A Life By Design Read online

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  Cattle grazing was in Bill’s blood but he was first and foremost a horseman. Between 1902 and 1904 he delivered mail between Mount Perry and Kariboe, a weekly five-day ride that tested even his toughened resolve. It is likely that Bill was lured by the job’s steady annual salary of one hundred and forty-six pounds. The birth of his third daughter, Priscilla ‘Cilla’ Margaret, meant another mouth to feed.

  With Bill’s career change came a change of residence. In 1902, when Florence was three years old, the Broadhurst family left the cluster of huts at Mungy and shifted to a one-hundred-and-twelve-acre (five-hectare) property at Drummers Creek known as ‘The Oakes’. The sizeable home, a mere five kilometres to the east of Mount Perry, was luxurious by comparison with Mungy Station. It had broad, sweeping verandas with stairs rising to a peak at the front of the building. The interiors boasted cedar finishes, high ceilings and spacious living areas. This building is no longer standing, but on the same property The Pines, which the family subsequently lived in from 1930–73, was built in 1871 and has been kept in immaculate order by its current owner, Pat Smith. The white colonial homestead features a dramatic curved corrugated-iron roof, wide verandahs, a formal dining room, polished floorboards throughout, theatrical velvet drapes, Spanish pendant lighting, an overgrown private tennis court (the only one in town), and a creek bed in close proximity. Pat is also the owner of a host of Broadhurst memorabilia: Bill’s walking stick that features a silver handle in the shape of a bird’s skull and his steel matlock (affectionately call ‘Bill’), paintings by Florence, four-poster beds, dolls and furniture. Today, the home is surrounded by a glorious garden that is abundant with towering date palms, climbing roses, frangipanis and mulberry vines.

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  Living close to town at The Oakes was a novelty for Florence and her three siblings. From 1902 until 1915, Mount Perry experienced its second great boom. In 1907 the population soared to almost 4000, which made it approximately the same size as Cairns and Mackay and only slightly smaller than Bundaberg. On Saturday nights Margaret and Bill would wheel Priscilla around town in her pram, while Florence, May and Fassifern trotted alongside. They joined the miners and their families promenading the streets under the glow of oil and gaslights until 9 pm. Late-night shoppers crowded the counters of stores such as the Amos Brothers, where pieces of cod and ling hung from the ceiling like sides of bacon. Other businesses that had recently moved to town included an oyster saloon, a tobacconist, a baker, a café and a jewellery store. And there were now billiard tables at the Grand Hotel.

  Florence reflected on this period in her life while living in London during World War II. She wrote: ‘The secret of never growing old is never to have been bored in your youth. Looking back, I can see how lucky I was in that during the three formative years of my adolescence I went to a day school and was therefore thrown upon my own company for a long period every week. It incalculated in me the need for self-sufficiency, that little by little was met and finally strengthened.’

  Florence developed a self-sufficiency that came not so much from her schooling but from how she was raised: to be independent, resourceful and make the most of what she had. She had to entertain herself with her own dreams and her own plans. While a number of children in the area either had tutors, were sent away to boarding school or weren’t educated at all, school for Florence was a mere stroll across a paddock to the Mount Perry State School. Here Florence developed a wide variety of interests: she rode horses, tended vegetable and fruit gardens, cooked, painted, read, sewed, knitted, showed a formidable talent in music and singing and cultivated her passion for tennis inherited from her father, who was still serving and volleying in his eighties.

  Florence was only eleven years old when in 1910 she joined the local Children’s Tennis Club with her sisters. According to family friend Ted Bettiens, sport—including football, rifle shooting, horseracing, wood chopping and cricket—meant a lot to the Broadhursts who ‘always got fired up about competition and about winning first prize’. Since early settlement, tennis played a pivotal role in the community, and by the early 1900s there were three public tennis clubs in Mount Perry.

