The Amazing Mrs Livesey

by Freda Marnie Nicholls

  With her father now settled into her home, Ethel felt that as a woman of social standing, she needed a charity to support.

  She came across newspaper reports on the importance of the Merchant Navy to the war effort, and how the Merchant Navy Help Society was trying to raise funds to provide holiday accommodation and a clubroom in Douglas for its tireless workers and their families. They were aiming for £3200, but had only managed to scrape £100 together in the previous few years. Ethel had found her mission.

  On Monday 31 July 1944, Ethel held a bridge drive with the local ladies for the Merchant Navy Help Society. She charmed all, including local Mona Douglas, who wrote for the Isle of Man Weekly Times. Mona was only a year younger than Ethel and was passionate about the island’s ancient culture, particularly its music, dance and poetry, which Ethel pretended to take a great interest in, keen to make an impression.

  ‘I find this country’s culture truly unique,’ Ethel enthused to the lady from the press, ‘and I have of course travelled all over the globe, to just about every country.’

  ‘Indeed, Mrs Livesey,’ Miss Douglas replied. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘The French Riviera of course, the Americas, New York is quite impressive,’ Ethel replied airily, ‘the remarkable Orient, Gibraltar, Northern Africa, so exotic,’ she paused. ‘New Zealand and the Pacific Islands, most of the Continent, and all around my home in Australia—other than the two poles I think I have been to most countries.’

  ‘What was it that drew you and your husband to the Isle of Man?’ the fascinated lady asked.

  ‘Well Miss Douglas, I came over to see the island after spending most of the war in Liverpool and London, suffering through the horrors of the Blitz,’ she began, ‘and when we arrived I found that for scenery—even in miniature—it is the nearest approach to my homeland of Australia I have ever come across,’ she pronounced, noting the appreciation spread across Miss Douglas’ face. ‘I find it enchantingly pretty, even in wartime, so my husband and I decided to take Ivydene,’ she declared, sweeping her hand around to encompass her new home.

  ‘And this charity event here today—do you have any particular interest in our Merchant Navy?’ Miss Douglas asked.

  ‘I feel that we all need to do our part for the war effort. I have two sons serving back in Australia, and coming to live on this island and seeing all the good that the Merchant Navy has undertaken throughout the war, I thought it a worthy effort to be involved in and support in any way I can.’

  ‘And your sons?’ Miss Douglas asked.

  ‘Ah yes, my son Frank is a Lieutenant in the Royal Navy, and Basil is a Squadron-Leader in the RAF.’

  ‘Indeed! You must be so proud of them both, Mrs Livesey.’

  ‘Oh I am, Miss Douglas, but they are just doing their bit you know,’ Ethel replied modestly. ‘Now can I interest you in joining a four for bridge, perhaps?’

  The afternoon was a great success, with many old Manx names among the crowd; games were played, with Frank Swindells drawing the donated raffle prizes. Mr Davies, the secretary of the National Sailors’ and Firemen’s Union, thanked them all at the end of the day, emotionally stating that despite times being economically tough, they had managed to raise over £63 (over $4000) towards the new club room, from one afternoon alone. To his knowledge it was the most money raised by a few ladies in a single afternoon. He turned and thanked Mrs Livesey extensively for her generosity in hosting the afternoon.

  Those assembled applauded in delight, but none were beaming broader at Ivydene that afternoon than Mrs Ethel Livesey.

  Over the next few months Ethel regularly flew to Liverpool and London, staying at Claridge’s and the Adelphi, racking up large accounts, and shopping at the best establishments. The Adelphi was also the home of the American Red Cross, with Ethel making a point of entertaining the American and English officers, generously holding lavish parties there—her part in the war effort. It was during this time that she saw the damage in both cities from the Blitz bombings, and heard first-hand accounts from people caught in the fray. From all this, the Isle of Man was a welcome sanctuary.

  Back at Ivydene she became actively involved with further fundraisers for the Merchant Navy. She organised speakers to visit Douglas to explain the critical role the Merchant Navy played in bringing vital supplies to the Isle of Man, and in all aspects of the war. It was a coup to host such important members of the Merchant Navy, and the locals were suitably impressed.

