The Amazing Mrs Livesey

by Freda Marnie Nicholls

  The gallery was again filled with spectators as the clerk read out not one, but two charges in court. The first was to do with the Coles & Hughes drapery case; the second alleged that on 18 September 1933 she had obtained goods valued at £13 2s from the Okeh Café in Henley Beach.

  Ethel stood up in court in all her finery and loudly and confidently pleaded not guilty.

  The Crown Prosecutor, Mr Chamberlain, began his address to the jury, during which he referred to the ‘limelight’ the defendant had received, was receiving and no doubt would continue to receive. He forcefully stated that the offences were a piece of barefaced lying practised upon two innocent businesses; that the accused had been charged before a police court in 1933, and had elected herself for the case to be tried at the Criminal Court in front of a jury; and that she was committed for trial in December 1933, but had not appeared on the third day.

  On the first charge, Mr Thompson, former manager of Coles & Hughes, was brought in. He glared at Ethel with open hatred as he sat down, then chose to ignore her as the prosecutor asked him to retell his story.

  He stated that the accused had told him that her husband was a station owner from New South Wales and a member of the big city firm Sargood Gardiner, and he had given her goods on account as a result.

  Ethel’s lawyer, Mr Ward, rose and argued that the witness Mr Thompson was prepared to philander with his client. Otherwise, why else would a suburban storekeeper spend from 11.30 a.m. to 1 p.m. with her at a hotel, buying her a cocktail and then lunch?

  Outraged, Mr Thompson angrily dismissed any accusation of immoral behaviour, but did eventually admit when questioned further that there had been some degree of intimacy with the woman he knew as Mrs Gardiner, as he had confided to her his troubles.

  Mr Chamberlain stood and stated to the court that the accused was obviously a person of an engaging personality, as private matters were indeed openly discussed with Mr Thompson—but when detectives before the 1933 trial questioned her, she had admitted that her stories had been a myth.

  On the second charge they brought in Mrs Millicent McCann, from the Okey Café. Looking nervous, Mrs McCann told them that the accused, who she knew as Mrs Anderson, had asked her for credit, stating that her husband, a magistrate, had gone to Gawler to hear a case and mistakenly taken her wallet; the accused had then come back later that same day and said her husband had been detained overnight, and she had then obtained goods on credit.

  The first day of the trial ended with Mr Chamberlain repeating Milly’s words: ‘Mrs Gardiner’s husband was not a magistrate, nor were the other things she supposedly told the manageress true,’ he emphasised.

  The following day Basil and his wife Sylvia accompanied Ethel to court. Greeted yet again by a crowd of wellwishers, Ethel smiled and waved to them as they made their way into the courthouse.

  It was Ethel’s turn to give her version of events. With confidence, she took the stand and in a clear, well-modulated voice stated her case: ‘I am completely innocent of these two charges. I have done nothing wrong whatsoever.’ She turned to the crowded courtroom and began her performance, certain that she would convince them all. ‘The position was, that in 1933 I was receiving an allowance from my father in England. He used to send me £25 to £30 a month. This I would pick up at the Bank of New South Wales in Adelaide, where I also received letters. In October 1933 my allowance did not arrive. It was the Depression, and the payments could be irregular. I needed clothing for my two children,’ she continued, changing the goods she purchased to something less frivolous than fancy cushions and curtains, ‘and went down to the store of Coles & Hughes and asked if I might have an account. I explained about my allowance and told him I would be able to pay at the beginning of November.’

  Turning to Mr Thompson, she continued, ‘Mr Thompson asked me my husband’s occupation and I said he was a station manager on leave. That was a fact. I told him that I had been in business in Sydney and had an account with the firm Sargood Gardiner’s Sydney drapers. He then allowed me to have an account at his store and during the month I bought about £7 worth of goods, mainly for my boys.’

  With barely hidden anger, she turned to the jury: ‘I deny that I told him my husband was a station owner or a member of the firm Sargood Gardiner. In November 1933 I wrote to Mr Thompson and met him at the South Australia Hotel the following day and obtained the account. Two days later I was arrested,’ she paused.