  When Florence and her sisters were older, they spent hours pinning their hair, painting their faces and fitting their frocks for the Race Ball that, since 1872, was a high point on the Mount Perry social calendar. From far-flung locales around the district, young men and women flocked to town to dance to the double bass, drums, accordion and guitar that played until the wee hours at the Patterson’s Royal Hotel or the Victoria Hotel. At other times of the year they gathered at the Federal Hall to dance to visiting brass and pipe bands. On one such occasion, Florence’s brother Fassifern played a trick on a gaggle of unsuspecting women. Disguised as a ghost with a sheet over his head, he hid by a creek and pounced on them as they walked past.

  Unlike his self-sufficient sisters ‘who were as clever as anyone in the bush’, Fassifern developed a reputation as a shady character and in 1919 he was arrested on a charge of stealing sixteen head of cattle from the owner of Mungy Station. Ted Bettiens reckons Fassifern had picked up some of his tricks from Bill, who on occasion falsified the age of his stock for better returns. As Ted explained, ‘Bill would heat up a piece of wire and re-brand his herd, and when he was accused of it, he’d say, “But I have a witness, Bettiens was with me”, to which I would reply, “Yes, I was there when they branded—both times”.’

  Florence’s sister May, on the other hand, had a temperament like her mother’s. She rarely ventured out but showed her father’s skill in the saddle. That was probably all she inherited from him. Florence and Priscilla were both like Bill. Cilla was an outgoing, colourful character who was the life of parties, played the piano like a professional and, according to locals, ‘drank most people under the table’. Contemporaries remember Florence as a fiercely determined child, with a raucous laugh, tons of grit, a memory like an elephant, wild red hair and an inquisitive nature. She was passionate about the arts, and her eyes lit up when the travelling picture showman came to town to show his flickering silent black-and-white films, or when amateur theatricals, musicals and debates featured at the School of the Arts. From an early age she spent her days listening to Gladys Moncrieff—‘Australia’s Queen of Musical Comedy’—on the gramophone and dreamed of following in her footsteps. It didn’t take long for the naturally ambitious Florence to understand that her fine contralto voice may be her ticket out of the life of Mount Perry.

  THE ORIENT

  1922–1927

  ‘Both Europeans and Americans love China, because it is so completely flattering to the Anglo-Saxon sense of racial superiority’

  VOGUE, 1924

  When Florence was fifteen years old she wrote an enlightening manifesto entitled ‘Resolution’. It contains surprisingly well-formed ideas for someone so young and reveals her raw ambition:

  I shall do great things. My name shall not be lauded but in my way I shall do great things. I shall not let personal ambition and greed grip my soul in its hungry hands. I will not let my youth slip away without laughter and the joy of living making my face bright and my will strong. I will not be evil; neither shall I speak of evil to others. I will not judge, for no man is worthy enough to judge his neighbour. I will grasp the goodness and the beauty of life, and throw away the ugliness and bitterness. I will turn my face to the light; yet remember the darkness that lies behind and around me. I will not blame others for my many sorrows and defeats, for man has but himself to blame for failure. Yes, I will fail and in failing I will try again. I will fall and in falling, climb. Yes, I will be selfish, for ultimately I will gratify and bring happiness to myself by giving it away in large measures to others…No real happiness can come to him who keeps his happiness to himself and does not share it with the whole world. Sympathy, sorrow, joy, yes, even anger will be my lot and I will thank God that I have the depth to feel all these things. I will thank Him for the glorious beauty of the world at sunset, f
or the unbearable sweetness of song. For the million, million things which lie in wait for us every hour of the day, to please our sight and fill our eyes with perfection. And I shall envy no man, for the things which are precious and everlasting can be found in our own heart. Yes, with the help of God, and with no other mortal ever to know…I shall do great things.

  At about the same time as Florence wrote this manifesto, she turned up for her first singing lessons with Kate Gratehead, a charitable woman who organised a host of musical events during World War I to raise money for Australian servicemen abroad. Florence was a dedicated student. Once a week, May hitched up her horse and buggy and took her younger sister to the Mount Perry Railway Station, where Florence caught the train to Bundaberg. Kate Gratehead was able to fine-tune the budding contralto, and Florence soon scooped up a clutch of awards at eisteddfods in Bundaberg and Toowomba. The Bundaberg Daily News and Mail described Florence as a ‘promising contralto’ whose ‘fine singing at the 1918 Eisteddford is not likely to be forgotten…she sang splendidly, her beautiful contralto voice with a fine range…delighted the audience who insisted on her reappearing when she was presented with a bouquet…’

  Florence’s song of choice for the eisteddford—advertised in the local newspaper as a ‘Grand Concert – Queen’s Theatre. Proceeds in Aid of Patriotic fund. God Save the King’—was ‘Still as the Night’ composed by Georg Bohm.

