Mr NATHAN HAGARTY (Leppington) (19:00): This week marks the anniversary of one of the most extraordinary episodes in our State's wartime history—one that affects my local area. That is the Liverpool Riot of 1916, also known as the Soldiers Riot or the Battle of Central Station. It was a day when discontent and disorder among thousands of recruits caused them to spill from the military camps of Liverpool and Casula into the streets of Sydney, leaving one man dead, many injured and a legacy that would shape public policy and social life in New South Wales for many decades to come.
In the years leading up to 1916, Liverpool was home to Australia's largest military training complex. When the Great War began, that camp expanded rapidly. Thousands of new recruits arrived, often faster than the facilities could keep up. Overcrowding, poor food and sanitation, and long, punishing hours fuelled growing resentment. There were earlier disturbances. In late 1915 a royal commission warned that discipline was poor and morale was fraying. There was no "wet canteen" in the camp, so soldiers sought alcohol in the Liverpool pubs—some of which still stand today—while tightly controlled leave passes left many feeling confined. Adding to the resentment was the belief that so-called "enemy aliens"—Germans and people of German descent who were being held at the nearby Holsworthy internment camp—were being treated better than the Australian recruits training to fight overseas.
By early 1916 tempers were short and frustration was widespread. On the morning of 14 February 1916, soldiers at Casula camp were told their training would be extended. Many refused to accept the new orders and began to leave the camp in protest. They marched into Liverpool, joining others along the way. Crowds of soldiers filled the township, storming hotels and demanding drinks without paying. Windows were soon smashed and shops were looted. They then commandeered trains from Liverpool station and headed for Sydney. When they arrived at Central, they began to march down George Street. What started as a protest quickly turned violent. Drunken soldiers clashed with police and military guards. Stones and bottles were thrown. Guards fired warning shots—and then live rounds. One soldier was killed. Several others were seriously wounded. Shops with foreign‑sounding names were targeted and vandalised. Sydney's main streets were under siege from its own men in uniform.
By nightfall order was slowly restored. The next morning at 11.00 a.m. on 15 February all soldiers in the district were ordered to parade at Liverpool. Most returned to formation, but around 200 were absent and treated as deserters. In total, about 279 soldiers were discharged from the Australian Imperial Force for misconduct, drunkenness or absence without leave. Thirty-seven were arrested during the riot and seventeen were formally charged in the days that followed. Some faced serious punishment. One young recruit, Private Heaton, just 16 years old, was sentenced to six months hard labour for smashing shop windows. Several ringleaders faced court martial and jail terms for their mutiny.
The government of the day, led by Prime Minister Billy Hughes, moved to limit public reporting of the riot, concerned that detailed coverage would undermine recruitment and wartime morale. Despite efforts to contain it, the riot had lasting consequences. It strengthened the temperance movement's case that alcohol undermined discipline and helped lead to the June 1916 referendum, where voters backed six o'clock hotel closings, ushering in what became known as the "six o'clock swill" for nearly four decades. The violence also fed into the bitter national debate over conscription, highlighting deep divisions about morale, authority and the strain of war on Australian society.
Today the only physical trace of that day is a small chip in the marble near the exit of platform 1 at Central Station, said to have been left by one of the bullets fired on Valentine's Day of 1916. The Liverpool Riot stands as a stark illustration of the social tensions Australia faced during the First World War. It revealed the strain placed on a volunteer army, the pressures created by harsh training and poor conditions, and the deep divisions emerging in the community over alcohol, discipline and the important question of conscription. The events of February 1916 remind us that war does not only test nations on the battlefield; it exposes fault lines at home—in policy, in leadership and in society itself. In closing, I acknowledge and thank local historian Mike Davis, who is in the gallery. He assisted me greatly in researching the history of the Liverpool Riot and in helping to ensure the accuracy of this account and that this important story is recorded in Hansard.