  ‘After my arrest my allowance arrived and I sent the money to the firm, but Mr Thompson said the money could not be taken because the matter was out of his hands.’

  Ethel looked towards the judge: ‘Later, I left the money at the court. I thought that would be the end of the matter, and that was why I left Adelaide. I had every intention of paying my account, and if only the firm had been a little more patient they would have got it in person,’ she remarked. The judge looked at her steadily, and she continued.

  ‘On the second charge, Mrs McCann made a mistake,’ Ethel stated. ‘I told Mrs McCann that my husband had gone to the country with a friend who was a magistrate, and had left me short of money. That was true,’ she said. ‘But I went to the café a few days after and paid that account, well before I was arrested on the other charge.

  ‘I had no intention of defrauding anyone,’ Ethel continued. ‘That is the whole truth. I ask you to disregard the propaganda you have read in the newspapers,’ she said to the court. ‘I ask you to believe me. These charges over the last few months have caused me a great deal of suffering, and I am sure you will agree they have been unnecessary. I am a sick woman.’

  On the second day of the trial, Justice Mayo, the judge hearing the case, addressed the jury just before lunch asking them to consider the verdict carefully.

  Four hours later the jury filed back in, with a majority verdict: the accused was guilty on both counts. As one, the crowd behind and above Ethel started murmuring among themselves in disbelief.

  Ethel couldn’t believe it herself—it was so long ago, another time, and she was a different person. She thought she had explained everything. She tried not to appear nervous as she looked at her legal team.

  But there was more to come.

  As the chair of the jury sat back down, Justice Mayo addressed the court as the crowd voluntarily shushed to listen. ‘There are various aspects to be considered,’ he began. ‘My present idea is that I will have to sentence her to some term of imprisonment, but I want to look at it all ways.’

  Ethel looked desperately at the judge and back again to her three lawyers, two of whom had not been allowed to address the court. Justice Mayo then asked both the prosecutor, Mr Chamberlain, and Ethel’s solicitor, Mr Ward, for comment.

  ‘Your Honour,’ Mr Ward appealed, ‘Mrs Gardiner made restitution at the time in both cases, paying the money she owed to the Okey Café, and in the Coles & Hughes case the account payment was made to the police court. I have been instructed by my client that there existed a police docket bearing a note to that effect—can it not be sought?’

  Justice Mayo thought for a moment, then turned to address the prosecutor. ‘Have you come across this note?’

  ‘No, Your Honour,’ Mr Chamberlain stated, ‘but I will undertake to do so now.’

  Justice Mayo looked at him with a small level of contempt. ‘You can let me know in the morning. I shall have to consider. I think it is a mistake to deal with these cases in haste. If I see my way clear not to imprison her, I will not.’

  Basil and Sylvia were again waiting for her, when Ethel arrived back at court under police escort the following day, Friday 22 February 1946, still unsure whether she would be sent to prison. It was a hot summer’s day, and she’d spent the previous night in the lock-up and was not looking quite as groomed as she normally did. The evening papers had been filled with her guilty verdict, and while there was a crowd both inside and outside the courthouse, there were no flowers nor words of encouragement. Just looks of silent, curious and occasionally hostile stares
.

  Justice Mayo started by asking Mr Chamberlain whether he had been able to locate the police docket showing the Coles & Hughes money being repaid.

  ‘No, Your Honour,’ he began. ‘But, I have received yet further information which I did not have at hand yesterday. On top of the defendant’s two convictions, Mrs Gardiner had a conviction in the name of Gloria Grey,’ he paused, looking at Ethel momentarily before continuing. ‘Under that name she was found guilty of false pretences in Melbourne in June 1934, for which she received six months gaol.’

  The gallery erupted with murmurings that grew louder.

  The judge banged his gavel down and glared at the public gallery.

  Ethel’s three legal representatives, Messrs Lander, Isaacs and Ward, were all silently staring at her; she looked back at them blankly before returning her attention to the judge.