  Florence’s single-minded determination soon paid off. At sixteen she won a prize to perform a duet with a famous English contralto named Dame Clara Butt, who is still considered one of the greatest voices of the first three decades of the twentieth century. Dame Clara toured the world, giving concert performances of ballads and oratorios. She first fell in love with Australia in 1907 and continued to travel here until ill health prevented her. When she discussed her 1907 program with the Australian diva Dame Nellie Melba, she was famously advised to ‘sing ’em muck it’s all they understand’. By all accounts Dame Clara paid Dame Nellie no heed. Together Florence and Clara sang ‘Abide with Me’, a rendition that threatened to lift the roof of the Brisbane Anglican Cathedral. In later life Florence described this moment as the pinnacle of her singing career.

  But there was more to come. When Florence was in her early twenties she auditioned for a musical comedy troupe known as the Smart Set Diggers, who did a number of seasons at the Princess Theatre in Toowoomba, the Empire in Brisbane and the Playhouse in Sydney. The hard working troupe was mostly made up of men who dressed up as women. They performed a melange of acts, including comedy routines, songs, short plays and piano recitals. The Smart Set Diggers had been captivating audiences since World War I when, under the management of Charles Holt, they had successfully entertained troops with their spicy antics.

  Drag shows in army camps was a trend that began around 1915 and continued to flourish during the interwar period. They were frequently performed in hastily erected theatres, ruined cathedrals, tents, chateaux, huts and on open-air platforms to raise funds, put an end to the monotony of war or ‘boost’ troop morale. The performances featured male soldiers in crude makeup, makeshift wigs and frivolous frocks, ranging from racy strip teases to impersonations of movie actresses, chorus girls and other sexy starlets. The audiences that frequented these shows regarded them as vaguely naughty, humorous and not strictly homosexual—merely a routine that flirted with the idea of transgender. In 1942, the official photo caption for ‘This Is the Army’, a Broadway musical that toured the world and was eventually made into a movie, summed up the sentiment: ‘Don’t let them fool you, boys. They’re chorus “gals” but tough as mule meat.’

  On 27 December 1920, the Smart Set Diggers commenced a season at the Playhouse Theatre in Sydney. The following day a reporter from the Sydney Morning Herald reported that ‘Four of the company gave an unexpectedly clever female impersonation. These were Charles Holt, Ralph Sawyer, “Tiki” Carpenter and Bobby Roberts.’ A successful Sydney season was followed by performances at Brisbane’s Empire Theatre. On 28 January 1921, The Australia Variety and Show World reported, ‘The Smart Set Diggers made their first appearance at the Empire on Saturday and were greeted with a crowded house at both sessions. Most of the boys are clever in their work, and should have a successful season…Reg McLaughlin and Ralph Sawyer were successful in their “Des Apache”dance.’

  At some point between March 1921 and December 1922, Florence Broadhurst joined the all-male cast of returned soldiers now based in Toowoomba. Her colleagues included ex-Gallipoli stretcher bearer Ralph Sawyer, ex-soldier Wallingford Tate, cross-dresser extraordinaire Charles Holt, Lindsay Kemble and Richard ‘Dick’ Norton, men with whom Florence would forge lasting friendships.

  Dick Norton was also the entrepreneurial mastermind behind a theatrical musical and comedy company called the Globetrotters, which was based in Shanghai. He offered Florence a starring role in the company’s show. Lured by the excitement of life in a foreign country, she accepted and, on 4 December 1922, at twenty-three years of age, Florence boarded a ship in Brisbane bound for China. Three of her new friends—Wallingford Tate, Dick Norton and Charles Holt—were also on board.

