After his short war service in the
Australian Army, Erikson gravitated back to his seafaring roots. From 1944, he
was working as a yacht broker in Sydney and one of his deals – involving the
yacht “Syren” - ended in litigation.[1] A
jury verdict awarded him 250 pounds in the District Court. This, however, was
appealed. The reported facts of the case, set out below, illustrate the type of
wheeling and dealing Erikson was involved in: probably very much like the wheeling
and dealing done by his father that so annoyed him as a youngster in Sweden.
Did he ever realise that? Or was he like so many sons the world over: blind to
the things he shared with his father? We will never know.
What happened with the sale of the Syren was as follows. Its
owner, Mr Peil, engaged Captain Kennedy to sell it for him at a price of
£1,200. Erikson found an interested buyer, Mr Sunderland, a wealthy squatter, and
took him to Captain Kennedy’s office and Mr Peil’s home. Sunderland agreed to
buy the yacht at the listed price. On 2 August 1944, Erikson had a conversation
with one of his business partners, Mr Carr. The other partners were Carr’s
father and a Mr Parker. Erikson said the yacht had been placed in his hands for
sale at £1,200 including his commission. But, in his opinion, it was worth
£1,500 or £1,600 and he could sell it within a week at that price. Sensing a
profit, Carr said to Erikson: “You get in touch with Mr Peil, and I will buy
it, and you find the buyer. We will go 50-50 in the difference between the
£1,200 and the sum that we get.” Carr gave Erikson a cheque for £1,200 from his
father and Erikson duly gave it to Peil on 3 August 1944. On the same day, Peil
gave Erikson a cheque for £150 being his sales commission and a written
indemnity against any claim for commission made by Captain Kennedy, the actual
broker Peil had engaged. Erikson then went to Sunderland and told him the yacht
had been bought but the new owner would consider reselling it at a profit. Sunderland
took the Syren out for a sail then agreed to buy it for £1,600. Erikson took a
deposit of £25 on the sale. The next day, Carr started to get worried when he
couldn’t contact Sunderland. He told Erikson to find back-up buyers just in
case Sunderland reneged on the deal. Erikson found another buyer, Mr McGowan,
and told him the price was £1,700. He introduced McGowan to Carr. Erikson then
left for Tasmania; his purpose is not stated but I suspect he had been engaged
to deliver another yacht down there. When he returned, Carr and his father had
sold the yacht to McGowan for £1,700 and Sunderland had reappeared wanting to
finalise his deal. He was “very annoyed” to hear that the yacht had been sold
to someone else but Erikson managed to get him to take back his £25 deposit.
Problems then began to develop between Erikson, on the one hand, and Carr and
his father, on the other.
Carr alleged against Erikson that, on 3 August, Erikson
admitted to him that the yacht had not actually been placed in his hands as
broker. Erikson also suggested that Carr give him a letter dated 2 July saying
that he had agreed to sell the yacht for £1,700. Erikson would use this letter
to induce Sunderland to raise his offer. The letter falsely suggested Carr had
been the owner of the yacht for some time. Despite the falsity of the claims,
Carr gave Erikson the letter. According to Carr, the profit on the resale was
to be distributed £25 each to Carr’s father and Parker and the rest 50-50 to
Carr and Erikson. Erikson did not tell Carr about the £150 he was going to get
from Peil as commission.
The facts of the case did not paint either Erikson or Carr
in a very good light. It seemed obvious they had conspired to profiteer at the
expense of Sunderland. However, the Judge told the jury that the
Erikson-Sunderland transaction was not the matter before them. All they had to
decide was: was Erikson acting for Carr in the sale of the yacht to McGowan? If
the answer was yes, then Erikson was entitled to his commission of £250. The
jury so decided.
Sadly for Erikson, the appeal court judges didn’t agree.
They considered that the first judge had improperly limited the jury to
considering the arrangement as one of commission agency when it could also have
been a partnership that possibly involved “innocent or fraudulent
misrepresentation.” They ordered a new trial and for Erikson to pay the costs
of the appeal. The trial costs would be left as a matter for the new trial
judge. As a litigation lawyer, my own “between the lines” reading of this case
is that the appeal court was not at all impressed by the behaviour and ethics
of either Carr or Erikson and effectively made a decision that inconvenienced
them both (but especially Erikson): sending them back to trial after openly
suggesting fraudulent misrepresentation as an issue and knowing full well that neither
party would want the expense and risk of a second trial. It is possible the
appeal judges knew of Erikson’s reputation as a smuggler and were not inclined
to assist him. Unlike in the veronal debacle, Erikson was wise enough to use
lawyers this time, Keith Gunn & Co. Had they known all the facts that came out
in the trial, I suspect they would have told their client to forget about suing
Carr and be thankful for the £150 commission he got from Peil. Litigation,
however, is often driven by pride, conceit and ego, traits well established in
Erikson’s character. He does not mention the Syren case, one of his many
setbacks, in The Rhythm of the Shoe.
