We begin at Hyde Park — once sacred Gadigal land, later a colonial parade ground, and now home to a bold monument of grief and power. The Anzac Memorial’s striking art deco design reflects a city grappling with loss, identity, and control. By the 1920s, those same tensions exploded. Sydney shifted from solemn remembrance to chaos, becoming the crime capital of the Commonwealth. The streets around us turned from marches to mayhem — and the Razor Wars were just beginning.

Norman Bruhn came up from Melbourne in 1926 — a career criminal with a bad temper, a sawed-off shotgun, and plans to take over Sydney’s booming vice scene. He wasn’t just challenging men — he was challenging the razor queens already running the show: Tilly Devine, Kate Leigh, and their armies of girls, grog-runners, and crooked cops. Bruhn set up just steps from here. Less than a year later, he was ambushed and shot dead on this very street — a violent end that didn’t kill the chaos, but ignited it. His death marked the true beginning of the Razor Wars — Sydney’s bloodiest chapter.

In the late 1920s, Riley Street was the power base of Kate Leigh, Sydney’s most formidable sly grog queen. Operating from her home at 104 Riley Street, she built an empire of illegal pubs and cocaine supply. Just a few blocks away, Tilly Devine ran her brothels. The city wasn’t big enough for both — and as their empires collided, Sydney descended into the chaos of the Razor Wars.

This William Street pub became one of the most infamous landmarks of Sydney’s Razor Wars. It was the scene of a fatal shooting, a near miss, and whispered threats over whisky. Frank Green, Barney Dalton, Nellie Cameron — their stories all passed through these doors.

For years, these laneways were the beating heart of Tilly Devine’s brothel empire. Her girls worked the terraces, protected by razor gangs and bribes. It was here, in the shadows of Chapel Street, that deals were made, rivals were slashed, and Sydney’s sex trade turned bloody during the Razor Wars.

Once known as the Tradesman’s Arms, this pub was a notorious Razorhurst watering hole. Gangsters, brothel madams, and crooked cops drank here — often at the same table. Deals were made, threats exchanged, and more than one punch-up started right at this bar.

Once the Burton Street Tabernacle, this site was where Arthur Stace heard the sermon that inspired his famous one-word graffiti: “Eternity.” From a house of worship to a theatre of stories, this corner has echoed with conviction, redemption, and a touch of the divine ever since.

Behind these stone walls, Sydney’s most notorious criminals were locked up — and some never left. In 1889, Louisa Collins became the last woman hanged in NSW after four trials for poisoning her husbands. Her execution sparked outrage — and marked the beginning of the end for public hangings.

Once a funeral home, Kinselas has seen its share of drama — long before it became a Darlinghurst icon. Rumour has it Tilly Devine’s rivals were laid out here. Today, it stands on the bones of Razorhurst, reborn as a bar, a stage, and a celebration of the city’s rebellious past.