Savige’s Alibi and the Badge in the Bordello
1925
At 7.30 p.m. on 21 October 1925, Savige joined Blamey for a meal at Melbourne’s Naval and Military Club, their favourite club. Drinks and convivial conversation flowed for more than three hours.
Many ex-1st AIF, current army, militia and police officers made a point of acknowledging both men. For all of them, this was a paradise away from work and home duties, and for many it reinforced the strong bonds created during the Great War. The club had an exclusivity about it that was stronger than even the Melbourne Club a few streets away, which had a modest proportion of ex-servicemen, but was patronised more by business movers and shakers, including press barons and politicians.
At 11 p.m., Blamey, over-refreshed and in need of more ‘play’, asked Savige if he would care to join him for further conviviality elsewhere, although he did mention that his mind was on prostitutes. Savige declined, using the excuse that his wife expected him home by midnight.
Undeterred, Blamey continued his nocturnal pursuits. He had his driver take him to Belgrave, a legal bordello in Bell Street, Fitzroy. Blamey knew he could also buy alcohol there, even though it was being sold illegally. He drank more and then chose one of the several prostitutes.
At 11.35 p.m., three plain-clothes constables from the licensing police raided Belgrave and found that liquor was being sold without a licence. They proceeded, beyond their strict purview, to force open doors to rooms in the search for evidence of alcohol consumption. They found two men in flagrante in separate rooms, each with one of the house’s women. One of the two men was Blamey.
Realising that they had not recognised their new boss in the gaudy red half-light, Blamey told them: ‘That’s all right boys, I am a plain-clothes constable. Here’s my badge.’
Blamey flashed his badge, number 80, at the detectives, who left him to his rudely interrupted activity. A half-hour later, he departed the premises, accidentally leaving his badge on the bed on which he had cavorted. Aware of this special client’s status and his membership of the Naval and Military Club, the Belgrave’s madam had it couriered there, where it was placed in Blamey’s letterbox.
The scandal leaked. A week later an opposition member of the Victorian Upper House asked: ‘Is the government minister responsible for the police able to tell the house how the badge of its esteemed commissioner was found in another house, this one allegedly of less repute than ours?’
The government was embarrassed. Blamey was stunned. His alcohol consumption had often left him with genuine memory loss, and he claimed to confidants that this was one such occasion.
He attempted to retrace his steps that night and to conjure a plausible excuse – beginning with an alibi from Savige, known as a man of impeccable moral rectitude and integrity. Relying on their close association, which went back a quarter of a century, Blamey asked his very good friend Stan for a signed statutory declaration of the commissioner’s whereabouts on the evening of 21 October. Savige did as requested and drafted a statement for Blamey’s perusal, which included the timing of their meal at the Naval and Military Club. Blamey asked him to remove the times. Savige obliged, giving Blamey a useful yet not exactly watertight alibi. If someone asked for the time when Blamey left the club, it would be easy to deduce that he had had at least 30 minutes to make the less than 10-minute car journey to Bell Street, Fitzroy.
Blamey was then able to present the stat. dec. to the State premier. The premier released a government statement: ‘Inspecting Superintendent Warren investigated the matter and found that the medal [badge 80] was, prior to the date of the raid, in some way removed from the possession of the Chief Commissioner of Police . . . The medal was subsequently surreptitiously returned to General Blamey.’
The release added that every effort had been made to find out who stole the medal, but so far to no avail. It ended with the words: ‘It has, however, been conclusively proved that it was not used by General Blamey [in the visit to the Belgrave].’1
Blamey had gathered plenty of worthy enemies in his 41 years, and the press and some members of the unforgiving public were not going to let him get away with this indiscretion without further probing.
An anonymous critic wrote to the premier: ‘Even an infant in arms can see plainly that Blamey himself was there [at the bordello] in person, but naturally his subordinates dare not say it openly. The defence . . . is so thin that not even an imbecile would be deceived.’ The critic called for an enquiry, adding, ‘what efficiency can one expect from a police force with such a man at its head?’2
The question of Blamey’s apparent obsession with extracurricular erotic pursuits had been an issue that vexed the army. Half those who knew of his hedonism in Cairo and Paris had turned a blind eye; the other half had been unsure that such a senior officer should indulge in this way. Now the police force faced the same divisive question.
Savige endured a grilling from Lilian, who said he should never have supported Blamey in this instance. Again, she found it hard to comprehend the bond between members of the 1st AIF. They would back each other no matter what.
Savige insisted that he had told the truth, no matter what his conscience said. Anything else was hearsay, rumour and damaging to Blamey.
The Age and The Argus chased him, trying to illicit more information about the evening in question. On Blamey’s advice, and of his own volition, he did not stray from the facts as he had already told them. He refused to answer questions about when he and Blamey had left the club, or even whether they left together. He stayed firmly with the wording of the stat. dec., and said anything else would be speculation on his part, or that of the journalists.
Yet the issue would not go away. Readers reacted to newspaper reports and editorials. They demanded an enquiry. The Victorian Chief Secretary, Dr Stanley Argyle, who had appointed Blamey after discussion with Monash and others, was asked to consider the question.
In the end, Argyle gave Blamey the option, and Blamey of course decided on an internal enquiry, which naturally cleared him and again suggested the badge could easily have been stolen and then replaced at the club.
Savige was pressured further by the press to say when Blamey left the club. Savige and Blamey conferred, and Savige was told he could divulge that it had been ‘about 11.30 p.m.’. In the meantime, Blamey persuaded another close army mate with a good reputation, Colonel Walker Farr, to say that he and Blamey had met about an urgent matter at Blamey’s home before midnight.
This left the alibis more or less watertight.3 But Blamey’s reputation would be damaged, perhaps for as long as he remained Police Commissioner.
Savige, on the other hand, remained untainted by the link. His loyalty was noted by Blamey, who tended to make quick and lasting judgements about people. They were either black or white, for or against. Savige was now more than ever in the ‘for’ column. His actions would not be forgotten.