In January 1945, Erikson’s article “On Misery Range” was
published in the Sydney Morning Herald demonstrating that he still had
aspirations in journalism and writing at that time. But seafaring would
continue to be his main source of income. In 1945, he established a very
successful yachting school in Sydney. It advertised in the Sydney Morning
Herald under the name Practicraft Services Co and touted: Learn to sail a yacht. Practical tuition is available under expert
guidance aboard a 30 ft sloop-rigged yacht on beautiful Sydney Harbour.
Instruction is individual and the course is specially designed to provide
complete tuition for the beginner on a unique ‘sail as you learn’ plan. An
advertisement on 16 January 1946 proclaimed that “past pupils have won ocean
races.” Erikson was named as “Chief Instructor.” He also offered yacht delivery
services (“anywhere to anywhere, skiff to a steamer”) and courses tailored to
the fishing industry. The company’s office was initially listed as Suite 11, 8th
Floor, 117 Pitt Street. It then moved to Suite 6, 8th Floor, 39-48
Martin Place. In The Rhythm of the Shoe,
Erikson wrote: “my early students were nearly all black-marketeers. They had
made a lot of money during the war and felt socially incomplete without owning
a yacht.”[2] He
brokered many of their sales and purchases. The success of the business led
Erikson to take on a partner to handle the bookings and financial
administration side of the business while he was left to concentrate on the
sailing. The unnamed partner devised a ‘tax minimisation’ scheme that was
arguably ‘tax evasion.’ It would ultimately send Erikson into bankruptcy. In The Rhythm of the Shoe, he tells the
story in his usual flippant style:
One day my partner was waiting on the
jetty for me when I returned with a party of students. He was not the kind who
would ever go out into the sunshine and fresh air except under extreme
compulsion so I knew that something serious must have happened … A gentleman
from the income tax department had installed himself in our office and was busy
examining our books. I did not like the sound of that very much but my partner
reassured me that we were much too clever for them and there was nothing he
could find that could hurt us. As an added precaution my mate had bought a few
receipt books and other papers with him in a bag and thought it would be a good
idea if I were to put a rock in with them and drop them over the side when I
got back on board. That night we celebrated our anticipated victory over the
income tax people.[3]
A prelude to the infamous 1970s “bottom of the harbour” tax evasion
schemes exposed in Sydney. In court, the victory quickly turned sour when
Erikson crumbled in the witness box. His resulting tax debt forced him into
bankruptcy. He worked “out west” as a mechanic until he had enough money to get
a boat again. Then he restarted the sailing school business in his wife’s name.
Divorce ultimately put an end to it. Erikson had hit upon an extremely popular
and lucrative service business that should have set him up for life but his
proclivity to mix with dubious characters and take risks meant he had nothing
to show for his labours.
Did he learn from his mistakes? It seems not. He turned to
the Sydney underworld instead, a story he tells in The Rhythm of the Shoe and one that gave the book its intriguing
title. Erikson and two “army mates” set up an illegal baccarat school in Sydney
paying protection money to corrupt police. It was very lucrative and only one
gambler ever seemed to make money from them. He was a New Zealand musician who
paid attention to “the rhythm of the shoe,” a shoe in this context being the
wooden box from which the cards were drawn and placed on the table. According
to this strange kiwi, a musician could tune into the rhythm of each successive
shoe and get a feeling about what was ahead. Much to Erikson’s astonishment, it
seemed to work for the man. Overall, however, the business was extremely lucrative
and was only abandoned when one of the partners developed a gambling addiction
that threatened to expose it. Erikson was now cashed up with a new yacht and a
desire to go sailing.
Chapter 14 of The
Rhythm of the Shoe is titled “Beachcombing.” As usual, it is without the
details of when, where and with whom. It is clear, however, that Erikson sailed
up to the Great Barrier Reef and tried solitary life on various tropical isles.