  Mr Chamberlain was waving a docket in his hand. ‘I have a minute here, of the late Detective Trezona who handled the case,’ he began, ‘dated December 5, 1933, that on the 4th of December the defendant had not returned to her residence. I have no further instructions about restitution being paid to Coles & Hughes, and in the absence of anyone to whom it could now be made, may I suggest that Your Honour ignore it.’

  Justice Mayo nodded thoughtfully, then turned to Ethel.

  ‘In sentencing, I am not clear what the defendant’s name really is. In these proceedings she has been shown to have used the names Grey, Gardiner and Anderson.’

  ‘That’s the name!’ yelled a young man from the gallery. ‘Her name is Anderson!’

  ‘Remove anyone who makes a noise, Sergeant,’ Justice Mayo yelled above the noisy public gallery as everyone started trying to see who had made the remark.

  ‘Her name is Anderson,’ the young man repeated loudly and clearly.

  Ethel along with everyone in the courtroom was staring up into the crowded public gallery, and her eyes locked on to those of her long lost son, Frank George Anderson. He was staring down at her, his eyes cold and steady as two court officials fought their way through the packed gallery to evict him.

  ‘These charges,’ Justice Mayo continued as Frank was led away, ‘could have been disposed of summarily in November 1933 had the defendant herself not chosen—as she was entitled to do—to be tried by a jury.

  ‘My impression,’ he stated, looking directly at Ethel, ‘which might be unfounded, was that that choice was not unconnected with a decision to appear at trial.’

  He cleared his throat and continued on. ‘She did not appear to her recognisance, but I understand from her counsel that she has since paid the amounts owed. Over twelve years have elapsed since the offences, and her past record is not clear.’

  Ethel did not move as he regarded her carefully. ‘I have no information as to where she has been since 1934, but there is nothing to indicate any infraction of the criminal law, and I accept her record as clear since then.’

  Ethel’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and she turned as Mr Chamberlain moved in his chair and glared at Ethel and her legal team.

  Justice Mayo then addressed Ethel directly. ‘These offences are serious. Preying on the community by fraud must be suppressed. You are getting on in years and your state of health is serious,’ he told her. ‘You have ability and astuteness, undoubtedly, but I think you may also have some extreme form of egotism.

  ‘It might well be that if the police court had dealt with the matter, the order might have been similar to that which I now propose,’ observed Justice Mayo, looking around the court. ‘The publicity which has been given to the case should not alter the penalty.

  ‘Mrs Gardiner,’ he said, again addressing Ethel.

  Mr Lander turned and gestured for her to stand, which she did uncertainly; Sylvia rose alongside and helped her as she seemed to sway.

  ‘I have decided that it is not necessary to impose imprisonment at present. You will pay a bond of £300, with a surety of £300, to be of good behaviour for three years,’ he pronounced, looking at her intently, ‘and you are to notify the police of your address, or any changes of address, whenever you might be in South Australia in that period.’

  With that, a slightly stunned-looking Ethel was free to leave.

  The day after the trial, Ethel was at her son Basil’s house, in Holbrooks Road, Flinders Park. It was decided that she would stay with him and his wife Sylvia for a few days.

  Frank, now 21, and who had not seen his mother for twelve long years, was also there. Having seen news of the trial splashed over all the newspapers, he wanted to know the truth about all these fantastic stories of his mother, and to know why she had deserted him and Basil as young boys.

  Ethel had been reliving stories of her past with Frank and Basil—or her versions of them, at least—trying to justify her abandonment of them, insisting there had never been a day she hadn’t thought of them. Basil was quite forgiving, having been gifted a newsagency business by Ethel, but Frank was rather bitter: how could she have left them to foster care, while she herself was living so lavishly? Why hadn’t she come looking for them?

  At 2 p.m. that afternoon, a reporter from the Mail knocked on the door to interview Ethel.

