Court House Hotel

On the corner of Barton and Broomfield Streets with the front door angled to face both streets, the Court House Hotel is a modest-looking building – considering it was birthed in drama and tragedy. The foundation stone on the Barton Street side holds clues to this history.

“THIS STONE LAID BY MISS MILISSA CROW DEC. 14^TH 1895”

Who was Milissa Crow? Why did the hotel rate a foundation stone, an honour usually reserved for schools, churches, shire chambers, and other important institutions?

The answer to the second question lies in the answer to the first

Miss Milissa Crow was the seven-year-old daughter of the publican, Ellen Crow. Life is full of trouble, and when thinking about these things, words such as adversity, courage and resilience often come to mind. These are all words that apply to Ellen Crow.   

Ellen Veal married Arthur Crow in Cobar in 1882. The Crows were a family of publicans, businessmen and miners – in other words, typical Cobar citizens. Arthur, who had been the licensee of the Globe Hotel, took over the Court House Hotel in 1889. By then, he and Ellen had three children, William, Florence and little Milissa. Their first terrible misfortune came in 1893 when their next child, Ethel, died at only four months. In August of the following year, Arthur, previously a sober and industrious man, suddenly took to drinking heavily, not a good idea if you’re a publican. After a couple of weeks of this, he travelled out to a mine where his father and brothers were working. While everyone was busy, he found a knife and cut his throat. He must have been determined to die because when people rushed to help him, he ran away and threw rocks at them. They managed to catch him and get him to town, but he died on 1 September 1894. His death greatly shocked and upset the town with much sympathy felt both for the widow and the rest of the family. 

Ellen had three young children to support, so she took on the licence and carried on the business. But in 1895, about a year after Arthur died, a fire broke out. Many people behaved heroically, with several risking their own safety to pull down the burning buildings to keep the fire from spreading down the street. A Mrs Collou dashed into the flames to rescue an old man who had been forgotten in the rush to get out. In spite of the bravery, several buildings, including the Court House Hotel, were destroyed. 

Once again, Ellen picked herself up and rebuilt, but this time in brick and stone. The foundation stone was a symbol of her resilience, of her refusal to be beaten.  She and her children were still there and had literally left their mark.

Alas, that was not the end of her trials. By then, she must have been in financial trouble, although the cost of the rebuild was covered by insurance. In a bid to attract more custom, she put all her drink prices down to 4p, a move that caused consternation for the other publicans. They held a meeting to discuss the issue, resolving to speak to Mrs Crow. It didn’t go well for Ellen. In 1896, she declared bankruptcy. The hotel licence was taken on by John Bastable, and Ellen Crow took her children to the goldfields of Western Australia, where other members of her family were living. By then, having already lived through so much, she was still only 32 years old. 

There were many other folk who made a mark at the Court House Hotel.

In 1899, there was a court case about the Court House. Young Sam Riley, son of the licensee, accused Temple Harrison of assault during a dispute about a bill. It appears that members of a theatrical company were staying at the hotel. The Rileys said an agreement to pay in advance had been made as they had previously been “done in” by a theatrical company. The hotel bedroom door had been locked against the guests in fear that the bill would not be paid.  Witnesses, including the hotel cook, George Chong Yow, were called. Many hotels at the time had a Chinese cook, but at least one displayed the attitudes of the time by boasting that their cook was not Chinese. After much argument and accusations of insults from both sides, the defendant was found guilty and young Riley was triumphant. It was a victory for the settled against the vagrant and not always respectable theatrical types.

Later in 1899, just before Christmas, a pathetically sad case involved a maid at the hotel, Mary Ann “May” Swashback. May attempted suicide and was charged with a criminal offence as suicide was considered self-murder. She had drunk poison, but one of the other maids, who was worried about her, looked into her room and finding the poison bottle, called Mr Riley, who sent for a doctor. May confessed to the “crime”, saying she had done it because her “boy” would not talk to her since she had joined the Salvation Army. As she had admitted to the deed, the magistrate had no choice but to convict and impose a sentence: he sent her to gaol until the rising of the court, which was at midday that same day. She spent an hour or two in a cell, after which she was free to go. It is to be hoped she continued to meet with such kindness. 

The Rileys went on to manage other hotels in Cobar and elsewhere. They retained the freehold of the building while the licence went to Andrew Anderson. 

