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The Great Escapes: From the Albany Convict Gaol
When Desperation, Bad Planning and Stone Walls Collided Behind the Walls of Albany Convict Gaol.
By Tanya McColgan | 21 Jan 2026
Throughout its chequered history, the Albany Convict Gaol saw more than its fair share of inmates trying to outwit stone walls, steel doors and the ever-watchful eye of the law. Many of these great escape attempts were... well, not so great.
Rather than legendary tales of tunnelling to freedom or rooftop chases, Albany’s prison breaks were often foiled by poor planning, bad luck and occasionally, an overwhelming thirst for a beer.
When Richard Lovelace famously wrote, “Stone Walls do not a Prison make, Nor Iron bars a Cage,” he clearly was referring to the Albany Convict Gaol, an apparent fortress nestled at the end of Parade Street, located on Stirling Terrace, backed up against the railway tracks and built in 1852.
Intended to keep prisoners under lock and key, it ended up hosting a string of bungled breakouts more Monty Python than Mission: Impossible. While it certainly saw its fair share of hardship, it also played host to some hilariously misguided escapes, from inmates dashing over the 12ft wall to others simply walking out the gate. The old stone walls of the Albany Convict Gaol have witnessed more than a few eyebrow raising exits. Here are just a few of the most gloriously misjudged escapes.
A Stowaway’s Post-Dinner Sprint (1934)
In what might be the politest prison break in Australian history, a young stowaway serving a humble 15 day sentence made his move on Wednesday, April 1, 1934, just after sampling that evening’s prison cuisine. (A smart man knows not to run on an empty stomach.) Cladded in regulation prison “moles” and a shirt, no shoes for reasons unknown, he scaled the 12 foot broken glass top wall like a barefoot gymnast tearing his trousers in the process. But alas, freedom was fleeting. At 2:30am, Constable Ted Morrell found him crouched in a Stirling Terrace bank doorway, as if trying to decide whether to escape further or apply for a home loan. By 4am, he was back in custody and by breakfast he was sentenced to a month in Fremantle, plus two bonus weeks for giving the sergeant a fake name. Turns out he’d also done six months in Yatala Prison, South Australia, so you’d think he’d know better by now.
The Great Thirsty Escape (1935)
Andrew Olsen, a 52-year-old Norwegian, didn’t escape for glory, or revenge, or freedom... He escaped for a beer! Just hours after being sentenced, Olsen scaled the prison wall, hatless, hungry and thirsty. Roughly 30 minutes after his breakout, he strolled into a local hotel on Stirling Terrace and asked for a cold one. When Constable Barlow arrested him shortly after, Olsen’s first words were: “My God, I was dry.” What followed was a flurry of charges of stealing shoes, drunkenness, vagrancy and now escaping from custody. Olsen was headed for Fremantle by train, but thanks to his beer run, he earned a 24 hour delay and an extra 3 months in prison. All for a pint!
The Rogers Reruns (1925 & 1930)
Maurice Stanley Rogers, a camp cook by trade and escape artist by hobby, had a flair for the dramatics. He escaped twice from Albany Gaol, once in 1925 and again in 1930, the second time he got it right. In 1925, Rogers was awaiting sentencing for a break-in when he went full Houdini. Using a piece of fencing wire, a chunk of jarrah wood, a chair, a clothesline and two blankets, he managed to unlock two steel doors, scale the glass topped wall and sneak out, without a scratch.
Rogers even replaced the bolt on the cell door, trying to fake his presence. If the keeper hadn’t physically checked the cell, Rogers might’ve had a head start worthy of applause. Instead, by midday, he was found hiding behind a house near the Woollen Mills. Arrested by Constable Corr while still catching his breath. Not one to learn his lesson, Rogers had another go in May 1930. This time, he was caught red handed robbing the Albany Golf Club and hiding stolen goods in a camp at Middleton Beach.
