The Binduli Bloodhouse – The following article appeared in ‘The Sun’ newspaper on the 28th October 1906. The sentiments and derogatory comments about foreigners and women were common at the time.
THE BINDULI BLOODHOUSE.
BARTOLO MORATTI’S PUB
CLAIMS TO THE ATTENTION OF POLICE
Disreputable Boozing Den— For Dissipated Dagos.—
No Attractions for Picnickers.— Closure Badly Wanted.
There is a pub at Binduli which badly wants suppressing. This article is mainly written to direct the attention, of the police thereto. The place is a ” blood house,” a shanty, a disreputable boozing den of the worst kind. The proprietor combines the amiable characteristics of Henry Lawson’s “Stiffner ” and “Poisonous Jimmy,” although he has probably never read of either. He is an Italian. There are three or four classes of Italians on these fields, and he is in the bottom class. His name is near as we can get to it is, Bartolo Moratti.
We’ve said a “pub at Binduli.” as a matter of fact it is “the” pub — ‘The Binduli Hotel’. There is only one, it is opposite the station, and most travelers can see it. There is no population worth speaking of at Binduli, so that most of the pub’s customers come from a distance. As the proprietor, many of them are Italians, the lowest class of Italians. They foregather there on Sundays, it’s an easy distance from Kalgoorlie and
all sorts of depravities are perpetrated.
It’s a great gambling school and the Dago takes kindly to two up. Mere boys may often be seen sampling the attractions of Moratti’s. It is the first house-of-call along the “Road to Ruin”— as well as the Coolgardie road.
Binduli is a favorite resort for picnickers from Kalgoorlie, especially those organised on a large scale. Most of the picnics are held at some shady, well-appointed, and properly laid-out grounds some little distance from the station. Here are proper facilities for open-air enjoyment, especially for women and children. But other picnic parties, to whom liquor is one of the main attractions, don’t get beyond the “Blood house”. It has no extraneous attractions, except a shadeless yard and one apology for a swing, but the supply of ‘kill-at-40-yards grog’ is inexhaustible. Moratti doesn’t like any holiday-makers going past his shanty.
At the Anglican Schools picnic, two or three weeks ago, a large box of toys (for the children’s prizes) was inadvertently consigned to the “Blood house” instead of to the respectable picnic grounds. The mistake, a very natural one, arose through an insufficient acquaintance with Moratti and his reputation on the part of one of the clerical organisers of the picnic.
But the Italian shanty-keeper bitterly resented the toys being removed from his temporary custody, indeed, it was almost necessary to resort to force before he would give them up. It seems doubtful whether the sort of people who attend a school picnic would swell a publican’s bar takings much— even if the sports were being, held outside the house — but Moratti evidently thought a vicious precedent was being established.
At the “Butchers Picnic” the other week, “The Sun” is informed, things hummed considerably at the “Blood house”. Few would have mistaken that particular picnic for a Sunday school one after Moratti had done with them. We have heard that liquor is sometimes “doped” at Moratti’s, but we never tasted it. The proprietor has a wife and a stepdaughter, and we are not sure that this is
the sum total of his feminine belongings.
There is a story, which it might be worth the while of the police to investigate — that two of the picnickers entrusted some valuables to one of Moratti’s feminine belongings, for safekeeping on Wednesday last, and that unavailing effort was afterward made to recover the ownership of a nugget- brooch and a purse of money.
We tell the tale as it was told to us, merely remarking that, we may have something more to say about it before the next licensing sessions. Even when there are no picnics or picnickers about, Moratti’s can provide some exciting orgies.
One night quite recently, we are informed on very good authority, screams of “murder” were heard quite plainly coming from one of the tavern windows. We don’t suppose that anyone was quite murdered, it is highly probable, however, that a savage assault was in progress. It is obvious that the police can exercise very little control over a place as remote and out-of-the. way as the “Binduli Blood house” The magistrates might surely consider the question of refusing to renew the license. The house serves no public demand for accommodation. There is no resident population to warrant it — only a few fettlers. It is just an Alsatia for lawlessness and vice, out of eyeshot and earshot of the police. Its reputation could hardly be more sinister. The district would be well rid of it.
