‘I have been thinking of all your trouble,’ Ethel explained. ‘I feel that I would like to make you very happy.’ She paused and looked at him carefully. ‘Are you duty-bound to stay in Australia?’
‘No,’ he replied slowly.
‘If I offered you £1000 and a shop in New Zealand, would you care to go and start in business on your own?’
‘Why do you make this offer to me?’ a stunned Mr Thompson asked in return.
‘Because I think you are an honest man, and I would like to make you happy.’
He stared at her in disbelief. ‘What do you expect in return?’
‘I expect nothing in return, only to see you happy,’ Ethel replied sweetly.
Mr Thompson sat back against his chair, folding his arms against his chest, and looked thoughtfully at her.
Fearing she was losing the advantage, Ethel brought out one of her favourite stories, with a few variations.
‘My father is a director of a large cotton factory in England,’ she began, ‘and my mother is one of the Coats, a cousin of Coats—you know, the cotton people,’ she explained.
Mr Thompson nodded his head slowly in understanding as she continued on. ‘If I offered you your expenses to England and guaranteed you a position with my father for two years, would you accept it?’
‘Why do you offer this to me?’ he asked again in bewilderment.
‘Because I like you,’ was Ethel’s simple explanation.
‘But why would your father hire me? He doesn’t know me and there are millions of people out of work now,’ he persisted.
Ethel smiled and tried again. ‘I could settle you with £5000 on your arrival in England.’
Mr Thompson seemed confused as he pondered her proposal. He looked at his watch and asked if she would like lunch, and Ethel readily agreed. He paid for an expensive cocktail to start with, and they continued talking throughout the meal before retiring back to the lounge to finish their conversation.
Ethel sat in her chair and smiled at Mr Thompson, leant forward and placed her hand gently on his leg. She smiled to herself when she saw his eyes dwell on her exposed cleavage as she leant in close. ‘Eric—is it alright if I call you Eric?’ she asked.
Mr Thompson pulled his eyes away from her cleavage to her smiling face.
‘I will be honest with you,’ she began. ‘My husband is a sick man and it is out of duty that I have accompanied him here to South Australia, but we have been unhappy for some time, and no longer sleep together as man and wife,’ she sighed. ‘My time is my own,’ she added confidently, fixing him with her bright blue eyes. ‘I could see you whenever you would like.’
Mr Thompson gently pulled his leg away from her hand and sat himself upright. ‘I am sorry Mrs Anderson if you have mistaken me in some way, but I am engaged to be married!’
With exaggerated modesty, Ethel placed her hands into her lap and gave the drapery manager a small smile. ‘No need to apologise Mr Thompson,’ she said as if nothing intimate had taken place between them.
She pulled her shoulders back and smiled sweetly at him. ‘May I suggest we meet again tomorrow to discuss your trip to England?’
A relieved Mr Thompson agreed—but the next day when she didn’t show up, he went straight to the police. He told them he could not get the gist of the woman. He thought she was a most unusual lady, spellbinding; he had wanted to believe what she had been telling him, but couldn’t quite.
Ethel was furious when she was arrested. Mr Thompson had fabricated the entire tale, she insisted. She was so caught up in her fight for innocence that she failed to mention to anyone the fact that her boys were fending for themselves. She was convinced she would be let out before the case went to trial. Ethel demanded the case be brought before a jury so she could state her side of the story to those who would listen and understand her plight. She was innocent! At her preliminary hearing, she was placed on a 50-pound bond and allowed to go home until her next court appearance in front of a jury, only to be told by the neighbours that her boys had been collected by Child Welfare. She would go to the orphanage and find them, after the trial was over; she had too much on her hands already. Unfortunately for Ethel, Mr Thompson was not the only witness at the trial. Ethel had also had a conversation with an assistant at the Coles & Hughes store, Lizzie Clemson, whose husband had been out of work for some time. Lizzie had confided in Ethel that she and her husband were looking for a married couple’s job; Ethel gleefully replied that her husband owned a big station in Queensland, and would get the two of them a position there. It was Lizzie’s testimony that ended the second day of the trial. Ethel had fabricated a different state for her husband’s station in her conversation with Lizzie and was exposed in court as an opportunistic liar by Mr. J.P. Walsh the prosecuting lawyer. Because she had insisted on a trial by jury in a higher court, she genuinely feared a gaol sentence, especially if the police happened to find out about the rest of her misdemeanours.
