A Life By Design

by Siobhan O'Brien

  When the clock struck five o’clock on Friday afternoon, Florence would pull out her lashes and I’d have to glue them on. By the time she arrived back at work on Monday morning, after a wild, boozy weekend, she would have just have a few stray strands hanging on for all they were worth to the middle of her upper eyelid. It was absolutely hilarious. Flo would waltz into the studio from her wild weekend and say, ‘Oh fabulous, fabulous darling. I’ve had the most fabulous time partying. Would you mind fixing up my eyes?’ Then I’d have to paste some fresh, new red falsies on until she was due for another change on Friday.

  When Sally first met Florence, her boss was wearing a multi-coloured mu-mu, orange stilettos with heels that had worn away, bright plexi-glass rings on one hand and massive carat diamonds on the other. ‘She had her bum in the air, her panties down to her knees and she was throwing rolls of wallpaper through her legs. She was crazy and fabulous.’

  At one event in the mid-sixties, Florence turned up in a vibrant plum kaftan, with lashings of green eye shadow, bright orange lipstick and lurid yellow stockings. At another she wore a classic black Christian Dior frock with large white orchids pinned to her lapel and a velvet hat sprinkled with red diamantes.

  Wherever Florence went, the Sydney press reported it and the vibrant socialite made sure she looked the part. As one reporter said, ‘Her artist’s brush and colour sense has “gone to the head”of well known personality Florence Broadhurst. Florence entered Romano’s yesterday with a distinct tint of pink in her hair. She wore a black wool sack, draped at the back, high fashion black shoes with gold tips, and set the outfit off with grey mink.’ And another described her as being ‘…like a painted red-headed butterfly emerging from a purple chiffon cocoon—always colourful Florence Broadhurst…’ Florence not only enjoyed the attention lavished upon her by the press, she courted it. The ‘English artist’ soon became a regular in the social pages with a style reminiscent of Bette Davis, Gloria Swanson and Audrey Hepburn with a zany, theatrical twist. Florence was high camp.

  Many of the charities that Florence associated herself with also had an artistic bent. She was responsible for the décor for society balls and specialised in fitting out the interiors. As if by magic she transformed drab, conservative rooms into exotic, glittering labyrinths. When she was given the job of organising the décor for a fundraiser for the Opera House in 1964 the result was a veritable kaleidoscope of colour: ‘Shimmering blues, exciting crimsons, cloths of gold, sequins in the colours of the rainbow. The décor had an out-of-this-world charm. Artist Florence Broadhurst designed it and she had a top-drawer team of helpers who worked all through the day pinning dreamy, coloured butterflies on fairy festoons of black net. What a background for your new ball gown!’ (Sunday Mirror, 1964). In a very short time, Florence had stamped her style on events all over Sydney.

  •

  In February 1958, when the Queen Mother visited Australia, Florence received not one but two invitations to join the visiting royal at gala events in Sydney—a reception for women at The Trocadero and, the following day, a garden luncheon at Government House. At the former event on George Street, a staggering eight hundred women representing one hundred and fifty different charity organisations, packed into the venue to catch a glimpse of the Queen Mother. On the street was one of the wildest scenes of the royal tour. As British flags fluttered in the breeze overhead, two thousand near-hysterical women tried to force their way into the building. But they were no match for the police who held them back as a dignified Queen Mother alighted from the royal car and trotted through the front doors of the art deco dance hall.

  Wearing her customary toque, pearls and a white organza dress, the Queen Mother gave a little wave as she made her way past the doormen dressed in smart red uniforms. The elegant royal walked the length of the scarlet carpet, covered with a pattern of fleur-de-lis picked out in cream and black, across the dance floor with a brass band behind her on the stage, before spotting Florence in the crowd. According to the Daily Telegraph, the Queen Mother walked over to Florence, who must have stood out like a beacon with her bright pink hair, and asked simply, ‘Are you living here now?’