Masons and Bricklayers Picnic Binduli – Western Argus 4 December 1906, page 25
Postscript: I was recently contacted by OFH reader Alan Kendrick who gave me the following sequel to this event.
BARTOLO MORATTI, the proprietor of the Binduli Blood-house hotel, needs no introduction to “Sun” readers. His methods of catering to the thirsty residents of the Binduli district and passers through the township, and picnickers who make holiday in the locality, are well known. He has on record against him a conviction in the Kalgoorlie Police Court for adulteration of spirits which he kept in stock. “The Sun” has previously, at considerable length, summed up this particular publican and his disreputable house.
Alexander Gilchrist is an elderly resident of Binduli. He is almost, if not quite 70 years of age. His brutal assailant is apparently one of the types of Mediterranean breeds who conceive and pursue vendettas for mysterious reasons of their own. Gilchrist, to the best. of “The Sun’s” belief, has never done Moratti any harm, unless it be that the former’s opposition to the publican’s application for a garden right was responsible for Moratti being refused what he sought. But neither Gilchrist nor any other Binduli resident contemplated the possibility of the Dago resenting Gilchrist’s opposition by such a murderously savage assault.
Following his usual custom Gilchrist on Thursday morning last, was waiting near that section of the railway line at Binduli where the trains pull up, to receive his morning newspapers from Kalgoorlie. Whilst waiting, sitting down in tailor fashion, Gilchrist saw Moratti approach but took no notice of him. “Good day,” said Moratti. Gilchrist made no reply, only by a gesture indicating that Moratti should pass on and not accost him. Moratti continued: “What! you will not say ‘Good day’ to me? Why not?” My family and your family have been good friends — why not you speak? Why not say ‘Good-day?”
Gilchrist observing that a revolver was stuck in Moratti’s belt, and noting that a gang of several fettlers working some fifty yards away had become interested, still kept silent and continued to motion with his hand that he would prefer Moratti to pass on and leave him alone. But evidently fired by Gilchrist’s gesture, without any other warning than a volley of foul language, the Italian threw himself upon the seventy-year-old man and closed his fingers around Gilchrist’s throat. So tight a clutch did he press upon Gilchrist’s neck that the old man was unable to cry out.
The assault had been witnessed by a fettler named Lavery who threw down his tools and rushed to the scene. However, ere Lavery reached the spot, the Dago had half-dragged, half-lifted, the old man up from where he had been sitting, and threw him with brutal force onto the railway line upon a loop of which an engine was in running work. When the fettler Lavery reached the scene he stood not upon any order of ceremony, but let out with his right and punched Moratti on the face. The blow, however, did little damage, and the Dago rushed at Lavery and attempted to strike back, only to miss fire, and Moratti received a second hit, a hot one, for his pains. At this stage Moratti drew a revolver from his belt and leveled it at Lavery, telling him excitedly that he would shoot him if he was hit again. Lavery, however, had by this time, turned his attention to Gilchrist, who was laying on the rails and carried the old man to his (Lavery’s) camp.
Later in the day, Lavery reported all the circumstances to the Kalgoorlie Police station. Alexander Gilchrist was admitted to the Kalgoorlie Government Hospital on Thursday evening. His injuries have been diagnosed as a dislocated collarbone, a badly bruised back, the sinews of which are strained, and a wounded right knee. It looks as if some days must elapse before he will be able to give evidence in court. The mounted myrmidon of the Law who visited Binduli to enquire into the circumstances of the case advised Gilchrist and Lavery to proceed by summons against Moratti for assault so the daily press were officially informed. Apart from the question of this peculiarly atrocious and brutal deed of violence going unpunished till the victim institutes proceedings, it is a little difficult to understand why the police themselves have not already proceeded against Moratti for unlawfully carrying a firearm. Is the Dago licensed to carry the gun? The Viscovitch tragedy points to the inadvisability of allowing the Mediterranean breeds to carry firearms indiscriminately. Do the police intend to wait until Moratti has shot someone before they question his right to carry the weapon?
Moya Sharp
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