  Ethel placed her swollen feet on the hassock in front of her chair with a sigh. ‘My son’s home has become such a sanctuary for me,’ she told the reporter.

  ‘Tell me, Mrs Livesey, how do you feel about the trial verdict?’

  ‘I cannot speak too highly of my legal advisors—Messrs Isaacs and Ward,’ she began. ‘My conviction was a gross miscarriage of justice,’ her eyes flashing in barely concealed anger, though her voice was calm. ‘And I have suffered much. They even put me in gaol overnight! I have suffered a terrible ordeal.’

  ‘How did you find that, Mrs Livesey, being in gaol?’ he asked, madly taking notes.

  ‘Considering it a place of punishment, remarkably hospitable and clean,’ she replied. ‘The wardresses were the acme of kindness, and the blankets were as good as some I have had in many of the best hotels.’

  ‘And the prison food, is it as bad as they say?’ the reporter asked.

  ‘I cannot comment on the meals, as I felt too ill to eat, and I did not sleep well. I have not been sleeping or eating well for some time,’ she admitted. ‘And as for these dreadful reports in some of the papers, saying I am nineteen stone!’ she said, raising her voice. ‘Obviously a misprint as I weigh only fourteen stone seven pounds!’ Her two boys looked at each other, Frank raising his eyebrows at his brother, which Ethel saw and attempted to ignore. Stone-faced, she took an angry sip of her whiskey and placed it back on the table beside her.

  ‘You have received plenty of support as a result of your coverage, I understand?’ the reporter asked.

  ‘People have been so kind,’ Ethel replied. ‘Complete strangers writing to me. Since my conviction I have received over 1000 letters of sympathy, many offers of accommodation and homes, and numerous gifts of flowers—all of which I appreciate immensely.’

  ‘Do you intend to stay in South Australia?’

  ‘Now that the trial is over, once I am feeling rested, I intend to return to Sydney, where I anticipate many interesting interviews with people whom I lavishly entertained, and who, in my hour of need, deserted me,’ her blue eyes again flashing in anger.

  ‘Many of my so-called Sydney friends forsook me without hearing me!’ she stated again, raising her voice slightly. ‘I have spent thousands on entertaining Sydney society—and yet, with a few exceptions, these people have abandoned me. I spent £250 on the wedding reception, and that did not include drinks. Then almost everyone forsook me because of something they had heard about me!’

  She paused again, then declared dramatically: ‘I am writing a book on my life. Two publishing houses are interested—my story will rock Australia, I can promise you that, and it gets better as the years go by. Tell me,’ she asked the reporter, ‘have you seen the newsreel I was in?’

  ‘It was hard to miss,’ he muttered.

/>   ‘Yes well, Ken Hall—the Australian film director, you may have heard of him—he wants to make my story into a film.’

  ‘That would be interesting. What name would you go by, what is your real name?’ the reporter asked.

  Ethel burred visibly. ‘My name is Livesey. It was changed by deed poll, owing to family reasons. That can be proved by gazette.’

  ‘And I see both your sons are with you. I understand they were put into the care of the state’s Children’s Welfare Department?’

  ‘It was an unfortunate time, the Depression,’ Ethel replied, ‘but I have paid over £300 for their maintenance. Some years ago, I even disguised myself as a nun and came here, going from school to school, trying to find my boys,’ she stated, the boys again looking at each other, but this time in surprise. ‘When I returned from England last August, I came first to Adelaide to see them. I found Basil, and Frank here just recently,’ she replied looking over towards her son, ‘he has been travelling.’

  Wrapping up the interview, Ethel rose to see the reporter to the door.

  ‘The past is behind me,’ she told him. ‘I look to the future with confidence.’

  32

  GOING FOR BROKE

  And so Ethel moved back to Sydney, and was welcomed into Mrs O’Hagan’s boarding house once again. Her main aim was to attempt to redress the damage to her reputation and the many so-called injustices heaped upon her by her former society friends. Instead, she was surprised to receive from her solicitor Mr Lander additional bills for the wedding that never was.