Cities of Jewels

Far above the gleaming facades of Collins Street, the dollhouse chic of Tiffany & Co., the marbled exterior of Janai and the gold lines of Anton Jewellery dwells the inner heart of Melbourne's jewellery trade: a Dickensian warren of tiny workshops in the Manchester Unity and Century buildings that is the hub of all that is old-style.

At the time of construction in 1932, the Manchester Unity building was considered a skyscraper, the tallest in Melbourne. The idea, conceived by the Manchester Unity Independent Order of Odd Fellows as a way of keeping members employed during the Depression, engaged 1,500 workers for 11 months. And it was a roaring success, achieving 90 per cent occupancy within weeks of opening.

Erected six years later by architect Marcus R. Barlow, the Century Building broke height restrictions with an ornamental tower. One of the first air-conditioned city buildings, cool air was circulated throughout via a simple system of fan-cooled underground tanks, topped up in summer by deliveries of ice.

Inspired by Chicago's Art Deco Tribune Tower, both buildings feature glazed terracotta-tiled walls, ornamental towers, elaborate arcades and marbled murals. The Manchester Unity building in particular reflected a growing acceptance of Australian materials and motifs, combined with international trends, and locally-sourced wood, marble and fittings echo the 1930s jewellery craze for mixing contrasting mediums, such as diamond and horn.

Today, the most obvious advantage to the small businesses within is the building's classic deco architecture. "People just melt! It's very good for clients," says says pearl specialist and designer jeweller Darylle Kelly. "My room is flooded with natural light, and good, natural light is important to view pearls properly."

Garry Fogarty of One Carat Jewellers is another who can see how the notoriety of the building is good for his business: "The building is used heavily for promoting Melbourne," he says, "and you see it on TV frequently, so many people know it. Some clients even ask if it was the building those jewellers got shot in."

One of the city's longest-running jewellers, Robert H. Parker & Sons (est. 1875), entered the Century building following a move in 1974 by landlord AMP to eject tenants from one-time jewellery centre, York House. The decision, in which tenants were given six months to move, sent shockwaves throughout the profession, triggering a huge shift of jewellers into the Manchester Unity and Century buildings, as well as Wales Corner.

It's a scene that Andrew Walsh of Robert H. Parker & Sons, remembers well: "The jewellers in York House panicked, of course," Walsh says. "One jeweller decided he'd get us into the Leviathan Building (corner of Bourke and Swanston Streets) and tried to organise a foundation for everyone. Trying to get 45 jewellers to agree on anything was impossible. Most were dumbstruck because they'd been kicked out of a building they'd been in for 40 years.

"He later gave up, which was a shame because it was a wonderful idea and would have worked very well. So then everyone fragmented."

Throughout the world's most famous diamond districts - from New York's 47th Street to London's Hatton Garden - jewellers have naturally congregated in one area. Whether for security, competition, inspiration or convenience, Walsh finds that it's just what jewellers do. "I think it's self-perpetuating," he says. "People ask why I want to be here when there are 60 other jewellers. We actually compliment each other. When people come specifically to see me, I can go upstairs and buy a tool I need, or I can go to a diamond merchant on the floor below. That's the way it is worldwide. That's the profession."

And despite their proximity, there appears to be little competition between workshops.

"I'm in the thick of it all, but I don't compete with anyone as my work's different," Kelly says.

Jessica Tindall of Ian Murray Jewellery Services agrees: "We don't compete with other jewellers. We cater to different needs and have different customers. It's not a competitive environment, and everyone is very friendly, very supportive and very helpful."

Above the faded doorway of manufacturer Harry Gulo's workshop, a child's shoe has been affixed with a folded $20 note inside. It acts at a visual reminder of a profession where security is paramount.

In 1996, a fourth floor jeweller murdered two members of the Pin family, gemmologists working on the eighth floor of the Century Building. Gulo remembers the day well, hearing it from his business downstairs.

"The Pins had these incredibly thick walls, huge doors with special combination numbers and it still happened. Nobody can stop that."

Walsh remembers how it affected everyone in the Century Building: "It's the kind of thing you hope will only happen once. The police closed the building and then everyone had to shut their doors until the police interviewed everyone, and put a mark on our wrist to say they've spoken to you. We were all sitting around, doors locked until the end of the day."

Despite vivid memories of the shootings, like many people of his profession Walsh remains unruffled. "Most jewellers shy away from thinking about security too much," he says. "We'd easily drive ourselves crazy."

Of course, jewellers in such old buildings have additional worries. Both the Century and Manchester Unity structures are heritage-listed, so jewellers who want to spruce up their stores have a few issues to consider before redecorating.

Fogarty still recalls the building manager running through the rules: "You've got to work around everything, even things like the cornices. When I added walls, I wasn't allowed to cut into the original cornice or plaster over it." The rules, however, are only as strong as those who impose them, and some renovations have left jewellers raising eyebrows.

"The heritage listing is abysmal when you think of the addition of huge metal doors to the entrance of one jeweller," Walsh says, regarding additions made by one of his neighbours. "The heritage listing is toothless. He has broken the back of it, and now anyone can do anything in these buildings and use him as an example."

The situation provides added stresses for tenants also, as increased pressure to preserve the building makes it difficult to on-sell businesses upon retirement.

"I always remember the traumatic times of signing the lease," Walsh sighs. "You had not much hope of selling an ongoing business, because it is just you. So most jewellers would close the door, go home and collect the pension, or live off a bit of money put away."

Strata titling, introduced by building owners in many city blocks, has brought a welcome change to the industry: "We all bought our rooms in 1997 and now have our small bit of property in the city," Walsh says. "Strata titling has been wonderful, good for the trade."

Walsh worries now about the upkeep of buildings with so many owners. Citing broken air-conditioning in Wales Corner and unreliable plumbing in the Manchester Unity Building, he wonders what he would do if the lifts broke down in the Century Building: "When jewellers own the building individually, it could put them out of business."

A laid-back Gulo is much less concerned: "What if the lifts broke down? Well, what if you had a heart attack? You can't stop these things. Every three months, you pay money to the body corporate for upkeep, lighting, things like that. The floors are clean, and you can't see any rubbish. The management works here, which is very important. I'm happy here, I like the atmosphere."

The establishment at 250 Pitt Street in the heart of Sydney's CBD is the kind of building that could easily escape the attention of passers-by. Wedged neatly between two others on the quieter end of Pitt Street, its 12-storey façade beckons; its attractive, arched windows embellished with wrought ironwork.

Step under an archway and into the tiled foyer to see that the arch motif is carried through to the interior. Furthermore, the terrazzo, plasterwork, light fittings and lobby notice board are all original, fitted just after the building's construction in 1923.

Upon exiting the lift on the floors above, one notices hardwood floor hallways, well-trodden beneath a coat of new polish, stained chocolate and illuminated by soft rays of light. The smell of freshly-melted casting wax is everywhere, as are the feint fumes of soldering gas. Together, the smells waft through each corridor on every floor. Unmistakably, this is a building of jewellers.

Seemingly in every direction, skilled artisans drill, polish, set, file, solder and saw, each confined to their own small workroom yet, despite such diligence, the atmosphere at 250 Pitt Street is relaxed and social - a peep into the workrooms revealing the sense of camaraderie more often associated with colleagues than competitors.

The jewellers working here consider themselves lucky to have workmates around them all day. In one suite, they joke and bellow laughter at the expense of a jeweller who's mistaken white gold for yellow on an order form, and made an entire piece in the wrong metal. The jeweller himself also smirks with mock displeasure as his colleagues slap their thighs in amusement.