  A few days later, on 26 February 1958, hundreds of guests, including Florence and Leonard, gathered on the lawns of Sydney’s Government House awaiting the arrival of the Queen Mother. A luncheon had been organised in her honour and the place was abuzz with women in hats, gloves and conservative frocks cropped at mid-calf. The men wore either full military regalia or dashing three-piece suits with highly polished shoes.

  Just the day before, many of these well-dressed guests would have seen the headlines emblazoned across page thirty-two of the Daily Telegraph: ‘Queen Mother Renewed Old Acquaintance’. The article continued: ‘Alert as ever, the Queen Mother was quick to recognise an old acquaintance yesterday, when she attended the Women’s Reception at The Trocadero. The lucky person who caught Her Majesty’s eye was artist Florence Broadhurst. “Are you living here now?” the Queen Mother asked Miss Broadhurst, who left England nine years ago.’ The article continued, explaining that the British dignitary first met the redheaded Queenslander in 1947 when her daughter Queen Elizabeth married Philip Mountbatten and ‘they had spoken several times since on different occasions’. Many of the guests who attended the luncheon at Government House would have been slightly envious, or at least curious. How had Florence managed to score an invitation to one of the hottest events in post-war Britain? Which of the royals was Florence chummy with—the Queen, her mother or both? And what was Queen Elizabeth’s wedding frock really like?

  As the guests at Government House mingled under the cloudless summer sky, the Queen Mother’s car inched its way along congested Sydney streets lined with over a million fans. In Market Street, between Pyrmont Bridge and St James Station, one hundred thousand people jostled each other on the hot footpath just to catch a glimpse of her. A dozen times members of the crowd carrying gifts for the royal matriarch rushed onto the road and mobbed the car. When making progress became almost impossible, the Queen Mother ordered the car to stop while she graciously accepted bouquets and trinkets from her adoring public.

  At Government House Governor Lieutenant General Sir Eric Woodward and his guests waited patiently for their guest and Florence kept them entertained with tales about the royal wedding. Her account of the event included details about the four-course breakfast that she and Leonard had enjoyed at Buckingham Palace. As Florence explained, she and her husband mingled with foreign royalty as they ate lavish fare that included the aptly named Filet de Sole Mountbatten and Bombe Glace Princesse Elizabeth. An elaborate procession followed their champagne-laden meal. From the palace, Florence claimed, she and the other guests travelled in coaches to Westminster Abbey while the Household Cavalry provided a mounted escort. Princess Elizabeth, dressed in her lustrous satin wedding dress embroidered with pearls and crystals, travelled behind them with her father, King George VI, in the Irish State Coach. When the future Queen of England arrived at Westminster Abbey her fifteen-foot train, held in place by a tiara of pearls and diamonds, dropped to the ground as she stepped from the coach and it followed her like a shadow into the church. The women attending the function at Government House would have listened to Florence in wide-eyed awe. By the time the Queen Mother finally arrived, Florence would have had her audience eating out of the palm of her hand.

  But the story was a fabrication. The closest Florence got to Princess Elizabeth’s wedding in 1947 were the ingredients donated by the Australian Girl Guides for the wedding cake. The reason Florence was acquainted with the Queen Mother was because she sold her a few frocks at Pellier Ltd—her Mayfair dress salon.

  WALLPAPER

  AND TRUCKING

  1959–1969

  ‘I’m sure there would be no psychiatric wards if there was more art. People who take LSD must be terribly bored.

  I don’t need it’

  FLORENCE BROADHURST, ‘THE PAPER MAKERS’ ,

  AUSTRALIAN H
OME JOURNAL, 1968

  The Lloyd Lewises had come a long way since they first arrived in Sydney from war-torn Europe in 1949. By 1958 they were wealthy, successful and well-connected on the Sydney social circuit. Everything had worked out as Florence had planned. She had carved a career for herself as a successful artist and continued to paint prolifically and exhibit often; her husband had made a success of himself as a financier, and her son, who was now twenty years old, had grown up in the healthy, abundant environment that she had always hoped for. As Florence explained to the Daily Telegraph in 1954: ‘For me Australia is the promised land. I came here run-down, tired and war weary—the sunshine was a cure in itself and I never turned back. My son, who was pale and undersized for his age, is now six foot one and thirteen stone.’

