I’m from Ireland. I spent my first three months in Australia living in a Kings Cross hostel. After coming to the conclusion that Sydney wasn’t for me, I ventured south to Melbourne. It was mid November and on our first night living in the heart of the city we bumped into three fit Aussie girls and asked them if they knew somewhere good. One of the girls insisted her name was ‘Bik3i’ spelt with a ‘3’, and I was pretty confident the other two girl’s names were fake as well, but they were hot. They literally just said ‘follow us’, and turned down Caledonian Lane towards the door of St Jerome’s. We paid a dollar each, some guy scribbled a circle in black pen on my hand and we followed them in. They dragged us out the back and when I heard funk being played down the closed off alley by a pack of what appeared to me to be teenagers, and I could smell that tinge of marijuana, I thought... ‘Finally I’ve found somewhere I can settle in Australia’.”
— Niall Maguire
The toilets would be overflowing with urine and wet Posca but I loved it. Coopers long necks for days and smoking inside. Fairy lights powered from Myer and milk crates as seats. Watching girls stack it down the stairs and having a good old laugh. I met a load of boys there and kissed a few girls. I miss it.
— Jasmine Willard-Beu
I was having a beer and catching up with a friend when the place filled with young fillies in denim shorts and white tops. It was January 2008 and that night there was a Kings of Leon show. Some girls approached a group of young surly men, and the boldest — in her best valley girl impression and full of loaded implication — led with, ‘you guys look like you’re in a band’. To which the boys enthusiastically whipped out a flier and said, ‘yeah, we are. Come to one of our shows’
— Isabel McCann
We were the weird kids from Bendigo. We had no idea how the city worked. My friend took us to a dark, damp lane that smelt like old piss. At first I thought we were being forced to enjoy dumpster coffee or something — you know, because she’s that indie and shit. But as we entered past the vine leaf-covered window display, we were transported into a world we finally felt like we could belong in. Our holiness: St. Jerome’s. St Jerome’s wasn’t just a café or bar; it was a revolution, a lifestyle, and a family. I am so happy to say that Jerome’s was a place where I shaped myself into the person I am today. And how easy it is to say I love the person I turned into because I felt a sense of acceptance there.
— Hannah Robertson
My personal favourite (in the early days) was to sneak up the stairway at the back. You had to be super careful. Not only so you didn’t hurt yourself climbing over the rubble and ‘Don’t Enter’ signs, but to respect the establishment and not get them in trouble. Three long flights up turn-of-the-century broad wooden stairs and you were on the rooftop. You could see right over the shops on Swanston Street. It was a fantastic view — like climbing a tree in a concrete jungle. But those things that shine twice as bright, shine half as long. The funny thing is, I still have friends come down from Sydney or back from overseas that say ‘meet you at St. Jerome’s?’ Sometimes I almost choke when I tell them ‘It’s gone’ — but never forgotten. Thanks for the memories.
— Alex Avery
At one of the bigger parties toward Christmas time, there was a piñata hung up in the middle of the dance floor and some dude came out wildly swinging a cricket bat at it. Unfortunately he collected someone else’s head and not the piñata. Ouch! The ensuing fracas was awesome!