Robert McCowan Senior
Robert McCowan was the only son of a celebrated Australian Test captain. This ‘Rat of Tobruk’ died while leading his section in a desperate bid to prevent the North African port from being captured by the Germans. After being hit in the stomach by bomb shrapnel on 29 April 1941, he survived for an hour but died on his way to hospital. The next day he was buried at Tobruk Cemetery.
His death received little attention. There was no mention in the press back home. War moved on. His military records are brief — two small photographs, an identification tag, a note from his sister seeking his personal effects. A Salvation Army padre officiated at the funeral service. ‘A wooden cross was put over the grave. He was very popular. As many boys as could attended the service.’
That’s it.
Then again, as little fuss as possible would probably be the way Robert McCowan wanted it, especially as that exact name had been for many years the subject of endless damning newspaper articles. His demoralised family had been through enough as it was, especially when just two months before the army leader known as Bill was struck down in the Western Desert, his once lauded, rich and powerful father known as Bob had died in disgrace.
Bob’s death did make the newspapers, which was not surprising considering it was the final sorry Chapter of one of Australian rugby’s saddest, and until now most extraordinary, untold stories. Bob suffered from another war — an embarrassing personal battle concerning his inability to control an addiction.
Robert McCowan Senior, who in 1899 became Queensland’s first rugby Test captain, spent a considerable amount of time among Brisbane’s elite. He had married well. Kate or ‘Kitty’ hailed from the powerful Perry merchant family which had ‘big commercial interests in the city’.
The parties he held at the family mansion, located in one of Brisbane’s most affluent suburbs, were among the city’s most important social events. He had entertained royalty at his sprawling home, taking delight on the front lawn one evening in discussing with Edward, the notorious playboy Prince of Wales, their similar interests in the equine world and the tantalising fact that they were just down the road from the Eagle Farm Racecourse.
McCowan Senior ran one of Queensland’s most prominent legal firms, keeping on side with his many cashed-up clients with invitations to spend the day on his luxury yacht Juanita on the Brisbane River. There were not many knock-backs, because the 42-foot (13-metre) launch was ‘one of the show boats of the Brisbane River’. The bonhomie, food and alcohol were always top shelf, especially when the Duke of York was head of the guest list. The launch was not just for show purposes. The McCowan family would use Juanita to trek down the coast to Labrador, on the Gold Coast, where they had two holiday homes — one for themselves, the other to accommodate their servants.
The Western Champion reported that McCowan ‘led Brisbane society — a mile in the lead, cantering easily’.
‘Because “Mac” was the most brilliant light in the most prominent circles, racing, yachting, legal, social; he had open entry to all the best institutions; his mere say so blackballed a barrister of note when he sought admittance to the most exclusive club in Queensland. Government House functions for years past were incomplete without him . . . Big house parties on the stations of the State’s richest and most exclusive squatters, even when Vice-Royalty was present, were not regarded as the toniest unless he was present. His popularity was rivalled only by that of the present Chief Justice.’
He was a show-off, driving around Brisbane in a chauffeur-driven limousine when heading to court to defend his high-profile clients. Adding to the allure, McCowan was a Queensland sporting blue blood. As The Western Champion put it, ‘a household word amongst the Brisbane sports for the last forty years . . . and absolutely the best fullback that ever stepped on to the field in Brisbane. Nothing ever got past him in an Interstate or an International match.’
He led Australia against Britain at the Exhibition Ground in Brisbane in July 1899 — only the second time his country had been involved in a Test match. Not for the last time, he relied on his popularity, and parochial Queensland politics, for his rise in status.
Born in Renfrewshire, Scotland, McCowan migrated with his family to Brisbane as an infant. After captaining the Brisbane Grammar School’s first XV, he established himself in the senior club ranks as one of the state’s most capable attacking players. He was also a lair.
The Western Champion commented: ‘He had hosts of adulatory admirers, and he knew it, and it is pardonable that he often played to the gallery. In his Grammar School days he would bring half a dozen girls to view the match. He saw that they were provided with chairs, and that there was a space cleared that they might behold his powers; the rest of the team were merely so much setting for “Bob”.’
By 18, he was playing for Queensland against New Zealand. At 24, he was the nation’s skipper, despite being ‘a trifle bandy-legged and just a suspicion pigeon toed’. The previous month, McCowan had with five other Queenslanders been part of the first Australian rugby Test team to confront Reverend Matthew Mullineux’s British tourists in Sydney, defeating them 13–3.
McCowan made his mark. The Sydney Morning Herald said he had ‘proved equal to the occasion’.
As it was a surprise win, the expectation was that the same Australian team would play in the next Test in Brisbane. But NSW–Queensland rugby politics came into play. For the first Test, there were two NSW selectors and one Queenslander. Now two Queenslanders selectors were involved and a solitary NSW official. Queensland used the moment, picking nine of their own. The victorious first Test captain, Frank ‘Banger’ Row, was dropped.