It didn’t work for him as his gregarious nature made him yearn for human
company. The next chapter is set in Queensland and tells of his prowess as an
“occasional lecturer” in seamanship in the Adult Education Department. I never
managed to find out where this was: possibly the Wide Bay region where he came
ashore to die. In any case, Erikson, with his vast maritime experience and
raconteur’s wit and turn of phrase, was a great hit with the students. He ignored
the theoretical side of things and launched straight into spellbinding tales of
when he and others had gotten into difficulty at sea and how they managed to
survive. His skill in this regard may have saved many lives in the changeable
waters of eastern Australia where recreational boating was on the rise.
Independent details of Erikson’s life between the war and
the publication of his memoirs are scarce. Fortunately, there are some snippets
that give us a glimpse of his character and activities. On 13 July 1950, the Geraldton Guardian in Western Australia
reported as follows:
A noted Australian yachtsman (Hans
Erikson) has won a forecasting contest against the Sydney Weather Bureau. He
sent a forecast to the Weather Bureau each morning for ten days and the result
was Erikson was correct ten times but the Weather Bureau was wrong twice.
Erikson states that his forecasts are made by studying the ever present signs
of nature. If seagulls and sharks come into the harbour there will be a blow.
Fish accumulating near the shore indicated heavy seas and bad weather, while
clouds in a straight line indicate a big change. Erikson who lives on his yacht
(Adelante) in Rose Bay claims that natural signs warn (sic) him a week ahead of a cyclone at Coffs Harbor.
At the time of writing in 2012, the Adelante was owned by
John Dickins and was up for sale in Southport, Queensland. It was described as
23 feet 6 inches long, made in Hobart in 1939 using huon pine. The designer was
Laurent Giles. Dickins had not bought the yacht from Erikson but from an
Aboriginal man on the Gold Coast. “Adelante” is a Spanish word meaning
“forward, ahead.” Erikson, however, would have noted a Swedish connotation with
“adel” meaning “noble” in his native tongue.
On 14 July 1950, the Sydney
Morning Herald reported the sad story of 23 year old Jenefer Wornum, a
zoology lecturer specialising in herpetology at Sydney University. Her yacht,
“Gentleman’s Agreement,” had been wrecked and she was missing. Erikson is referred
to as “a friend of Miss Wornum.” He chartered an aeroplane to search for her
and found some wreckage six miles south of Wattamolla National Park. It is
possible she was a past pupil of Practicraft Services Co. Accompanying Erikson
in the plane were Miss Cynthia Sutton of Pacific Highway, Gordon, “a close
friend of Miss Wornum” and Mr R. W. Reynolds, manager of the speedway at the
Sydney Sports Ground.
The next true milestone in the life of Hans Erikson was the
publication of his book, The Rhythm of
the Shoe by Jacaranda Press in Brisbane in 1964. Jacaranda actually
arranged a joint launching of Erikson’s book with We Are Going by Aboriginal poet, Kath Walker (1920-1993) - later
known by her indigenous name, Oodgeroo Noonuccal. There is a charming
black-and-white photograph of Erikson and Walker at the launch, smiling and
holding copies of each other’s books. At 58 years, his face is weather beaten
with a trimmed white beard and receding white hairline. There is a definite air
of confidence about him. Did he discuss Aboriginal issues with Kath Walker, an
early activist for her people’s rights? Again, we may never know. It is
sobering to think that Erikson may well have been voting in Australian
elections when Aborigines at the time had either no voting rights or curtailed
rights. Only after the 1967 referendum did this appalling situation begin to be
rectified and in 1983, all voting law differences between Aborigines and other
Australians were fully abandoned.
Two years after the limelight of his book publication, we
hear of him living on his boat at Burrum Heads, 300 kilometres north of Brisbane.
He is in a feisty mood, fighting against a proposed bitumen road development
from Maryborough to Burrum Heads, then a sleepy village of 100 people with no
hotel and no streetlights. According to a Sydney
Morning Herald article of 22 June 1966, the “6’3” swashbuckling Swede” was
the “anti-publicity officer” of Burrum Heads, threatening to tear up bitumen,
turn signposts around and put ‘zero’ on the speed limit.
With his saltwater blue eyes, suntan
and raconteur’s gift, Erikson was quite a Sydney identity. Since he’s been
making those tongue-in-cheek comments about Burrum Heads, he has become a
Queensland character too.
The story made it into the Winnipeg Free Press on 6 July 1966 referring to a “retired Swedish
mariner called Hans Erikson.” He may have given up his birth name but Erikson never
gave up his Swedish identity. Uncle Willy would have been proud: “never forget
that you are a Swede and that all around the world that stands for honour and
capability, loyalty and manliness.”
No comments:
Post a Comment