  The enterprising couple owned by this time a number of investment properties around Sydney, but their home was a modern Potts Point penthouse on Macleay Street that cost them almost seven thousand pounds. The lavish split-level apartment was small but had a stunning bird’seye view of the glittering Sydney Harbour. From their main bedroom and dining room on the upper level, they could watch boats sail past by day and lights shimmer across the waters of the harbour at night. The main bedroom was bursting with Florence’s gowns, jewellery and makeup. It was a relatively sparse, monochromatic bedroom, except for dramatic floor-to-ceiling mirrors in which Florence preened herself every morning and evening. The lower level of the apartment featured a living room and a small kitchen that, as regular visitor Janet Moseley explained, was ‘barely big enough to cook a chop’. Both rooms had views over a bustling Macleay Street.

  Coincidentally, Ralph Sawyer, an old friend of Florence’s from her Shanghai days, lived nearby. Ralph, the effeminate, slight (he only stood about 163 centimetres) and extremely convincing female impersonator, had not been as successful as Florence Broadhurst. When he first returned to Australia from Shanghai in 1941, he worked as a clerk in the public service and was later self-employed in a series of small businesses, including cafés, sandwich shops and rooming houses. Now he rented out rooms in his Macleay Street home to pay for his keep and managed an Elizabethan-style inn and restaurant on Elizabeth Bay Road which was, according to researcher Tony Barker, perpetually filled with theatrical, flamboyant and colourful characters. Tony remembers that Ralph later moved to Double Bay and then to the nearby suburb of Woollahra, where it was probable that Ralph and Florence bumped into each other. It is Ralph’s Woollahra address that features in Florence’s address book from this period. She had also added him to the invite list for her art exhibitions at about this time.

  Life in the eastern suburbs of Sydney suited Florence. All her favourite haunts were within arm’s reach: among them the Chevron Hilton Hotel, Napoleon’s Café and an assortment of European-style boutiques. Judy Korner, whose family beauty salon was located at the Kings Cross Chevron Hilton throughout the sixties, said Florence was a regular customer. ‘She came every week and got the lot done—facials, waxing, massage—you name it. She came in like a tornado and left like a tornado. She loved to be pampered. She moved with incredible speed. She projected an image of someone who was not to be messed with. She clicked her fingers and people jumped.’ Judy claimed that Florence could often be found with Leonard or with a friend at the hotel bar or listening to live acts such as Shirley Bassey, Nat King Cole and Jose Feliciano.

  •

  Florence and Leonard were soon sketching out their idea for a new endeavour, something that would make money and was easy to manage. With Leonard’s experience as a diesel engineer and Florence’s managerial nous, a motor yard seemed like the perfect venture. In 1959 the husband-and-wife team paid twenty thousand pounds for an old truck yard at 466 Pacific Highway, Crows Nest. They took down the old signs and erected new glossy ones which read: L. Lewis and Son. The company earned its bread and butter couriering goods interstate and buying and selling new and used vehicles and machinery including cars, trucks, semi-trailers and earth-moving equipment. Toward the rear of the site, a collection of leaky sheds and workshops were rented out to small businesses.

  Florence and Leonard kick-started their scheme by purchasing two scarlet seven-tonne trucks and set them to work couriering goods back and forth to Brisbane. When the trucks weren’t on the road, they were parked proudly in the dirt yard that fronted the Pacific Highway, passed by trams, cars and buses at all hours. Emblazoned on each truck door was a domed company crest.

  It was a modest start, but it wasn’t long before the venture, nudged along by Florence’s tireless work ethic, started to grow. Soon the Lloyd Lewises bought out a Brisbane trucking company and added another six trucks to their fleet. With the rapid expansion of the business, the position of manager of the Brisbane office became available and Robert Lloyd Lewis was the perfect candidate. Since he had left Barker College in 1954 he had worked in a variety of jobs, but he was a natural with diesel engines. At twenty-one Robert moved north to Brisbane. By 1963, L. Lewis and Son was sailing along with a fleet of drivers, a sales manager and six assistants.

