Tiger Men (52 page)

‘Stanford set out to impress upon me the possibilities of such a merger,’ Simon continued, unruffled as always, but aware that he’d dropped a bombshell. ‘He talked about extending the fleet. That’s when he sang your praises, George,’ he added in an aside to his brother-in-law. ‘He went on about the excellent relationship he’d developed with you during the construction of the
Lady Evelyn
. Obviously he was hinting to me of the advantages to be reaped by the Powell family in general should a merger take place.’

‘But he made no offer?’ Lincoln queried suspiciously. ‘It was just talk, as it was with us at the timber mill?’

‘That’s right, which leads me to believe he wants us to have a meeting such as this, where we’ll talk it over and see the advantages to be had on all sides. Stanford Colonial is a powerful organisation with a lot of money to invest. They could certainly broaden our horizons. He talked also of the possibility of opening up regular freight runs to the mainland, perhaps even to England, thereby doing away with the necessity of relying on the major shipping lines.’

‘I for one wouldn’t say no to that,’ Thomas interjected. ‘It’d save us having to book our freight space with Jones and Peacock.’

Simon displayed no annoyance at the interruption; indeed he rarely allowed his irritation to show. ‘It’s fortuitous that you’re here actually, Thomas,’ he said. ‘The discreet investigations I have made into Stanford Colonial’s business transactions will be also relevant to Charlotte Grove, I should imagine.’

He redirected his attention to George and Lincoln. ‘However, with regard to the current matter, I have discussed Stanford Colonial’s expression of interest with Doris and Martha and the other directors and senior management of Powell Channel Transport and we are all in agreement there will be no merger –’

‘Why ever not?’ It was Thomas again, and this time Simon ignored him.

‘Stanford does not intend a merger at all: he intends a takeover. It’s the way he works. I hope, George, that our refusal will not adversely affect any future dealings you may have with Stanford Colonial, though I must say I’m inclined to share Lincoln’s mistrust. I believe that the man’s hints about commissions on a far higher scale were intended to make you look favourably upon a merger.’

‘I’ve more than enough work without Stanford’s commissions,’ George stated firmly. ‘We run a family business, Simon, and we want to keep it that way.’ He looked at Lincoln, who nodded. ‘Like you, we don’t want to be gobbled up by big investors. Our businesses will be handed down to the sons of our sons –’

‘What did you find out about Stanford that relates to Charlotte Grove?’ Thomas could be downright rude at times.

Simon appeared to once again ignore him, although he was in fact answering the question. ‘Stanford Colonial has financial interests everywhere,’ he said to the gathering in general, ‘real estate, both here and on the mainland, Merino wool and timber of course, and recently, unknown of by most, sugar refinery in Queensland. Also unknown of by most are their investments in the local hop industry, the fresh fruit market and fruit-based foods, including of course jam produce.’

His audience was suitably impressed and the men exchanged glances. None of the family knew how Simon managed to obtain the information he did. If they asked him he was always evasive. ‘Oh, I do my homework,’ he would say modestly, ‘and I have the odd contact here and there.’ It sometimes appeared as if mild-mannered Simon Hawtrey had a network of spies at his beck and call.

Simon’s gaze finally came to rest upon Thomas. ‘Fears of a monopoly have been raised in your industry, Thomas, and they’re perfectly justified. But I’m not sure if Henry Jones, or Peacock for that matter, are the men you should fear. Reginald Stanford wields a great deal of power behind the scenes, and he, unlike Jones and Peacock, is a man who would abuse it. Certainly, with wool, timber, hops, fruit, jam and other fruit products to export, it’s little wonder he has secretly set up a cartel to control the booking of freight space. It is even less wonder that he wants his own shipping line.’

Thomas’s question had been well and truly answered and he had very little to say after that. Simon promised he would keep them all informed of any direct offer he received from Stanford Colonial, and the meeting concluded not long afterwards.

Tasmanians welcomed in the New Year with all the jubilation a brand new era demanded, and also with a keen sense of expectancy. They were eager to embrace the twentieth century and the promise it offered, particularly that of Federation.