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Locked up again, he escaped by climbing a gas bracket, crawling through a wall (yes, through a wall) and naturally, returned to the scene of the crime, breaking into Merrifield & Son’s store, AGAIN, where he swapped clothes, grabbed a few items and legged it straight into full time freedom, no parole, no goodbyes, just a disappearing act that Houdini would’ve applauded.
The Quick Letter Dash (1898)
Perhaps the strangest and most successful escape and return, if you can call it that, was carried out in 1898... for the sake of mail. While Detective David “Big O.D.” O’Donnell was in Albany enroute to England on a criminal case, he took a casual walk near the gaol with an old acquaintance.
As they passed the gaol, a prisoner climbed down the wall and jogged into the post office. The shocked narrator exclaimed, “It’s a prisoner escaping!” O'Donnell, without blinking, replied, “He won’t be at liberty long.” Moments later, the man emerged from the post office, reading a letter, completely absorbed and moving in the direction of the Gaol.
O’Donnell snuck up behind him ready to pounce. But before he could strike, the escapee said, without even looking up: “Think I didn’t see you, Detective O’Donnell? Course I did. Just slipped out to check my mail – and there was a letter! Give us a leg up, will ya? Want to get back before they notice I’m gone.”
And back in he went. Now that, is what we call a very polite escape.
The Great Basket Bandit and His Bungled Breakout (1917)
One of the more amusing escapades in Albany Gaol history took place in March 1917, starring none other than George Trengrove, a man with a knack for creative transport and even more creative excuses.
It all began when the steamer, Indarra arrived at Albany and a surprised crew found a man in a basket hiding in the ship’s No. 2 hold. Further investigation revealed that the strongroom had been broken into and the registered mail looted, with jewellery worth £700 turning up later in a tin trunk. Trengrove, it seemed, wasn’t just taking a free cruise, he was taking a few souvenirs, too.
But the comedy didn’t end there. Once safely lodged in the Albany Gaol, Trengrove decided the accommodation didn’t quite meet his standards. On the night of March 14, the gaoler heard a loud thud, like someone testing gravity and rushed in to find Trengrove nursing a sprained foot. The cause? A DIY escape contraption. Using a bootlace and his blanket, he’d rigged up a makeshift sailor’s chair to reach a window nine and a half feet off the ground. Unfortunately for him, the plan ended before it began. When asked why he’d tried to escape, Trengrove gave perhaps the most honest answer ever recorded in a courtroom: “I got tired of looking at the four walls and wanted to see a bit of the country.” For his troubles, he was rewarded with seven days in solitary confinement, the first three on bread and water, giving him plenty of time to contemplate the view - he almost had.
Too Much for Albany: The Tasmanian Gaol Breakers Depart (1914)
Albany Gaol hosted two rather “spirited” visitors, Downey and Moroney, escapees from Launceston Gaol. Arrested in Albany in March 1913, it is reported that during their stay, the pair kept the gaolers up all night with their endless mischief, testing the patience of even the most seasoned officers.
On May 10, the duo finally departed Albany, escorted by Constables Arnel and Jackson aboard the Indiana. Local reports suggest that their departure was a relief not just for the gaolers, but for the entire town, proving that sometimes the best service a gaol can provide, is simply seeing troublesome prisoners shipped off. The gaolers, were heard breathing a collective sigh of relief: “Finally, a quiet night without two professional escapees plotting mayhem!”
A Puff of Freedom: One Inmate’s Unusual Escape and Return (1934)
Albert Joyce (26), a petty thief, was sentenced in January 1934 to 14 days' hard labour for a lengthy list of convictions. As part of his sentence, it was customary for those on remand to work in the garden grounds of the Residency and the Gaol. Albert turned the Albany Gaol into his own personal playground, not only succeeded in breaking from custody, but later in the night re-entering the prison, only to escape again.
