Hurriedly, she closed her bag, shut the door behind her, and was gone.
6
MRS LEE
Ethel was on the street, struggling with her overstuffed bag, making her way to the train to make her escape, unsure where exactly that would be.
‘You right there, Miss?’ a man asked.
He was a good foot shorter than she was, and had an older face. Ethel thought he looked familiar, but was eager to board the train before Mr Ward realised she’d gone. ‘Fine, thank you,’ she replied in her poshest voice, as she tried to move on.
He stepped in her way. Ethel stopped and looked around nervously, then stood tall and stared down at him. ‘Excuse me,’ she began, ‘I need to make the train.’
Slowly, deliberately, he looked at her and smiled. ‘You’re in a hurry,’ he observed. ‘Been watching you for a while,’ he added. ‘You’re pretty good at getting things out of them servicemen.’
‘How dare you!’ she whispered.
‘I can help you,’ he whispered back with a wicked grin. ‘Saw the coppers pick you up—you need somewhere to hide?’
There must have been something about Fred Lee, because Ethel stayed with him for a few months and worked at an illegal gambling establishment he was running, a place called The Casino on Pleasure Beach. It was straight out of a movie, though perhaps not as glamorous as she would have liked. She initially saw herself as the poor little rich girl who had fallen on hard times, and was under the influence of bad men, but she would redeem herself, once she had the money and means.
Ethel’s main job was to assess the punters, size them up, check out how much cash they had on them, and if she thought them a light touch, invite them in for a game of cards. What started off as a convenient place to stay and earn money, quickly turned into an opportunity for her to learn how to cheat at cards and fleece servicemen out of their pay. She was playing the role of a femme fatale, and revelling in it.
As well as money she earned with Fred Lee, she was still drawing on two ring papers, as Mrs Ward and Mrs Smith. She enjoyed dressing up, disguising herself, wearing wigs and heavy make-up. She did, however, avoid distinctive clothing that stood out, worried that maybe Mrs Hall or someone else would recognise her.
She was managing just fine, until she turned up at the post office where she was known as Mrs Ward, and presented the puzzled postmistress with the ring papers for a Mrs Smith. Realising her mistake, she grabbed the ring paper back and left the post office as quickly as she could.
An angry Fred promptly sent her off to stay with friends of his in London, then on to Felixstowe in Suffolk, on the other side of the country, telling her to get rid of Jack Smith’s ring paper, as she didn’t have a marriage certificate to back it up—advice she didn’t immediately follow.
Felixstowe was not nearly as glamorous as Blackpool, nor as much fun, but at least she was safe. A new place, a new name. She was now Mrs Ethel Stevens, staying with Fred’s mate Ernie Stevens, but for the new nominated post office at Bent Hill right near the beach, she was Mrs Ward.
Ethel had money and somewhere to stay, but it wasn’t long before she once again became bored and restless. After a few weeks she started to travel around the surrounding towns, shopping of course, but the shops were pretty bare, with the war still on—not nearly as much on offer as in Blackpool. One day she took a bus a little further afield, to Southend-on-Sea, and found a dress shop, where she saw the sweetest hat. She had to have it, but knew she couldn’t afford both the hat and the bus fare back, so decided to try her luck. Initially introducing herself as Mrs Stevens, she then fell into her grieving war-widow story, but midway through slipped up by calling her brave husband Corporal Ward. Instantly suspicious, the shopkeeper, a Mrs Wilburn, queried the different surnames. So Ethel ended up walking out of the store without the hat, with the shopkeeper’s accusations ringing in her ears.
Annoyed with herself, Ethel made her way to the bus stop to wait for the bus. How could she have made such a stupid mistake? She should have thought her story through a bit better—she would next time, she vowed. It was February and cold, and Ethel pulled her thick coat tight against the wind. She’d really wanted that hat! It was similar to one she had seen her favourite movie star at the time, Mary Pickford, wear; it would have looked wonderful with her outfit, and was warmer than the one she was currently wearing. She shuffled her feet and huddled down under the bus shelter to wait.