In 1903, he was proceeded against by the police for suffering gaming stakes on his licensed premises – that is, about a dozen men were playing dice at 2am on a Sunday. The maximum penalty for this first offence was £10, a hefty sum in those days. Anderson was fined only £1 because he genuinely hadn’t seen that gambling was taking place – he had been enduring defective eyesight for some time and the place was being looked after by his brother-in-law, Bob McGroder. Sometimes it helps to be as blind as a bat. In spite of the gambling, Bob continued to be bartender and, it seems, bouncer. Later that same year, he was charged with assault. He thumped a bloke who refused to pay for drinks he’d ordered, trying to palm the bill off onto someone else. The police expressed sympathy for Bob’s point of view, but pointed out that if the law was being broken, he needed to call in the upholders of the law and not take it into his own hands, or, in this case, his fists. 

A multitude of other people were involved with the Court House Hotel. William Brabner and family, who were there from 1907 to 1910, were notable for the way they ran the hotel. On their departure, the Bench of the Licensing Court complimented Mr Brabner on his conduct of the business – not a typical comment and only given where deserved. 

The Brabners were succeeded by Harry Balchin, who held the licence from 1910 to 1911. He was most noticeable for his creative marketing strategies. He advertised in The Cobar Herald:

“WANTED – 2,500 MINERS TO DRINK Tooth’s beer at the Court House Hotel”

And

“SPIRITUAL COMFORT can be found at the Court House Hotel, and there are no two ways about it – the coolest and best beer – Tooth’s only.  Don’t forget the ‘old Court House’.”

In 1912, after the departure of the Balchins, the Rileys sold the freehold of the Court House Hotel, by which time it boasted a large bar, equally large billiard room, three parlors, a dining room to seat 60 patrons, 15 bedrooms, buggy shed, stables, convenient outbuildings, and, so importantly in Cobar, underground water storage. It was to be sold on the condition that the current lessees, Mr and Mrs McLaughlin and their daughter-in-law, could remain until the expiry of the lease, which had 4½ years to run. As it happened, they left after only a little over one more year. But they had their reasons. 

The McLaughlins were a truly respectable, well-connected and admirable family. While Archie McLaughlin was the licensee, his wife and daughter-in-law worked equally hard in the business. They offered full board and catering, mostly to young miners. Amongst their boarders was a young man called William Sylvester “Sylvy” Harton. Sylvy was from White Cliffs, where his parents and younger siblings still lived. He had come to Cobar to work at the Great Cobar Copper Mine. By 1912, he had been in town for some time, living at the hotel. But in June of that year, there was a terrible accident at the mine. Sylvy Harton, aged just 21 years, was killed. His parents came in from White Cliffs, met by the McLaughlins, who looked after them and helped to arrange the funeral, which was conducted from Sylvy’s Cobar home, the Court House Hotel. The epitaph on his headstone says it all: “Rest dearest Sylvy, sweetly rest, we miss you most who loved you best.” 

The McLaughlins may have felt as though they had also lost a family member, but in 1913, they felt what it was to really lose someone. Their nephew, William McLaughlin, also a miner and a boarder, took his own life, apparently because he was troubled by medical advice he had received. He and Sylvy Harton are both buried in the old section of Cobar cemetery.

The McLaughlins, perhaps overcome by all this sorrow, gave up the Court House Hotel licence in 1913. 

In the last years of the Court House Hotel’s existence, the licence changed hands rapidly, some licensees lasting only a few months. Cobar’s fortunes were changing swiftly, always in a downward direction, so this is not surprising. The very last licensee was Jim Wilson, who in April 1922 received £90 compensation for relinquishing the licence. Jim went on to the Grand Hotel and the Court House went on to an entirely different life. It was first a boarding house, owned and run by Miss Ada Corbett, who was famous for her light hand with pastries and sponge cakes. This is considerable fame. She was in business until her death in 1958. The building was then owned by a Mrs Sharpe. Her husband used half of it for his electrical business and the second half was rented out to a law firm, which seems to be a rather appropriate fate. It has been in use as Solicitors’ Offices ever since while the other section has had various occupants, including the Bank of New South Wales, the Soil Conservation Service of NSW and Laverty Pathology. While the outbuildings were demolished, Cobar is fortunate to still have the quietly handsome main building bearing witness to so many years of history.