NSW officials were irate, but McCowan, who had begun practising as a solicitor, used his conciliatory skills to keep the peace. He was unanimously selected by the players as the new Australian captain. Not even wearing the Queensland maroon jersey, with the national coat of arms hastily sewn onto the breast, could save Australia. They lost 11–nil.
There was no finger-pointing at the skipper. According to The Queenslander, McCowan was Australia’s best, as he ‘played his usual safe game’. Nonetheless McCowan’s time as Australian captain was as short-lived as his predecessor. This time it had nothing to do with short-sighted selections. Work constraints got in the way. McCowan couldn’t get leave from his employers for the third Test in Sydney, and so Banger was beckoned back. This led to an improved Australian performance, but not enough to win. The locals lost 11–10.
A week later, the fourth Test was held, again in Sydney, and this time McCowan was allowed leave. But the fullback and skipper spots were no longer his, and he moved onto the wing. It meant little as, under Row’s captaincy, the British enjoyed their biggest Test victory, winning 13–0.
McCowan never played another Test, but this was not due to reprisals or form slumps, but that Australia did not play another international for four years. When the next Test was played in 1903, McCowan was focused on business life.
A short, sweet international career saw McCowan rated among the best rugby products from the Brisbane school system. Sydney journalists described him as the ‘finest produced in Queensland’. That belief held firm for many decades, and was reinforced when Tom Welsby, Queensland Rugby Union president, rated him the state’s greatest fullback.
Such accolades helped him establish himself in the Brisbane legal world. McCowan’s law practice flourished, with branches in Nambour and Southport. He soon became one of Brisbane’s most influential society solicitors. With such status, appearances were important. In his wife Kate’s name, he bought in one of Brisbane’s best addresses — Sutherland Avenue in Ascot — with a big black Buick pride of place in the driveway of the mansion known as ‘Charlton’. With the Brisbane River nearby, he soon boasted a flotilla of vessels, including a yacht, motor boat, motor launch and river passenger launch. He became ‘the shining light of the Royal Queensland Yacht Club’.
Indulgence wasn’t McCowan’s only vice. He had one serious weakness. He could not resist punting on the horses. Being just a five-minute walk from the Eagle Farm Racecourse made it too easy for him to indulge in his passion. He had the money to make the big bets, enjoying a long streak of victories, to the extent the call of ‘McCowan’s luck’ was the tip to be followed by Brisbane punters. He was soon betting way beyond his means.
Adding to the pressure was that McCowan loved big-noting himself. Whenever he was attending the Sydney race carnivals, he would be lured to the lucrative poker games conducted at the Australia Hotel. Around the table sat some of Australia’s richest men, including Sir Samuel Hordern, who according to the Truth newspaper ‘could afford to bet in amounts that stagger the imagination’. McCowan would try to match Hordern. Sometimes he won; often he lost.
Then on to Randwick Racecourse, to bet big and getting publicity when he laid odds of £3000 to £2000 on the successful New Zealand thoroughbred Desert Gold. Driving back to Brisbane, he then won ‘a bucketload’ at an Armidale race meeting.
The warning signs that McCowan, known as ‘Mac’ to a tribe of bookmakers and racegoers, was losing his way came during the First World War when he was pursued by Queensland police. McCowan avoided the public criticisms of not enlisting, due to his standing in Brisbane society, arguing he was of more use looking after the legal affairs of the city’s elite than fighting in a foreign war.
In 1917, McCowan admitted to having ‘money to burn’, with access to around £5000 cash in the strongroom of his company’s offices. In 1916–17, he won £18,000 on the punt, convincing himself he was bullet-proof. So the bets became larger. During May 1918, he lost £6000 in a two-day punting spree, forcing his wife to advance him £2000 to keep the bookies at bay.
Several Brisbane bookies had decided by the end of 1918 they would not bet with him, as he was taking too long to pay his debts. After he had big losses at Eagle Farm, bookmakers met at the Tattersalls Club to tally up what McCowan owed them. When they realised it was in the thousands, they made a firm rule: ‘No further credit.’
He was instead forced to convince SP bookies to take him on. This involved clandestine visits to various seedy Brisbane pubs where the SPs were operating. That didn’t work. Exasperated SP bookmakers often went to his solicitor’s office chasing owed money, only to discover McCowan was the master of the disappearing act.
Vowing to bookies he had ‘sworn off racing’, he paid five shillings in the pound for clearance. His self-imposed ban did not last long.
