The mayor of Sydney has ordered it silenced from now till dawn, even though the city will continue to hum noisily for at least another hour until the last cinema has emptied her stalls and the last boot-black wound down his shutters. Already the newsreel theatres and most of the large restaurants have closed. The massive doors of the Public Library as well as the lesser guardians of Sydney Hospital are swinging shut. The modern corridor trams have retired for the night. Without warning, the rain which has threatened all evening comes pelting down, sending travellers diving under shop-awnings for shelter.
Trams wait patiently for their passengers to dart through the rain.
Four trams are now trundling along George Street, one behind the other. Swinging precariously along his narrow footboard on the last tram in this convoy, a conductor searches for errant fares. He prises open the sliding, folding doors of the end compartment with an ear-clenching bang. George Harrod looked up. The conductor's overcoat was heavy with rain.