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  No world cruise at the time was complete without a stop in Shanghai. It was Asia’s most cosmopolitan destination and a city with many faces. Inner-city streets were a tangle of rickshaws, cars, trams and cyclists dodging businessmen in smart suits, women with boyish bob haircuts, sailors on shore leave, wharfies, street hawkers and itinerants who carted their wares across their shoulders in backbreaking baskets. Opium dens, prostitution, gambling, extortion and violence were just part of the scenery. Living a highly privileged existence alongside all this was a large enclave of British, French, American and Japanese expatriates. Russians also lived in Shanghai but they had arrived under different circumstances—as refugees.

  Shanghai was a city where foreign business and trade flourished. In the heart of the city, an acre of land cost up to one hundred and forty thousand pounds more than comparable land in the heart of London. On the fringes of the city’s industrial areas and foreign settlements were countless shantytowns filled with filthy straw huts, where beggars searched for sustenance and children worked fourteen-hour shifts. As the French consul-general pointed out in 1924, ‘Shanghai, which is a city of luxury, ought to think much more about the misery which is so common there.’ Not even the fancy architectural influences from Norway to Italy could hide the poverty and squalor, nor the relentless influx of immigrants.

  When foreigners moved to Shanghai, they tended to leave some of their constraints and conventions at home. On her arrival in this maelstrom, so different to Mount Perry, Florence likewise faced a choice: to reinvent herself, or fade into the background. She chose to morph into the semi-androgynous ‘Bobby Broadhurst’—a singing, dancing coquette in a flapper dress (known as a Parisian garconne frock), sporting a highly styled red bob known as ‘a shingle’ and kohl-rimmed eyes. Florence would have been an attractive, young and confident foreigner who not only had the right attitude and mixed with the right crowd, but who courted the attention that entertainers such as herself received from the press. She appeared with great frequency in the Shanghai Sunday Times, the China Press and the Shanghai Ladies Journal. Gone was the tennis-playing teenager and in her place was a sophisticated, sexy vamp with a nom de guerre to match. ‘Bobby’ found her niche among the cultural elite—actors, writers, painters, musicians, dancers and singers—that made up part of the foreign expatriate population that had poured into the city since the late nineteenth century. And like many events in Florence’s life, Bobby’s timing was perfect.

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  Western-style dancing such as ballroom and jazz took Chinese society by storm after World War I and by the twenties dance and cabaret culture had become intrinsically linked with Shanghai itself, which by now had earned the nickname ‘Le Paris de L’Orient’. Tea dances, charity balls, professional song-and-dance troupes (called gewutuan), ballet, dancing schools and social ga
therings for student associations, government, military and professional organisations were all the rage—but it was cabarets that had the greatest impact on the Shanghai elite. An English journalist writing in 1927 observed: ‘Nowhere in the world, I should think, are there so many cabarets in proportion to the total white population. They range from the cheap and respectable palais de danse to more select resorts with exotic names like ‘Paradise’, where beautifully dressed professional dancers obligingly dance with all comers on the sole condition they order champagne’ (Field, 1999).

  When Florence became ‘Bobby’ she cast aside her Australian past. Bobby, she decided, would be British. As one reviewer in the Malay Mail, on 17 February 1923, confirmed: ‘Miss Bobby Broadhurst…has a well-trained voice and pronounces her words beautifully, a talent only too rare among English singers.’ At the time pretending to be British was not uncommon, but what was uncommon was how far Florence went with the deception. Not only did she sign up as an active member of the British Women’s Association, whose agenda was to replicate British home life in Shanghai, but she maintained that she was British for the next fifty years. When she was back living in Sydney from 1949 onwards, reviews in the Australian Women’s Weekly, the Sunday Telegraph, the Australian Magazine and other periodicals regularly described her as ‘an Englishwoman who came to Australia’ and Florence did nothing to dispel the untruth. In fact she courted it. Asked why, Leslie Walford, who knew Florence for twenty years, put it succinctly: ‘No one wants to be trailer trash.’