‘Mrs Stevens?’ a male voice asked. Ethel stiffened and didn’t know whether to look up or ignore what was obviously not her name.
‘Mrs Ward?’ the voice asked again. She looked up to see a tall, middle-aged bobby standing before her.
‘No, sorry,’ she said, turning away.
The policeman looked across the road. Ethel followed his gaze and saw the cranky shopkeeper watching them both.
‘Is this her?’ he shouted. The well-dressed Mrs Wilburn nodded her head.
‘You’d better come with me, Miss,’ he said, reaching down and grabbing Ethel’s arm.
At the police station, they went through her bag and found two ring papers—one in the name of Ward, the other Smith. And Ethel had been using the surname Stevens, so she was in trouble again.
She tried to explain her way out of the situation, but rather than listen to her, they locked her up and contacted the police in Blackpool, as, according to the dates, that was where she had last used the two ring papers together. Blackpool sent back a telegram: a detective was on his way.
Ethel had plenty of time to ponder her predicament. She’d found the second ring paper and was going to hand it in—that was what she’d tell them—but when she tried it out on the local bobbies, they wouldn’t listen to her: ‘Tell it to the judge!’ they said. She managed to get a message to Ernie Stevens, asking him to come and bail her out, but when the police knocked on his door with a few questions, he said he’d never even met her. So she had to sit in frustration and wait for the detective to arrive.
Three days she waited in her cell.
When Detective Carter finally arrived and introduced himself, she stopped herself from remarking on his surname, though it did amuse her. These policemen were completely unaware of her first marriage—best to keep it that way!
Detective Carter was a thin, serious-looking man, with gaunt, hollowed-out cheeks and thin black hair plastered to his scalp. Noting the wedding ring on his left hand, Ethel couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for his wife.
After completing lengthy paperwork, she and the detective boarded the train to London, heading back to Blackpool, where she knew she would have to face court again, and what would surely be a big fine. Fred Lee would help her get out on bail, she hoped, but she knew he’d be angry with her—he had, after all, told her to destroy Jack Smith’s ring paper.
On the train Ethel tried to make conversation with Detective Carter. After the first hour, he finally began answering her queries, albeit reluctantly. She asked about his family, where he lived, did he enjoy his job. Each of his answers was civil but brief, but Ethel thought he was warming to her. She gently placed her hand on his upper thigh and asked, ‘Can I make it worth your while if you destroy those ring papers?’ as if asking to borrow his newspaper.
He looked at her in surprise—and then, to her amusement, horror. ‘That is impossible,’ was all he said, so Ethel tried again.
‘Surely you could destroy one of those papers, the one for Jack Smith, and make it all right with the inspector at Southend, and I can see you after …’ she cooed sweetly, giving him one of her disarming looks with her big blue eyes.
He refused to talk to her after that.
Back in Blackpool, she tried in vain to get in touch with Fred Lee, but he didn’t post bail, so she had to wait in the cells.
At her court case a week later, Ethel stood before the magistrate and implored him to believe that she had only drawn money on one ring paper, under her married name of Ethel Ward—which was the truth when she was back in Felixstowe, but n
ot in Blackpool; she generally had some truth in her stories, most of the time. She then said she’d found the ring paper of Jack Smith and had kept it, wanting to find the real Mrs Smith and hand it to her in person.
After she finished, the Public Prosecutor Mr Callis brought in a witness from the registry office where she and Ray Ward were married, to confirm who she was. He then brought in Mrs Gertrude Dennison from the Revoe Post Office in Blackpool, where she’d been Mrs Smith—and Mrs Alice Fitchell from the Fleetwood Post Office seven miles north of Blackpool, where she was Mrs Ward. They both testified that the lady before them was indeed the one who had drawn money using both ring papers. Mrs Fitchell then told them that the woman in court, who she knew as Mrs Ward, had presented Smith’s ring paper instead of Ward’s on her last visit; Mrs Fitchell had then promptly reported the attempted fraud to the authorities and the War Office.
