It was no easy task looking for a runaway in a large, bustling metropolis like Sydney. Cars, carts, trams and horse-drawn carriages jostled about trying to avoid each other and the throngs of pedestrians along the main street. George Street was packed with buildings lining the pathways, with the dome of the Queen Victoria Building prominent further along the street. Down at Circular Quay, while there was as yet no Harbour Bridge (it would be completed in March 1932) or the modern-day Opera House, it was a hive of activity. Lillian Armfield was well acquainted with these tourist areas of Sydney, but it was eastern Sydney she needed to patrol and know like the back of her hand: from Woolloomooloo on the waterfront, south to Darlinghurst and down to Surry Hills and Redfern, then back up to Paddington and towards the coast. These were the streets where tourists dared not tread and where her job would daily come alive as she watched for anything that seemed out of place, especially runaway girls. Terraces on Foveaux Street in Surry Hills, where Lillian Armfield patrolled. Credit:City of Sydney Archives In the overcrowded and poverty-stricken streets of eastern Sydney, the air was thick with smoke from the factories and smelled of hops from the breweries and a mixture of seawater and fish odours from the waterfront. The streets were lined with sand and dust and congealed food scraps in the gutters from people cleaning out their household rubbish. The electrical cables running up to the power lines drooped lower than they should have and drainage pipes were dented from years of fists and feet banging against them. Maybe a few heads too. Here in the poorest of Sydney neighbourhoods, families were making do as best they could. They crammed into terrace houses with other renters – single people, families and elderly folk – where poor sanitation and rising damp were put up with as much as the rotting floorboards, rodents and cockroaches. It was here in Surry Hills that the writer Ruth Park toured the streets for her daily serial which became the 1948 book The Harp in the South. She placed her main characters – the Darcy family – in "a cranky brown house, with a blistered green door, and a step worn into dimples and hollows that collected the rain in little pools ..."

The eastern Sydney streets were also a children’s playground with working-class tykes making the most of what the area offered. Barefooted kids chased each other around in billycarts. The kid who could survive the race to the bottom of the hilly streets became a local legend. Others, less successful and more inclined to come off the cart in dramatic fashion, wore the bruises, scrapes and dents across their bodies like trophies from a battle. If they gathered about long enough, the youngsters would sometimes get the offcut meat bits the butcher didn’t need or rejected product from bakeries such as rolls that had failed the rising dough test. For so many of the kids, coming from very poor families, any extra food was a godsend. It seemed ludicrous to Lillian that she couldn’t carry a weapon like her male colleagues did. The wealthy had long since given up on the eastern Sydney neighbourhoods, choosing instead to rent out their terrace houses. Landlords could expect a regular rental turnaround from poor workers and their families looking to live close to the factories and wharves. However, most houses were showing dramatic wear and tear by the early years of the twentieth century. They were developed in ‘undrained, unlevelled, unshaped ways’ and overcrowding was a serious problem. Houses were built close to laneways, taking up as much vacant land as possible. Rickety wooden fences lined the streets, unsuccessfully hiding the outside toilets where privacy meant hoping no one would pass by when nature called. The weatherboard houses, with their rotting wood planks, could hardly weather anything, let alone torrential rain in winter and the humid heat of summer. Lillian Armfield often toured some of the worst slum areas looking for runaways like the girl from Orange. Most girls who ran away from home had a few pennies in their pockets and little thought as to how they would pay for their new life in the city. Slum accommodation was all they could afford. One of the places on Lillian’s list to check for the runaway from Orange was Frog Hollow, an infamous slum which the police described as a breeding ground for some of Sydney’s worst criminals. Located on the western side of Riley Street, Surry Hills, Frog Hollow was full of decrepit housing structures. The slum was on a sheer cliff, which added to its unstable nature. Nine metres lower than the surrounding buildings, Frog Hollow could be accessed from three different places, which meant anyone escaping from police, including runaways, had a number of exits. The Women's Police in 1938. Lillian Armfield, seated at rear, with Mrs Jeffrey, Miss Rosser, Mrs Burton, Mrs Ledger, Mrs Mitchell, Mrs Croke and Mrs Mooney. Credit:Justice and Police Museum

Lillian continued to scour the streets, checking the slums and terrace houses, looking for her. Suddenly, at the lower end of Surry Hills, Lillian spotted a young girl matching the description of the runaway from Orange. She closed in quickly and grabbed the girl, who scratched and wriggled against Lillian’s firm hold. This was where Lillian’s experience restraining asylum patients helped in her police work. She was also a lot broader and taller than the teenager and she knew how to use her physique to full effect. While the girl squirmed, Lillian reminded her she had a family looking for her and the streets of Sydney were no place for a young girl. Lillian looked for the quickest way back to Central Police Station but was halted by a menacing crowd drawing near. In only a few minutes, 200 people surrounded her. On these crime-ridden streets, given the choice, locals preferred crooks to cops and they didn’t mind using their fists to show it. They’d rather see a girl left to her own devices on the streets than be taken away by the police. They resented a policewoman thinking she was in charge of other people’s kids. The girl could end up being sent to a girls’ shelter and from there the dreaded girls’ home out at Parramatta. Some of the women crowded close to the girl would have already been through the hell of institutionalisation. As Lillian clung on to the young girl, still looking for a way to haul her to the main station, someone from the rear of the crowd threw a bottle at Lillian. It smashed against a wall and a shard of glass cut the side of Lillian’s face. With her heart racing, blood hot on her cheek, and still trying to hold on to the young girl, who was now afraid of the mob, Constable Armfield looked over the top of the crowd for help. The women in the crowd were furious and were ready to rush at her but they were held back by the men around them. It wasn’t to protect Lillian; it was so the women wouldn’t end up on an assault charge and gaol time. Familiar faces looked out at Lillian from the crowd. In only a short amount of time on the job, she was getting to know the criminal notables of eastern Sydney. Surrounded by the throng of angry locals and trying to keep her young charge safe, Lillian had nothing more than her handbag and fists to protect herself. It seemed ludicrous to Lillian that she couldn’t carry a weapon like her male colleagues did. If she was going to stand half a chance on these crime-ridden streets she needed to defend herself. She clutched her handbag, ready to swing it if someone got too close. Lillian Armfield, aged 80, with a group of constables who were sworn in at the passing-out parade in Redfern, in 1964. Credit:Fairfax Media

Suddenly, a police whistle sounded from the back of the crowd. Two male uniformed officers ploughed their way through the crowd, quickly dispersing it. Either news of the mob had travelled back to the station or the constables were nearby and heard the commotion. Whatever the case, while Lillian had wanted to do the job alone, she was grateful for the assistance. The young girl was taken to the children’s shelter while her parents made their way to the city to collect her. "Lillian Armfield: How Australia’s First Female Detective Took On Tilly Devine And The Razor Gangs And Changed The Face Of The Force", by Leigh Straw . Sydney’s runaway girls were often from country areas and had little idea of what to expect in the city. They fantasised about an independent life with new friends and adventures. When they stepped off the train and tried to find their way in the city, reality hit. They faced a large, unforgiving city that preyed on their naivety or lack of family and financial support. So many of the girls, as Lillian would find in the years ahead, were conned into working as prostitutes. Now that the girl from Orange was going to be reunited with her parents, Lillian was relieved there was one less girl on the streets. This is an edited extract from Lillian Armfield: How Australia’s First Female Detective Took On Tilly Devine And The Razor Gangs And Changed The Face Of The Force, by Leigh Straw (Hachette Australia, RRP $32.99) published on 27 March.