In the referendums of the late nineties, the islanders had voted overwhelmingly in favour of Federation. There had been the grim-faced few, wealthy landowners for the most part, whose desire to cling to the English class system had seen them vote in the negative, but they had been a distinct minority. Most Tasmanians were only too keen to put behind them forever the memory of penal colonialism and the master–servant system their island had suffered throughout the past century.

Along with impending federation, the war in South Africa remained an issue of principal focus. Patriotic fervour abounded in Hobart as reinforcements were sent to join the first contingent, and when, in rapid succession, the second and third contingents were farewelled at the docks. So eager were young men for the privilege of serving with the Tasmanian Imperial Bushmen, as the units were to become known, that the applications were oversubscribed by more than five to one.

But as the year progressed there were some families who did not celebrate the Boer War, some who felt no triumph in its victories, only a tragic sense of loss. The Powells were one such family. In early May 1900, after serving on active duty with the Tasmanian Mounted Infantry for over six months, Private James Powell was killed in a Boer ambush in South Africa’s Northern Cape Colony.

George bore his loss bravely. He was proud of his son, he said. James had died in the service of queen and country: no man could do more. His wife did not feel the same way at all. Emma Powell was bitter. Her son was buried in a foreign land – she couldn’t even visit his grave. The war had robbed her of her boy and she saw nothing noble in it. But she kept her silence, knowing that speaking her mind in such a manner would be disloyal to James, and knowing also that her husband was dealing with his own grief in his own way, as it seemed so many men did.

Federation became a reality on the first of January 1901. When Alexandrina Victoria died three weeks later, the timing seemed eerily fitting. The Victorian Empire, which had ruled the colonies since 1837, ended with the death of its queen and the ascension of Edward VII at the very time when Australia came of age.

John Adrian Louis Hope, seventh Earl of Hopetoun, was appointed Governor-General and Edmund Barton became the nation’s first Prime Minister. Sir Henry Parkes, ‘the Father of Federation’, had sadly not lived to see the day, having died five years previously, but his dogged persistence had won out and his ultimate goal had been realised. The once fractured colonies had at long last become the Commonwealth of Australia, the youngest nation on earth.

The Boer War now took on an even greater significance for Australians, not least for the island state of Tasmania. Australia was at war as a nation for the very first time and, when the first two Australian-born soldiers ever to be awarded the Victoria Cross proved to be Private John Hutton Bisdee and Lieutenant Guy George Egerton Wylly, both of the 1st Tasmanian Imperial Bushmen, the islanders’ pride knew no bounds. Hobart claimed the young VC winners as its own. They were boys from the Hutchins School.

For many the Boer War symbolised victory, for some it brought personal tragedy, and there were those for whom it was a financially profitable enterprise.

‘How very thoughtful of the British Army to consider its troops’ palates in such a manner,’ Reginald had drily commented when Henry Jones had approached him. Henry had wanted to know whether he might wish to help finance the increased jam production required to satisfy the Imperial Defence contracts IXL had undertaken.

‘Army rations are monotonous in content,’ Henry had told him, ‘and jam is a delicacy much sought after by the troops, strawberry and raspberry in particular, I’m told.’

Henry had appeared mystified and even a little offended by Reginald’s response. ‘I’d hardly put it down to thoughtfulness,’ he’d said. ‘Jam is a highly nutritious source of energy.’

‘Of course it is, Henry, of course it is. So we are to satisfy the troops’ sweet tooth, boost their energy and assist the war effort all at the same time. Jolly good, very patriotic, I say.’ Reginald had congratulated himself yet again on having backed Henry Jones as a winner. How clever of the man to have gained the defence contracts, and so quickly off the mark.

‘Yes, yes,’ as usual Reginald’s irony had been wasted on Henry, ‘but we need to finance the smaller fruit growers in order to increase production if we’re to meet the army’s demand. I’ve secured a loan from Barclays Bank for the purpose, but I thought you might like to be in on it, Reginald.’

‘I most certainly would, old man. After all one must do one’s bit for the cause, mustn’t one?’

