the names of the key figures and cities were changed and for what reason, when it was all written down, and so on. The deuterocanonical book is fascinating in itself, but in the context of this lace panel I’d like to ask – who chose this story? What did it mean to them, and how was the lace used? What message was it intended to send? Although we can’t definitively answer these questions, there are a few clues that can help us better to understand this piece.


We know approximately when the lace was made based on the style and technique, which place it in the mid-17th century. The motif of Judith beheading Holofernes was popular in European art at this time – many people are familiar with the paintings by Caravaggio or Artemisia Gentileschi from this period or a little earlier. I initially thought the lace might be Venetian due to its raised elements and the liturgical tradition in Venetian lace. However, the resemblance of the raised elements to English stumpwork, as well as comparable objects from England, suggest that the lace is probably of British origin. That narrows down where it was made and used. But there’s still so much we don’t know…


As much as I’d love to make the case for a feminist interpretation of this piece, as others have done for Artemisia Gentileschi’s version of the same scene, there just isn’t enough information available. Lace is a far more anonymous medium than painting – we don’t know who made it, who commissioned its manufacture, even whose hair is used for that of the figures. The panel’s shape indicates it may have been part of a casket carried by an aristocratic woman, but the scene could have been chosen to symbolise many things – chastity, piety in the face of opposition, any number of themes that could relate to female power but don’t necessarily do so here.


Ultimately what I love about this lace artwork is that the detail and beauty of its design are as captivating as they were 400 years ago, while the narrative element, in losing the significance it held to its original owner, gains an element of mystery that is fascinating to us today.

 

Anna Cowles
Volunteer