The Amazing Mrs Livesey

by Freda Marnie Nicholls

  Justice Clyne asked that Mrs Livesey be summoned to appear before his court. He wanted to hear what she had to say for herself.

  36

  THE CROCODILE-SKIN CASE

  On 24 November 1946, the Bankruptcy Court received a medical certificate from a Dr R.N. Reilly in Victoria: an ulcerated hernia incorporating her entire intestine meant Mrs Livesey was unable to travel to the court—but it was certainly noted by Justice Clyne that she had managed to make it across the vast Nullarbor Plain, as far as Melbourne.

  Two days later Mr Richardson notified all creditors that they needed to appear before the court with any documents they held concerning their dealings with the bankrupt Mrs Livesey.

  James Donohue, who had helped Ethel move back to Sydney’s eastern suburbs, was the only creditor to appear on Tuesday, 10 December 1946, with Mr Stanley Theodore Jaques standing in for the Official Receiver Mr Richardson who was on leave.

  Mr Donohue was asked about his claim for over £363 ($23,000). He explained that this comprised a £250 loan to Mrs Livesey, £63 he was owed for six weeks rent at his flat, £24 for rent he paid on a Gowrie Gate flat that he had organised for her, a telephone account for over £11, and £15 for a crocodile-skin leather case.

  Mr Jaques noted that Mrs Livesey stated in her affidavit that Mr Donohue had lent £200, not £250.

  ‘At the time I loaned her £250,’ explained Mr Donohue, ‘she gave me a post-dated cheque for £250, which I have presented to the court, and she told me to present it on 1st February.’

  ‘According to Mrs Livesey, you loaned her £200 and charged her £50 interest,’ Jaques asked.

  ‘Not at all!’ Mr Donohue replied indignantly. ‘I gave her £250—in cash.’

  Mr Jaques read further from her affidavit, ‘According to Mrs Livesey, there was an arrangement between the two of you that she would not be charged for the rent of the flats?’

  Mr Donohue retorted that plenty of witnesses could attest that Mrs Livesey was to repay the rent when her funds came through—including her solicitors, Mrs O’Brien, who was her former landlady at the boarding house in Chester Hill, and Mr Lawson, a boarder at the same address. Mr Donohue replied, ‘I understand they also lent her money, though not as much as me.’

  Justice Clyne cleared his throat and looked up from his notes. ‘How much did they loan the bankrupt?’ Justice Clyne intervened, asking Mr Jaques directly.

  ‘Mrs O’Brien had lent Mrs Livesey £150 for a £200 post-dated cheque, and Mr Lawson a further £129 for a £150 cheque, with the difference between the amounts lent and signed for being to cover interest on the loans.’

  ‘I see,’ Clyne remarked. ‘Proceed.’

  ‘The cheque presented to this court is the only document you have?’ Jaques asked Donohue.

  ‘Together with the rental receipt for Gowrie Gate, the telephone bill and the note of promise from Mrs Livesey,’ he replied.

  ‘For the gold cigarette case and one ring to hold as security for money lent.’

  ‘That is right,’ Donohue replied.

  ‘Do you have any documents to support your claim for £63 for the six-week stay in your flat?’ Mr Jaques asked.

  ‘Only the proof that she stayed in the flat,’ he replied. ‘The caretaker of the building saw her, and her solicitors interviewed her there many times,’ adding that a newsreel by Cinesound was also filmed there.

  ‘There is also a claim for £15 for a leather suitcase?’ Mr Jaques asked.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Mr Donohue with a big sigh. ‘Mrs Livesey wanted the case. She told me she’d give me £15 for it, but I refused.’ Mrs Livesey had then taken the case when she left, selling it to another creditor for £1. ‘She told the girl she had bought the case from me for £15, but did not want it any more!’ Mr Donohue stated angrily. ‘There are numerous other things she sold and ruined in my apartment which I did not claim for,’ he stated in disgust.

  The hearing was adjourned soon after Mr Donohue’s evidence, and Justice Clyne was starting to get an inkling of how Mrs Livesey operated.