  She insisted the balance sheet figures for the Ivydene events be printed in the press after each event, together with a letter from Mr Davies thanking her personally and explaining that Mrs Livesey provided all refreshments for her events, and had not deducted any expenses. She wanted all to know.

  To the other fundraisers she couldn’t attend, such as raffles, cigarette funds and bridge drives, she always donated—but never as generously as at her own events.

  The businesses in Douglas were happy to give Mrs Livesey credit. Everyone treated her like royalty, and she was having a grand time. She racked up numerous accounts at the local grocer and wine merchant Victoria Stores, the butcher J.T. Brew, the confectionery and bakery Cain Brothers, R.C. Cain’s dress shop, and A. Clucas & Co. for her daily order of fresh flowers to fill Ivydene.

  Unfortunately for Ethel, her past was catching up with her. As well as owing money to the local business houses, she also owed her old Blackpool landlady Margaretta Williams a substantial amount, and had managed to avoid repaying it back, so far. But Mrs Williams had tracked down the elusive Mrs Coradine and she had been ordered to appear at the Blackpool registry of the King’s Bench Division of the High Court. Ethel didn’t want Thomas Livesey to know about this loaned money, he was under the mistaken impression that she had her own fortune.

  Ethel waited impatiently for Thomas Livesey to sell off Falcon Cliff—she needed to keep in the good books of her new-found friends, many of them wives of tradesmen they owed money to. They had the hotel on the market but were not getting any bites from prospective buyers, so Mr Livesey decided to sell a property in England to tide them over.

  Ethel watched as he sat at his desk in the office at Ivydene filling out the necessary paperwork. He looked up at her and pushed the paper towards her to sign, which she duly did. Rising from the desk, Mr Livesey said he would take it to the solicitor straight away, giving her a peck on the cheek as he departed. Her smile quickly vanished as she turned to look out across the garden to the sea, and to the English coast beyond. She heard the door close gently behind her as Mr Livesey left, and she turned back and sat down at the desk.

  Ethel opened the draws and fingered through various forms, deeds, bank statements and her father’s power of attorney, before placing them carefully back in order, closing the drawers slowly.

  Contemplatively she looked down at the desk and ran her fingers slowly over the blotting paper.

  By February 1945 Ethel’s fantastic stories were beginning to unravel. It started one evening at Ivydene when her father was talking with her friend Mrs Cowin, sister-in-law to one of the local solicitors, and wife of one of the largest store owners in town.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Swindells, Mrs Livesey was born in England?’ Mrs Cowin asked as they sat in the lounge waiting for dinner to be served.

  She looked across the crowded room and saw Mrs Livesey talking with her husband.

  ‘Yes, Manchester,’ Frank replied, taking a sip of his pre-dinner whiskey.

  ‘Not Australia?’ Mrs Cowin asked.

  ‘Why no, she spent many years there, and her sons are of course still there—perhaps that is where you became confused,’ he smiled.

  ‘Perhaps …’ Mrs Cowin replied, watching as Mrs Livesey casually placed her hand on Mr Cowin’s arm.

  Another occasion, this time a get-together at Mrs Cowin’s two weeks later, proved more embarrassing for Ethel. Mrs Cowin had asked her accusingly just the previous day about being born in England, not Australia, and she thought she’d managed to laug
h it off, blaming her father’s failing mind. But Mrs Cowin didn’t seem convinced.

  To make matters worse, the movie producer from Pinewood Studios had returned to the island and was also at the Cowins that evening. He had been asking for the financial assistance Ethel had all but promised, and when he realised it wasn’t forthcoming, and after he’d imbibed a few too many drinks, he decided to tell all in their social circle that night that he doubted Mrs Livesey could lie straight in bed! He stated loud enough for Ethel to hear that she was mentally ill and was suffering from delusions of grandeur, which was met with nervous laughter from those listening.

  ‘She suffers the same malady as Adolf Hilter!’ he declared.

  Mrs Livesey stormed out without farewelling her hosts, leaving Mr Livesey to apologise and follow.