‘One must! Oh yes indeed, one most certainly must!’ Henry had thumped his fist on the table with such emphasis that Reginald had wondered whether it was possible the man had actually persuaded himself there was a vestige of altruism in his actions.

The Boer War was not the only event of significance that was proving financially advantageous to Reginald Stanford. The birth of Federation brought about the final dismantling of the tariff barriers that had had a crippling effect on inter-colonial trade – particularly for Tasmania, with its limited population and isolated position.

The Colonial Tariff Wars had seen the downfall of many a business during the latter half of the nineteenth century. The colonies, each concerned for its own survival, had introduced customs barriers and tariff restrictions that were absurdly protectionist in order to stifle importation and prevent competition. Federation was to be a blessing for those enterprising men of industry set upon broadening their horizons, and Reginald had been quick to anticipate their needs. Such men, in expanding their mainland interests, would not only require investment: they would need to purchase or hire offices and factory sites and warehouses. Stanford Colonial had, for some time now, been acquiring suitable real estate in Victoria and New South Wales, and sales and rentals were already booming.

Business was going exceedingly well all round for Reginald, with one major exception: the Powells.

After dangling the carrot in front of Simon Hawtrey and dropping hints to George Powell, Reginald had bided his time, leaving the family to contemplate the obvious benefits of a future merger between Stanford Colonial and Powell Channel Transport. They were bound to see the advantages that could be had by all, and they would be further tantalised if he kept them waiting.

Then, upon hearing of the death of young James, he had decided to wait even longer, allowing time for the family to grieve before putting a proposal forward. He’d sent a letter of condolence to George and flowers to the boy’s mother. It was wiser to leave his approach until after the New Year anyway, he’d decided. With the new trade opportunities that would follow Federation, a regular freight service to the mainland would be invaluable and given the tie-up between the Powells’ respective businesses they’d leap at the chance.

It had been the tie-up between the Powells’ businesses that had attracted Reginald from the outset. The Powells represented the perfect commercial proposition. They were a ready-made operation: the work was all done for him. It only needed someone with money and a broader vision to step in and take over.

Reginald had waited until February before making an appointment with Simon Hawtrey and, on a bright summer’s morning, he had presented himself, together with Nigel Lyttleton, at the house in Napoleon Street. The two of us are bound to have an impact upon the man, he thought, particularly as Hawtrey’s office – in his family home no less – was so extraordinarily drab and unimpressive.

They were greeted at the door by Hawtrey’s homely wife, who was cordial enough, but seemed incapable of smiling. Reginald had encountered her on his previous visit and had found her a most dour woman. And with such a successful business, surely the Powells could have a servant or two? Did they care nothing for appearances?

He introduced Nigel to Martha Hawtrey, although it appeared the two knew each other on a vague social level, having apparently met at several charity fundraising functions. Which means that I’ve probably met the woman myself on previous occasions, Reginald thought, but he’d certainly forgotten where or when. Nigel laid on the charm, as indeed he did himself, but there was still not a smile to be had.

She showed them to the study, where Hawtrey welcomed them, and when she left they set out on the desk the full presentation, an imposing folder with pages and pages of data designed to overwhelm.

But it didn’t. Astonishingly enough, it had no effect at all.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Hawtrey said after barely five minutes, ‘but had I known you’d gone to such trouble I’d have told you not to bother. I’m afraid the answer is no, gentlemen. I do sincerely apologise, Mr Stanford, if I have unwittingly given you any reason to believe the answer would be in the affirmative, but I have heard nothing from you since your original approach, so I presumed –’

‘Have you discussed my proposal with other branches of your family?’ Reginald demanded.

‘If you’re referring to my brother-in-law George Powell, yes, most definitely.’ Simon did not mince words; when he wished to be direct, he certainly could be. ‘The whole family has discussed the matter. The answer is an unequivocal no,’ he said.

And that, it appeared, was that.

Reginald was furious. How dare this nondescript little man have the audacity to turn him down! He said as much to Nigel as they left the house.

‘How dare he turn me down like that?’ he said as they headed for the horse and trap where his coachman was waiting. ‘How dare he?!’