  37

  MRS LIVESEY EXPLAINS

  It wasn’t until Tuesday, 4 February 1947, that Ethel finally came before Justice Clyne in the Bankruptcy Court.

  The previous Wednesday, 29 January, she had given evidence at the Supreme Court into the investigation of her legal bill to solicitor Mr Lander and barrister Simon Isaacs—in a closed court, much to the press’s immense frustration.

  Arriving at the Bankruptcy Court with her new legal counsel, Mr Bruce Panton Macfarlan, Ethel caught sight of Ruby and Baydon Johnson talking with another of her hopeful creditors, Mr Grindell. She pulled her shoulders back and walked straight past them with barely a glance.

  Everyone stared at her as she entered the courtroom, their eyes curious and hostile, as Ethel made her way to her seat, amid occasional murmurs and snickering from those around her.

  She was to be the first witness before Justice Clyne and Mr Richardson; Mac McDonald was representing one of the creditors, Miss Rewa Nicholson.

  Mr Macfarlan stood to address the court. ‘I should mention to you, in view of the nature of this examination, that the legal expenses in connection with representations by Mrs Livesey at this examination, are being paid by friends in Melbourne and are in no way contributed to by her,’ he stated to Justice Clyne.

  Justice Clyne nodded, before Ethel was sworn in. The packed court was hushed as her account began.

  ‘Please state your name and address for the record,’ Mr Richardson said.

  ‘My full name is Florence Elizabeth Ethel Livesey, and I reside at the Victoria Palace, Melbourne,’ she replied clearly.

  ‘How long have you been there?’ he asked.

  ‘On and off, for the last few months,’ she replied casually.

  ‘Did you disclose in your statement of affairs that you filed in this court all of your assets and liabilities?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you want to correct it in any way?’

  ‘No, I do not think so,’ Ethel replied.

  ‘On that statement of affairs, did you show as a creditor Margaretta Williams of number 2 Athlone Avenue, Blackpool, England?’

  ‘No,’ she stated.

  ‘In the sum of £1359 9s 3d?’ Mr Richardson asked.

  ‘I am not indebted to her,’ Ethel replied. On further questioning she insisted that the matter had been settled through her lawyers there.

  ‘Do you know a sum of £400 was paid off that sum?’ Mr Richardson asked, getting her to look back at him.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who paid that sum?’

  ‘I think my father paid that,’ she replied. ‘He said he would carry on paying it for me.’

  ‘What was the debt for?’ he demanded.

  ‘Money lent to my husband,’ she stated, ‘William Alexander Coradine.’

  ‘Did you sign any documents which would make you liable for this debt?’ he asked.

  ‘I cannot remember,’ she replied.

  Mr Richardson tried not to appear frustrated as he shuffled the papers in front of him and looked up at the large woman before him who had caused them so much trouble over the last few months. ‘Are there any other debts you have not shown in your statement of affairs which were incurred in England by yourself?’

  ‘I had accounts before I left, but I left money in England for the accounts to be paid before I left—£600 or something. I left it in my Bank of the Isle of Man account for Nurse Sayle, my father’s nurse, to pay on my behalf,’ she answered.

  ‘Have you a list of those creditors who were to be paid, or whether or not they were paid by this nurse?’ demanded Mr Richardson.

  ‘No,’ Ethel replied.

  Mr Richardson looked at her for a moment before continuing. ‘Did you hold any joint property with your father?’

  ‘No,’ she replied.

  Mr Richardson handed her a copy of her Isle of Man Bank account. ‘Will you look at this document?’

  Et
hel flicked through the pages quickly and then looked to the Receiver expectantly.

  ‘There was £466 4s in the account on the date you left,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ Ethel said, searching for the date and confirming.

  ‘Not £600,’ he remarked.

  ‘I also left some cash with Nurse Sayle,’ she answered.

  ‘There are small amounts withdrawn after the date you left England—except for one sum of £210 for Gelling & Cowin.’

  ‘Yes, I cannot think who they are,’ Ethel said absently, as if talking about the weather.

  ‘Gelling & Cowin are solicitors?’ he suggested.

  ‘I think so,’ she replied carefully.

  ‘What was the £210 paid to them for?’ he asked.