Detective Carter then took the stand and told them all about Ethel’s proposal in the train back to Blackpool, to lose Jack Smith’s ring paper in return for a sexual liaison.
After Detective Carter had stepped down, the disgusted magistrate addressed Ethel directly, saying she was a very dangerous woman, and asking if she had anything to say to the court.
‘I want to tell you the truth!’ Ethel blurted out. ‘I was never married to Corporal Smith,’ she said elevating Jack Smith’s rank from Private. ‘I was ashamed to tell you before, or to even tell my relatives. I lived with him for a short time,’ she admitted meekly, ‘but my marriage to Corporal Ward was a legal one.’
‘Was legal, Mrs Ward? Surely you are still married to him?’ the prosecutor asked sharply, leaving Ethel flustering for an answer.
‘Yes, of course,’ she replied. So much for trying to tell the truth. She probably would have been better off not saying anything at all.
When the magistrate asked her to rise for his decision, Ethel was thinking she could borrow money from Fred to pay the fine, even though he hadn’t put up her bail or even come to see her since her return. She even half expected Mr Ward to be there in court to bail her out again, but this time she was on her own.
She stood while the magistrate droned on about her despicable fraudulent behaviour, waiting for it all to be over. Fraud cases involving ring papers were starting to become a problem. A ring paper could be stolen and the thief then nominating a different post office could draw funds for some time before the duplicity was found. It was a problem the magistrate and government wanted to deter.
For obtaining sums of money amounting to nearly £30 from the War Office using Jack Smith’s ring paper, the magistrate ordered she serve six months hard labour at the infamous Strangeways Prison.
On hearing this appalling news, Ethel promptly fainted.
7
MRS SPURGESS
Three hundred women were housed in four wings at Strangeways, the notorious home of murderers and Irish political prisoners. Ethel was in there for swindling a few extra dollars, not killing anyone—to her, it all seemed very unjust.
Strangeways in Manchester was cramped, dark and damp, and her stint there was the lowest point of Ethel’s life. The other female prisoners were horrible, the wardens cruel, and the work monotonous and hard. The single cells were long and thin, measuring twelve feet by seven feet, and nine feet high. A folding bench was both her mattress base at night and table during the day, when she had to strap the mattress to the wall each morning. She had one blanket at night, no pillow, a small cupboard, a three-legged stool and a smelly privy in the corner. For the next six months she ate to feel better, taking extra servings of the often fatty meals; there was nothing else that made her feel good in the whole place. She learnt to clean floors really well, and was glad when her time was finally up.
Ethel’s family certainly didn’t know she’d been in prison, so when she was released in the late summer of 1918, she set off for London, where she met up with Fred Lee, who had moved down from Blackpool. He explained why he hadn’t come to bail her out in Blackpool—he’d been in London by that stage and couldn’t return.
Accepting his half-hearted apology, Ethel began working with Fred on a new scheme, going out with well-heeled servicemen who were on rest and recreation leave to relieve them of their funds. Fred would introduce her to poor blokes straight off the Western Front, she’d charm them and tell them she wanted to marry them, then ask for money for wedding clothes and an engagement ring, before finally disappearing, leaving the men wondering what had happened. Fred would look out for her and they’d split the money.
When the Great War ended on 11 November 1918, she’d just about had enough of Fred Lee—so the next day she plucked up her nerve and went home to Manchester for a visit. It was time to get her life back.
Her mother and young sister hardly spoke to her when Ethel first arrived unannounced, but her father was delighted to see her safe and well. The more offhanded her mother acted towards her, the more she wanted to impress.
Ethel told them she’d been working with the Foreign Office as an undercover spy, journeying into France and Belgium incognito as a commercial traveller. Her story was padded out with details about different places she had heard about from the returned servicemen she’d fleeced in London—street names, famous places, vivid descriptions of war-torn lands used to impress a girl back home. She liked the sound of her own story, the brave secret spy, though she presented herself as a more demure Mata Hari for her family’s sake.