  The next day, Ethel walked through the still icy March winds sweeping in off the Irish Sea as she made her way to the legal offices of Gelling and Cowin. She demanded to see Mr Gelling who had also been privy to her previous night’s embarrassment, and was led into his rooms where she promptly announced that she wanted to sue the movie producer for defamation of character. Mr Gelling looked at her thoughtfully and gently advised Ethel that perhaps she should approach the man in question and advise him first of her intentions; surely this was a more civilised way of dealing with the situation?

  Mr Gelling organised a private meeting between Ethel and the movie producer at Ivydene the following day. Gelling had explained the situation to him plainly before he had left the solicitors’ office—with multiple witnesses to his defamatory comments towards Mrs Livesey, he could lose everything. Now sober and completely apologetic, he arrived at Ivydene. The pair spoke for some time alone in Mr Livesey’s office, and after discussing what could be done to avoid a defamation case, Ethel saw him to the door.

  As she walked back through the house she came across her father sitting in a chair with a rug over his legs. She told him she had a desire to see her boys again in Australia, but promised she would be back soon.

  She made her way back into the office, pulled out the bank forms and starting filling them in, making her way through the list of properties owned by her father and Mr Livesey. Ethel already held Mr Livesey’s property and cash in her name, and knew the funds were in her account from the recent sale of Mr Livesey’s investment property, which she planned to take—but she also pocketed nearly all of her father’s money, and put his properties on the market, leaving £539 in her personal Isle of Man account to cover her father’s nursing and medical expenses.

  She went to the airport and flew to London, leaving Mr Livesey with the last six months of creditors to contend with, and no ability to pay them.

  In London, Ethel went to Australia House, home to Australia’s High Commission—she needed to apply for a visa to travel back to Australia, and obtain a passport in the name of Livesey. Here she met the still apologetic Pinewood producer, who falsely stated he was a solicitor, and sponsored her application for a new passport and visa—but getting out of England wasn’t as easy as it once was, as all shipping was now being given over to the war effort. There was one way, the helpful migration officer at Australia House explained: Ethel could apply for a visa on sympathetic grounds, but this could take some time. The producer stated to the officer that there was a genuine need for her to go to Australia and visit her serving sons; it was paramount. The deal he had struck with Mrs Livesey at Ivydene was that if he helped her get out of the country immediately, she would not sue. He wanted the possibility of a defamation case to disappear as quickly as the woman he was accompanying. He didn’t care why she wanted to leave England, he just wanted her gone.

  They left Australia House together, though quickly went separate ways. Ethel made it clear to the producer that he wasn’t off the hook until she was out of the country. He in turn pulled strings with his War Office contacts to get her out of the country and out of his life.

  Having taken all of Mr Livesey’s funds, and most of her father’s, Ethel decided to hide out while waiting for her visa to come through. So she rented a gentleman’s estate in Wales, from Robert Gill, former high sheriff of the county and director of Lloyd’s Bank. There she waited, at Brynderwen Hall, in a small country town, unsure what she would do if her visa didn’t come through.

  Two months later Germany signed an unconditional surrender, though the fight against the Japanese in the Pacific had not let up.

  Ethel was fed up with the war. Wanting to find out how her visa was progressing, and whether the balance of funds from her property sales had come through into her account, she travelled back to London. The Welsh countryside, though beautiful in early spring, was boring!

  24

  FORTUNE TAKEN TO AUSTRALIA

  With her new passport in hand, stamped with the hard-to-come-by visa, Ethel Livesey stole back to Liverpool and paid £165 ($10,000) for a first-class berth on the Swedish merchant ship Barranduna.

  The brand-new ship was heading to Port Pirie in South Australia to collect a load of lead—the first commercial ship to make the journey since the outbreak of World War II. Unusually for a cargo ship, the Barranduna had first-class accommodation for twelve people. All the berths were full, and as Ethel walked into her cabin, she exclaimed in delight: it was filled with 40 large bouquets of fresh flowers. The eleven other passengers remarked on them in wonder—fresh flowers in wartime!

  Little did they realise she had ordered them all for herself.

  The Barranduna left Liverpool on the morning of 3 July 1945, with Ethel playing the well-to-do lady visiting her serving sons back in Australia, though she found the passengers more subdued than she would have liked.