  ‘I have not the slightest idea,’ Ethel remarked. ‘It is absolutely news to me.’

  Asked if Nurse Sayles had anything to do with the Isle of Man business, Sayles Ltd, Ethel replied that Sayles was a common enough name on the island.

  ‘Sayles Ltd were creditors of yours?’ he queried.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you know that they got a judgment against you?’

  ‘No,’ she replied.

  ‘On top of the Sayles Ltd debt, which exhausted the balance of your account on the 6th of December 1945, did you owe any other creditors other than Mrs Williams?’ he persisted.

  ‘I cannot remember, it is a long time ago.’

  Mr Richardson looked frustrated; her answers were irritating. ‘Give me the names of the bank accounts opened in Australia,’ he demanded as steadily as he could.

  ‘The Bank of New South Wales, Adelaide; and the Bank of New South Wales, Sydney,’ Ethel stated.

  ‘Have you got the passbooks of those accounts?’

  ‘No, they are at the bank.’

  Ethel’s lawyer stood and handed Mr Richardson a copy of the Sydney account statement, which he read through.

  ‘This £2000 entry?’ he asked.

  ‘The money was sent over by Layton & Co., Lawyers of Liverpool,’ she replied, saying it was for part of the sale of a property.

  ‘Who owned the property that was sold?’

  ‘I owned it,’ Ethel replied.

  ‘Was it registered in your name?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Mr Richardson put the bank statement down in frustration and looked again at his papers. ‘Who is Robert Cowell?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘My father’s solicitor.’

  Mr Richardson told the court he’d received a letter from Mr Cowell, dated 22 August 1946, stating that Ethel’s father, Mr Swindells, had confirmed that the £2000 in question was not gifted to him by his daughter, and that it was payment made by Messrs Layton & Co., for the sale of some property in Manchester, owned by Mr Swindells.

  ‘What property is actually referred to there?’ he asked her.

  ‘My father had a house at 72 Grove Lane in Hale, Cheshire, and he was very sick,’ Ethel replied, adding that her father had given power of attorney to her husband, Thomas Livesey, and wanted the property sold. ‘So he gave me a note to give to the bank and get the deeds and take them to Layton & Co. My father being in bed with a stroke, I went over to Liverpool and saw Layton & Co., the cheque was handed to me, and I handed that cheque to Mr Livesey,’ Ethel stated, with the most honest look on her face.

  Mr Richardson stared at her for a moment. ‘What properties did you in fact own, in your own name, at any time?’ he asked.

  ‘I had Aigburgh Drive, Livington Drive, Swanston Road, South Wood Drive,’ she replied. ‘All in Liverpool.’

  Ethel then claimed she had no properties in 1943, but in 1944 had two blocks of flats, which were sold at auction, for £6000, she thought.

  ‘Did you get the money?’ Mr Richardson asked.

  ‘All but £2000.’

  ‘Who did that go to?’

  ‘My father.’

  Mr Richardson shook his head. ‘And yet he says he did not receive that amount,’ he said. When she did not reply, he asked if those other properties belonged to Thomas Livesey at any time.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did he have them transferred into your name?’

  Ethel replied he had, by deed of gift, in 1945.

  ‘This is the flats?’ he asked.

  ‘And the houses—two or three houses.’

  Mr Richardson nodded; finally it looked like they were getting somewhere. ‘You first knew Thomas Livesey in 1943, was it not?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How many houses did you get from him?’

  ‘I am not sure if it was five or six,’ Ethel replied, adding that all but two were sold.

  ‘Has Layton & Co accounted for the sale of those houses?’

  ‘Not all to me,’ she replied.

  ‘So is money due to your estate from these sales?’

  ‘I left it entirely in the hands of Layton & Co.,’ Ethel said, looking suddenly concerned. ‘The attorney has to account to me for some more money, has he?’ she asked, turning to Justice Clyne. ‘If my father says he has not had the £2000, then yes, they will have to account for the £2000.’

  ‘You have two remaining properties in your name?’ Mr Richardson asked.

  ‘Yes, two houses; they were withdrawn from sale. I was receiving rent for them—£3 a week from Layton & Co. or some agents from England.’