  Set against a background of petrol, sweat and swearing, Florence had an otherworldly appearance as she waltzed around the Crows Nest truck yard with her flame-red beehive and lurex mini-skirts. Taking her seriously was a minor feat for some of the truck drivers and assistants in her employ, but the moment she opened her mouth it didn’t take them long to work out who was the boss. Florence was brusque, direct and driven. She barked orders at her drivers and rapped them across the knuckles if they didn’t do a good job. As Florence herself said:

  Making money is hard. It calls for qualities of courage, resource and intelligence of a far higher order than is necessary to gain a university degree. It isn’t your position that holds you back, but your disposition. Money is a means to an end, not an end in itself.

  From her upstairs office she worked with vertiginous speed as she juggled the endless round of details involved in managing a rapidly expanding company. She organised cargo to be delivered and picked up, bought and sold trucks, struck deals worth thousands of dollars, wrote and signed contracts and kept her eye on her many investments dotted around Sydney.

  The press found the duality of the colourful ‘English’ artist who was also the managing director of a successful trucking business hard to stomach. Consequently, Florence became defensive about the perception the public might have of her. As she declared to People Magazine in 1963, ‘True artists don’t boast they know nothing about practical matters, because that is admitting to a limited mentality.’ But the reporters did agree on one thing: Florence was doing a good job. As one explained, ‘Her success in buying and selling motor vehicles is due, she thinks, to an ability which proved just as profitable in a millinery business she once ran in England—an ability to choose efficient offsiders and delegate authority to them.’ Or as Florence put it, ‘I employ people who know their jobs, and then as problems come up, I see that they’re channelled to the right person’ (People Magazine, 1963). While there was little doubt that Florence was a hard worker who delegated efficiently and effectively, one thing was obvious: she didn’t like getting her hands soiled. According to Robert, ‘My mother didn’t get involved with the day-to-day dirty work at the truck yard. She’d say, “Darling I’m not going to pick anything up, it’s dirty”’.

  •

  One afternoon, a young designer of textiles, wrapping paper and wallpaper appeared at the truck yard. He had an appointment to inspect an old panel-beating shop that the Lloyd Lewises had for lease. John Lang, a polite, petite man, had made the trek from Melbourne to Sydney in search of a better, more profitable life for himself and was looking for somewhere to set up his printing tables. One glance at the space Florence had to rent and John made up his mind to take it. He soon settled in and Florence took an interest in what he was doing. As John explained, she would often call in via the back stairs leading from her office. ‘Florence would quiz me, “Who would want wallpapers in this godforsaken country?” I was rapidly
beginning to think she’d stop me getting any work done,’ he said. He soon discovered that Florence was an astute businesswoman with a keen eye for a potentially successful venture. Lang claimed Florence said to him, ‘What would a little boy like you know about business? You haven’t got the contacts.’ And on yet another visit, as her interest escalated, ‘This is so exciting my dear. This commodity could be marketed in a very social way.’

  Peter Leis, who was employed by Florence in the late sixties, remembered this scenario differently: ‘As John was floundering and unable to pay the rent, she took the reins.’ Robert echoed this memory: ‘With John at the helm his wallpaper business wasn’t a great success. Anyway, he couldn’t even afford to pay the rent that was due to my parents, so my mother simply stepped in and took over. They worked together for a short period but not for very long and John soon left altogether.’

  The exact originators of the business Australian (Hand Printed) Wallpapers Pty Ltd, registered in 1959, might never be known. And Florence did not help clarify the issue. Her reports varied, including that she got the idea for designing wallpaper when the trend became fashionable in house decorating again; that she learnt the craft in Sussex, England, where she told staff members that she had been born; and that her idea was born from frustration as it was impossible to purchase interior decorations to suit her needs. On another occasion she claimed she got into designing wallpaper because she was sick of waiting for interior design products from overseas; and to the Sun, in 1962, she said she launched the venture because friends ‘complained they walked the city without being able to find the exact colours they wanted’.