For just under a year now, Ethel had been talking her way in and out of jewellery stores, clothing shops and car hire companies in and around Adelaide, mainly using the names Gardiner and Anderson, but also McEwan, Stevens and Lockwood as well, and even posing as a military wife, Mrs Colonel Smith, at one store. She needed to get out of South Australia fast, before the police connected all the dots.
On the third day of her trial at the Criminal Court, Ethel’s name was read out three times inside and outside the courtroom, but she was nowhere to be found. She lost the £50 bond she’d had to put up before being let out on bail, together with her cheque book for the account her father paid her allowance into, and her passport; everything was in police custody.
That morning, Ethel had seen an advertisement in the Advertiser for a position as a home nurse for an elderly lady, Mrs Catherine Hunt, who lived in the town of Wolseley, eight miles from the Victorian/South Australian border.
Ethel attended the home of Mrs Hunt’s daughter in Adelaide for an interview, removing her pearls and earrings beforehand.
‘Thank you for coming, Nurse Anderson,’ the good lady said. ‘We are in need of a nurse for my mother, who has become quite frail in the last few weeks.’
‘So I understand,’ Ethel replied politely. ‘As I mentioned on the telephone, I was a nurse in the Great War and saw much suffering,’ she began. ‘And I have looked after many patients in their own homes over the years since the end of that dreadful time,’ she added. ‘Caring for others is my calling.’
‘You have no family, I understand?’ the daughter asked.
‘No, I was married at the start of the war, but my husband, a captain in the army, was killed on the Somme,’ Ethel explained. ‘I threw myself into my work in my grief,’ she said, letting out a large sigh. ‘I think my patients have become my family ever since.’
‘You understand there are some domestic duties as well as nursing duties?’ the daughter asked eagerly.
‘Yes, that doesn’t concern me,’ Ethel remarked with a reassuring smile, ‘as long as my patient is well cared for.’ Cleaning was the least of her worries.
‘My mother lives in quite a small country town; I hope that doesn’t concern you Florence—may I call you Florence?’ the daughter asked hurriedly.
‘Of course,’ Ethel replied. ‘And I don’t mind a little country town at all,’ she confirmed. ‘I prefer a more sedate life.’
Ethel’s stints as a former World War I nurse were always the same: for a short duration, and for her own financial advantage.
Ethel worked for Mrs Hunt for a total of nine days. She then took her wages—as well as a gold ring, a gold and ruby brooch, and five pounds in bank notes from the old lady—and quietly slipped across the Victorian border.
15
MISS HORDERN
Ethel next found herself in the goldmining town of Ballarat, where she checked into a top-class boarding house. Boarding houses were common enough back then, often cheaper than a hotel and usually for a longer term; they were often set up
in large old houses converted into separate rooms. She told the landlady that she was the daughter of the wealthy Sydney identity Sir Samuel Hordern, and was having a look around the district for a holiday house for her family to purchase.
Ethel couldn’t believe how lovely the people in the country community were, happily lending her money on account, taking on her story with delight—but it was also this openness that was her undoing. In less than a week, the florist who supplied her with fresh flowers daily had shared her version of the lovely Miss Hordern’s story to the milliner—namely that the rich lady had been a nurse in the Great War on the Western Front. The milliner was certain the florist must have been mistaken, as her charming new rich client told her she had worked for the War Office and travelled incognito to the Continent. The milliner was delighted at having sold an expensive black crocodile-skin handbag to such an esteemed person and was looking forward to receiving the funds from Sir Hordern himself when he arrived in the town. And besides, she liked the War Office story: not only was Miss Hordern rich and charming, she had also been a daring spy.