  Mr Richardson was incredulous to learn that Ethel claimed not to know that the two properties were leasehold, and unlikely to be sold at market value until their 75-year leases had expired.

  He made his way back to his table and picked up some papers. ‘Referring to these proof of debt again,’ he began, leafing through the various creditors’ claims, ‘did you have any prospect of being able to repay that money?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied.

  ‘At the time you borrowed it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘from the sale of the properties.’

  Mr Richardson suppressed a frustrated sigh. Was the woman as stupid as she was making out? Did she truly not understand that the properties were worth less due to the leases?

  ‘What did you want that money for, the money you borrowed from these creditors?’ he asked.

  Ethel replied that all her debts were borrowed to pay legal expenses for her Sydney lawyers, Isaacs and Lander.

  Mr Richardson changed tack, addressing the £717 6s claimed by Mrs Ruby Johnson, wife of Mr Baydon Johnson, the catering manager at the Australia Hotel, from 1 January 1946 to 3 May 1946. ‘What is that for?’ he asked Ethel.

  ‘That was £550 borrowed, and that was given to Isaacs and Lander to pay some of their expenses for their presence in Adelaide.’

  Mr Richardson then asked if she had any money in her Bank of NSW account in Adelaide in January 1946.

  ‘In Adelaide, no,’ she replied.

  ‘Do you know when you exhausted that account?’

  ‘No.’

  Mr Richardson was starting to wonder if she really had any business sense at all. ‘So in January 1946, you had no ready money at all?’

  No, Ethel replied, but before leaving England she had instructed Layton & Co to sell these properties whenever she wanted, and they would be sold at a moment’s notice.

  Mr Richardson picked up the Bank of NSW account. ‘In January 1946 you only had £15 6s in the account?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When you got this money from Mrs Johnson, you had nothing to be able to repay it with?’

  ‘I had the two properties in England—I told them it would be paid with money from England.’

  Ethel also confirmed saying the same thing to a Mr Lawton for his £120, and to Mr Baydon Johnson for £217 6s—all, she said, to pay Isaacs and Lander.

  Mr Richardson then read out a sum of £70 from Miss Rewa Nicholson, on 19 March 1946. ‘Is that an advance?’ he asked.

  Ethel shook her head slightly. ‘I received a letter from my lawyers, from a Miss Nicholson, stating that after all she had read in the paper she would be
glad to be some sort of friend, and she would like to give me a trip to New Zealand, and I could live with her sister in Rotorua. She came back to see me after I came back from Adelaide the first time and she said she would like to help me, and she gave me £30. In the letter she told me I could use the money to pay legal expenses or whatever I wanted it for. That £30 was paid in wages and living. Then she said she had a piece of land, and I was in rather a bit of a hole on account of the rent on my flat, and she gave me £40. I received £35 of that money in Munro’s office, Harold Munro, solicitor.’

  ‘Do you owe Munro any money?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘I could not tell you, but I know I had no intention of going to Munro at all, it was through Miss Nicholson; when Mr Munro took over I told him I could not pay, and he said that would be alright.’

  ‘You do not show him as a creditor in your statement of affairs?’

  ‘No, and I did not think for what he had done he was going to charge me,’ she replied.

  Mr Richardson looked down at his list. ‘The next creditor is Mr G.E. O’Hagan, husband of your landlady Dorothy O’Hagan, for £200—is that an advance?’

  Yes, she replied, for £125, giving Mr O’Hagan a cheque for £200, as he wanted interest on his loan.

  ‘At the time you knew your bank account was exhausted?’

  ‘But I had a cable from Layton saying the property was being put up for sale. I knew I had assets coming here—they knew that.’

  ‘Who understood it?’

  ‘All the people I gave the cheques to.’

  Mr Richardson looked again at his list. ‘And there were goods from the Myer Emporium for £21 19s, and Farmer & Co for £55 17s 8d?’

  Ethel then explained she was quite solvent at that time, and could have paid those accounts, were it not for Isaacs and Lander, who demanded that she borrow money to pay off their legal bills, otherwise they would drop her case, and all the money she had already paid them would be useless.