Her mother had scoffed in disbelief; her father beamed with pride. They had last heard from her as the newly married Mrs Ward living it up in Blackpool well over a year before, and nothing since. Her mother scolded Ethel for having left her baby; her father Frank defended her. When her mother started on about her bigamous marriage to Ray Ward, Ethel finally turned to face her.
‘I thought Alec was dead!’ she yelled. ‘I didn’t know, I couldn’t …’ she burst into tears, letting them flow freely, before burrowing her head into her father’s shoulder.
‘And what of your child, and your rightful husband?’ her mother demanded. Ethel howled loudly into her father’s shoulder.
‘That is enough Elizabeth, can you not see that Ethel is upset?’ her father said.
Her mother went rigid. ‘I certainly can Frank, but why didn’t our daughter get in touch with Alec and come back to her child when she knew the truth?’
Ethel looked up at her mother and realised there was no hope from that quarter, turning instead to her father. ‘I didn’t know, Daddy, please believe me, I thought Alec was dead, and then, I … I was so ashamed … I threw myself into … into my work … my war work, instead,’ she said between sniffles.
‘Of course you did, my dear girl,’ her father said, patting her gently on the back. ‘Of course you did.’
Hands on her hips, Elizabeth glared at her daughter. ‘So, what are you going to do now?’ she demanded. ‘Alec wants a divorce, you need to fix up this mess!’
Ethel pulled away from her father and looked at Elizabeth meekly. ‘I will, Mother, I didn’t know, I truly didn’t know—I’ll go and see Alec now.’
Elizabeth visibly relaxed, and Ethel suppressed a smile, surprised how easily she had managed to calm her mother simply by telling her what she wanted to hear.
Ethel picked up her bag and went straight to the front door. As she turned the handle, she felt her father’s hand on her arm.
‘Do you have money?’ he asked, and she shook her head, looking down at the floor, though she probably did have a stash in her bag. Her father opened his wallet and took out a new £5 note, and pushed it into her hand.
‘Come back and tell us how you go,’ he said, opening the door for her. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
She shook her head.
‘No, I need to do this alone.’
He nodded sadly.
Ethel caught the next train back to London, and spent her father’s money on fancy shoes, a smart new coat and matching hat, with change to spare. The war was over and retur
ned servicemen were everywhere.
On 14 November she married Private Al Spurgess. They drank and partied with the rest of the country in celebration, and when her new husband’s finances ran out, so did she.
8
MRS GIBLETT
Ethel was on her first outing in another new outfit to celebrate the last of her father’s money when she met Captain William Thornton ‘Norman’ Giblett, who was waiting to be sent back home to Australia. Tall, dark and handsome, Norman Giblett was her ticket away from the mess in England.
Norm had been one of the first to sign up when war was declared. He was in the first landing at Gallipoli and was quickly promoted to Second Lieutenant, before evacuating with the rest of the troops and being sent to the Western Front. There he was promoted to Lieutenant and then Captain, and was awarded the Military Cross and Bar for Gallantry in September 1917 at the Battle of Polygon Wood. He had everything Ethel was after: security, respectability, good looks; he was even a proper war hero. All of that, and the prospect of starting a new life in a new country.
Her name was Daphne Pollard, she told him with a laugh when they first met—yes, just like the Australian silent movie star, though Pollard was her married name. Her husband had perished early on in the war and both of her parents were dead, though her father Frank had been a successful cotton buyer. She repeated her story of working for the Foreign Office, exaggerating it even further: she had travelled incognito regularly to the Continent as a commercial traveller, taking back vital information to England. And now the war was over, she was uncertain what she would do.
Captain Giblett fell for the eloquent, brave war widow and her story, and when she suggested marriage, he happily agreed—it was time to celebrate life after the war. He asked if she wanted to marry in a church, but she shook her head, telling him that she had been married in a big church before and she didn’t really need to do all that again. And besides, she didn’t have any family left and his were so far away; a nice quiet ceremony was all she wanted—though she did need an engagement ring and a new dress, and perhaps shoes and a bag to match.
The Amazing Mrs Livesey Page 4