  Most of the other passengers were taking the rare opportunity to travel back to their homeland, now that the Germans had surrendered the European front of the war. Mr and Mrs Barr Smith and their 23-year-old son were heading back home after arriving in England on business with their family’s company Elder Smith & Co, and were returning to Australia with Mr Barr Smith’s sister Christine McGregor. Mr and Mrs Hall, another late-middle-aged couple, had similarly been stranded in England through the war. The remaining passengers were all middle-aged men—company directors, a solicitor, a plastics manufacturer and a wool buyer, and not much fun at all as far as Ethel was concerned. They were all anxious to get home rather than kick their heels up, and none seemed overly interested in Mrs Livesey’s stories. Despite her wealth, the trip was turning out to be rather dull.

  A little over a month into the trip, the mood changed. The passengers were stunned in awe and disbelief when the Captain gave them what scant details he had of the American atomic bombings in Japan, at a place called Hiroshima.

  With the Captain’s next message, a week and a half later, a sense of relief swept through the ship: the Japanese had surrendered. The war was over.

  When the ship docked in South Australia on 27 September, Ethel decided to try and track down the two sons she had abandoned twelve years before.

  Nineteen-year-old Basil was living in Flinders Park in Adelaide, with a woman nine years his senior, Sylvia Schutze, who was the daughter of his foster parents, and who had a six-year-old daughter from a previous marriage. Basil welcomed Ethel back into his life, but at nineteen and without a job, he was struggling. With an abundance of funds—£40,000 worth, she boasted (about $2.5 million in today’s money)—Ethel took pity on him and set about negotiating the purchase of a newsagency for Basil to run.

  Frank, however, proved impossible to find; it would later turn out that he was living on the open road, working on stations in the outback, taking jobs wherever he could.

  Ethel herself was soon on the move again, to live life as she had always wanted, without a thought for the future.

  Ethel was the heaviest woman the booking clerk had ever seen when she was booking her flight from Adelaide to Sydney via Melbourne. Knowing that weight meant a lot on a plane, he insisted Mrs Livesey get on the scales, and even he was surprised to see she weig
hed in at 275 pounds—just short of twenty stone, or 125 kilograms. Ethel insisted that the scales were faulty.

  Arriving in Sydney in the first week of October, Ethel went straight to the posh eastern suburbs on the harbour, where she felt quite at home with her new wealth, and rented a classy ground-floor apartment in Edgecliff. She even hired a private secretary, Joyce Dick, who helped Ethel find a suitably reputable doctor who could see her promptly for her female health problems.

  Dr William Cunningham was head of gynaecology at Sydney’s King George V maternity hospital, and came from a respectable eastern suburbs family. Ethel told him all about her wealthy family back in England, and how she had returned to Australia to visit her two sons, who had served in the armed forces and were both rapidly promoted and serving with distinction. Dr Cunningham was so taken with Ethel that he asked her to join him and his wife Ella at their next dinner party, where she was introduced to Flight Lieutenant Jack Sharpe and his wife.

  When she found out that Jack was born in Wales, Ethel exclaimed in joy. She told them all of her wonderful home, Brynderwen Hall, in Bwlch-y-Cibau. Jack knew of the great estate in Montgomeryshire, and had also heard of the Swindells cotton family, and together with the huge amounts she was spending, Ethel had all the collaboration she needed: Mrs Ethel Livesey was indeed a cotton heiress, from a good family, with considerable wealth.

  That evening she also met and befriended Lizette Brunninghausen, whose wealthy widowed mother, Mary Dezarnauld, held large family dinners every Sunday night for her five adult children and their families at her home in exclusive Bellevue Hill. The affable Mrs Livesey was popular with all of the family and their friends, and was subsequently asked to the best houses.

  Through Mrs Dezarnauld she was introduced to Lady Mable French, and Ethel went out of her way to cultivate their relationship. She became a regular visitor to Lady French’s four-storey mansion in Sydney’s Macquarie Street, overlooking the Botanic Gardens. The building had once housed her first husband Sir Herbert Maitland’s surgical rooms, but since his death twenty years previous had become his widow’s residence.