Annoyed that the milliner was calling her mistaken, the florist confronted Miss Hordern when she passed by her shop the next morning. Ethel assured the florist it was in fact her friend the milliner who had the facts wrong, then immediately set about leaving town—owing money to the boarding house, the florist, the taxi driver, the hairdresser and the milliner. Ethel learnt her lesson: stick to one story in a country town.
Next stop, Melbourne, where Ethel was at a loose end, having no identity papers and no money coming to her from her father. Her real father, unaware of her situation, would be sending money into her account, but the Adelaide police had her cheque book.
She’d heard about Perth, the capital city of the enormous state of Western Australia. Remote and isolated, Perth was a new town, a new part of the world she hadn’t been to.
She’d go and see what it was like.
At Port Melbourne, Ethel asked the booking clerk how much the fare was to Perth. She was in luck, the clerk informed her—there was a ship leaving that very afternoon.
Ethel didn’t have the money for the first-class fare, but was determined not to travel in any other fashion. She turned and watched as a vice-regal party made its way into the departure lounge, waiting to board the SS Orsova for Fremantle. She started chatting with a young man on the edge of the group. She introduced herself to him as the English opera singer Eva Turner—wearing her expensive jewellery, fine clothes and clutching her smart crocodile-skin handbag, she certainly looked the part. With all the charm she could muster, Ethel made her way on board with the Governor-General and his entourage.
Once safely on board, Ethel settled down on the promenade deck and waited until the bell rang for all the visitors to leave. She found what she thought looked like an empty cabin, then made her way into the lounge and ordered herself a cocktail as the boat left the harbour.
Ethel had travelled on enough boats to know who was who, so she told the purser that her name must have been missed on the ship’s manifest. She was a famous English opera singer, travelling with the Governor-General, whose booking had been misplaced. Tell people what they want to hear, was her motto, after all, and she had no trouble persuading the purser that first class was where she belonged.
When the young man Ethel had initially introduced herself to asked her to sing for them after dinner, she informed her companions at the dinner table that she was resting her vocal chords due to a recent infection, and as much as she would have loved to give them a rendition from Aida, she couldn’t possibly risk damaging her livelihood, and again they seemed to believe her.
When the boat arrived in Fremantle, she was even given a ride into the State Theatre with the Governor-General, but Ethel couldn’t find much of interest in Perth, considering it little more than a dusty country town. She sold Mrs Hunt’s brooch and, not finding a ship heading back to the eastern states, decided to catch the train back to Adelaide. She’d heard the trip was luxurious, but she was bored and unimpressed by the dismal array of passengers—no class, no lively conversation to be had—and mile upon mile of empty desert.
From Adelaide, she quickly caught a train to Melbourne, not wanting to stay in the state where she was still a wanted woman.
16
MRS ANN DERSON
Ethel made her way to Melbourne’s eastern suburbs, and went to work.
Again using her movie star name Gloria Grey she plied her trade in only the best establishments, cashing cheques from a bank account she had opened with only one pound, and obtaining numerous luxury items.
When things got a bit hot in Melbourne, she dyed her hair a different shade and travelled up to Sydney.
Under the various names of Florence Dunkley, Elizabeth Gardner, Elizabeth Anderson, Elizabeth King, Lady Betty Anderson, Ann Derson, Florence Derson, Gloria Grey and Pamela Pilkington she took Sydney by storm, passing valueless cheques, from the city to Ryde and the quieter northern beach suburbs—all new areas for her. She even managed to convince one gullible jeweller that she was Mrs Fingleton, the wife of a member of the Australian Cricket Team; he happily gave her a large cameo brooch on credit, never to see the delightful cricketer’s wife, or brooch, again.