In his statement, Joyce said that at 3.30pm on Tuesday afternoon whilst on garden duties, he hid himself in a clump of bushes near the Residency. Joyce remained hidden until 7.30pm where he walked along the railway line to the Town Jetty, with the aim to bum a cigarette. Joyce realised that if he wanted a real chance at freedom, he’d first have to lose the prison attire. He returned to his garden hiding place and around 8.30pm he re-entered the gaol storeroom and procured a ladder, which he carried through the main gate to the outer brick wall and a small section, that was not studded with broken glass and climbed the ladder, which he then drew up after him and used to descend to the gaol’s exercise yard. Joyce next climbed the wooden partition, near the quarters of the male section and then went over the dividing wall on to the bathroom roof of the women's section. His next move was to search the storeroom, from which he emerged with his objective —his civilian suit.
'I next opened the door leading to the male section from inside,' said Joyce, and he walked round to where he had left the ladder. In a minute, he was again outside the prison. He then went to his hiding place and changed, leaving the prison suit in the bushes. Joyce stated that ‘My next move was to walk down the railway line where I concealed myself in the guard's van of a train that had just steamed in.’
Joyce remained on the train until the early hours of Wednesday, where he walked to the Deepwater Jetty, a distance of about one mile and a half. ‘I concealed myself effectively under the jetty and fished all day from the piling. When night fell, I returned to the Town Jetty and took up a position from which I had a full view of approaching persons and I was intently watching and fishing until arrested by Sergeant J. Howard and Constable F. Wilson,’ said Joyce.
The officers were dressed in civilian clothing and Joyce exclaimed that if they’d been in uniform, I could’ve slipped under the jetty like a very determined crab and laid there until the coast was clear.
Joyce's recapture had meanwhile been the object of a wide search by local and district officers. The Perth Express train, which left Albany at 5 o'clock on Tuesday evening, was searched at Mount Barker and the Denmark-Elleker section was also combed. An intensive search of the locality and the beaches also occupied officers until 3am on Wednesday morning.
About 8.45pm on Tuesday night the wife of Constable Stephens heard noises in the vicinity of the gaol, these evidently coinciding with Joyce's operations in scaling the wall.
She summoned her husband to look and then it was discovered that Joyce had taken his clothes from the gaol. After Joyce’s recapture on the Wednesday, he finally got to tuck into a proper meal, the first since Tuesday at noon, making it painfully clear that his fishing expedition had been more “soggy line” than “big catch.” When it came to sentencing, Joyce was handed two months in Fremantle Gaol.
The Registrar Magistrate couldn’t resist noting the trouble and expense the police had gone through and wisely predicted that Joyce would just try the same foolish stunt again if left to roam free in Albany Gaol.
The Fireman’s Lunacy and Curious Case of Expenses from the Albany Gaol (1895)
Not exactly a breakout, but some stories are stranger in quieter ways like the curious case of Gilbert Scully, a fireman from the steamer, Nemesis in 1895. Scully wasn’t running from the law, he was struck by a sudden bout of insanity. When the Nemesis arrived at Albany, he was handed over to the local authorities barefoot and in a straitjacket, a sight that surely startled both locals and sailors. Scully spent 18 days in the Albany Gaol and when the captain returned to the port, the gaoler handed Scully back with a bill for £6 10s. When the captain returned to Melbourne and requested payment of the Albany Gaol bill, he was asked if gaols usually charged for lodging, the captain replied dryly, “It’s the first place in the world I’ve been where they do.”
Though Scully never attempted to escape, his unexpected incarceration and the surprising expense claim made by the Albany Gaol is simply - unforgettable!
For nearly 90 years, the Albany Gaol saw it all, sandalwood smugglers, drunken sailors, thieves, even murderers. And yet, among the grim tales are moments of pure comedy, like the convict who once told a mate, “Albany Gaol? She’s alright. Blimey, you need a reference to get in these days.” The Gaol closed its doors in 1939, marking the end of nearly a century of use as a place of confinement and correction. Today, under the care of the Albany Historical Society, the Albany Convict Gaol Museum stands as one of the city’s most atmospheric heritage sites — a place where the walls still seem to whisper stories of hardship, resilience and redemption.
Visitors are invited to wander through the dimly lit halls and if, during your visit, you happen to glimpse a shadowy figure dressed in a brown striped sack suit lingering in a doorway — perhaps just tip your hat or offer him a beer.