After a close call with one shop owner who didn’t quite believe one of her stories, Ethel decided to head back to Melbourne. She’d learnt to keep on the move.
But she hadn’t quite learnt how to keep out of trouble. Stopping for a few days in the affluent wool town of Goulburn, about 120 miles from Sydney, she was arrested for evading taxi fares, under the name Gloria Grey; not known in New South Wales under that name, she was granted bail, but immediately absconded on the Sydney to Melbourne train and continued her journey south.
Another of her other popular aliases at the time was Judith Anderson. The real Judith Anderson was 36, born in Adelaide seven months before Ethel’s actual birthday, and had been working on the stage in Britain opposite the likes of Laurence Olivier, one of Ethel’s favourite leading men. According to the yellow press accounts that Ethel loved to read, the actress was planning on moving to Hollywood to break into the movies, and was the Aussie golden star of the moment. She suited Ethel well.
As Judith, she stopped at Albury on the Victorian/New South Wales border, where she managed to cash a cheque for twenty pounds ($1000) with a shopkeeper named Mary Walsh. She loved the thrill of obtaining goods and money from unsuspecting people—and if she’d performed the con well enough the shopkeepers would be too embarrassed to tell the police. But she was getting greedy.
Her most successful method at that time was to waltz into a classy shop and casually mention that she mixed in only the best social circles, and that she would bring these people into their shop to buy an item or two. Through these means she procured countless pricey items for free and on account, and managed to cash worthless cheques, before disappearing once more.
But within days of arriving back in Melbourne, Ethel was recognised by a saleswoman who she’d conned when working at another store, and was quickly picked up by police.
Ethel was headed back into the court system, this time in Victoria, with 25 different charges of acting under false pretences against her. It seemed there were at least 25 people in Victoria who weren’t too embarrassed to tell the police about how they’d been duped.
It eventually became known to the Victorian police that Ethel had absconded on bail from South Australia during the Coles & Hughes drapery case the year before—but with 25 charges against her in Victoria, the South Australian police felt it wasn’t worth their while bringing her back to South Australia to face the older charges; the Victorians could deal with her.
The case was heard in the first week of June 1934, with Florence Elizabeth Ethel Anderson, 36, being charged under the name of Gloria Grey.
Through her lawyer, Severin Zichy-Woinarski, Ethel’s usual half-fanciful tales emerged. He told the court that she had been buffeted by fate and betrayed by a m
an. She had been a nurse in the war and married an army captain who was killed shortly afterwards. She had then married again and had two children, but her new husband had deserted her and returned to his home country, Australia. She followed him out with their children, only to find he was a bigamist; he then blackmailed her, saying she had known she was party to a bigamous marriage, and demanding she pay him money to keep quiet. (Perhaps this blackmail ploy was one that Ethel herself had used over the years to extract more sums of money from unsuspecting men.)
After laying down the foundations of her story, her lawyer tried to turn the blame onto the shopkeepers, telling the judge that they should expect little sympathy from the court. These tradespeople were as much to blame for having given her credit as she was for having passed bad cheques.
The judge—who also happened to be Mr Zichy-Woinarski’s father—agreed, saying he never ceased to wonder at the credulity of tradespeople in the city, who accepted good appearances and manners, and who were ready to give credit and cash cheques without first making proper enquiry. He thought they were to blame for their credulity, but qualified this by saying he did not think they should be exploited.
Ethel was found guilty of ten of the original 25 charges, and sentenced to six months in gaol. She was off to prison, again.
Good thing the judge didn’t know about all those cases in New South Wales.
17
MISS TURNER
By the time Ethel had served six hard months in Pentridge Prison, she’d had enough of Victoria, and again headed north to Sydney. She needed to get away before the South Australian system caught up with her.
The Amazing Mrs Livesey Page 7