Even when short of funds, as the Truth reported: ‘On the social side . . . there was no diminishing of his reckless spending. His parties were still the gayest in the city. His yacht was still the scene of brilliant social assemblies, where champagne poured and only the best was good enough. No one had a hint that it was stolen money that entertained them.’ He realised a more lucrative money stream was right under his nose — in his office he had access to not just the safe but his clients’ trust fund accounts.
By the late 1920s, McCowan was dipping into other people’s funds and again betting big. After several slim years, his hope for financial security centred on Phar Lap winning the 1929 Melbourne Cup. But it required big money to win big because Australia’s favourite horse was at near unbackable odds after victories in the Rosehill Guineas, AJC Derby, AJC Craven Plate and VRC Victoria Derby.
On race day, in the final half hour, there was a nationwide plunge on Phar Lap, firming from 6–4 to evens, the shortest price for any Melbourne Cup starter in its 68-year history. With other people’s money, McCowan took the evens, placing £4000 on Phar Lap. McCowan’s spirits soon sunk when after two furlongs the radio commentator spluttered: ‘Phar Lap’s fighting for his head.’
He listened in disbelief when numerous horses surged past Phar Lap. The champion struggled to finish third. Punters lost big on Phar Lap, but few suffered as badly as McCowan. He moaned: ‘It’s all over. I’m finished.’
A few weeks later, a client Elizabeth Beatty arrived at his Ascot home, demanding answers. Beatty had through McCowan sold 228 acres (92 hectares) of land to the Commonwealth Government for £5200. On the day Beatty was due to receive her money, McCowan told her the account ‘was not quite ready’ and gave her a post-dated cheque. It bounced.
Confronting McCowan, the solicitor calmed her down by saying there had been a mistake, and if she presented the cheque again the following day, it would be honoured. Yet again, the cheque was dishonoured, and Beatty sought legal advice from another firm. Then Beatty headed to McCowan’s mansion, stood on the front veranda, angrily pointed her finger at him and said: ‘When you put your pen to that cheque, did you not think of your family, and that you were dragging them to the depths of the sea and taking the roof off my house?’
A downcast McCowan replied: ‘My God, I must have been mad.’
He pleaded to Beatty for another fortnight. He explained he had numerous assets, including his yacht, and believed he had about £3400 of her money left.
Beatty fronted him the next day in his Brisbane office, where he showed her the passbook of her trust account, where there was a credit of only £1934. A cheque for that amount was presented and paid, but that was all Beatty received from the property sale. Beatty went to the police, as did several other clients. Charges were laid, the first involving £716 stolen from hotelier William Brown, a friend of the solicitor for more than 40 years. Brown complained: ‘He treated us like dogs.’
Others dreadful incidents were soon revealed, including that McCowan had stolen trust money earmarked for a memorial service. He had diverted to his own account payments for a funeral of an old lady who had left him as her executor. McCowan even ‘attended the funeral and drove to it, with the relatives, in his resplendent limousine’.
He had taken the life savings of an invalid, explaining the money had been invested. It instead went to pay bookie bills. The long list of complainants prompted police to head to McCowan’s office. But McCowan could not be found. He had vanished, and for several days police, friends and family could find no trace. He was eventually found asleep in a barn on a friend’s farm at Currumbin Creek, near Coolangatta. He was brought back to Brisbane to appear in the Police Court.
The court was told McCowan had misappropriated about £23,0001 from Brown and his wife. McCowan succeeded in getting £1400 bail.
Again he fled. On Christmas Eve, he failed to attend a brief hearing, and once more Queensland police went off in search of the fallen hero.
Within an hour, the CIB had received information he had been sighted at Cleveland Pier, on the shores of Moreton Bay. He had a gash to the side of his throat while it appeared his wrist had been slashed. For a week he avoided police detection — not surprising after an old mate, the Superintendent of Fisheries, Charles Bradbury, used his boat to transport McCowan to a lonely part of Stradbroke Island known only to local fishermen. He lived on provisions for a while, but eventually lack of food and water worked against him.
Unfortunately for McCowan, it was also holiday time. A Constable O’Donnell was stationed temporarily on Stradbroke Island in the small hamlet of Dunwich. When the constable received word McCowan might be on the island, he started on the trail, picking up information from campers who had sighted a lost and exhausted stranger wandering through thick scrub.
McCowan was seen near Dunwich, and after walking along the beach to Amity Point, had discarded his socks, suspenders, collar and tie. He then threw his coat and shoes into the bush. He confronted stunned holiday-goers near Point Lookout, asking for a drink of water. Around 11pm, they found McCowan asleep under a tree. When awoken, McCowan said to Bradbury: ‘What’s up, Charlie?’
The following morning they saw McCowan’s throat wound wasn’t serious, but the wrist cut was deep. Due to his bare feet being badly blistered, he was brought back to Amity Point on horseback.
To add to his indignity, police made certain an unkempt, unshaven, exhausted McCowan looked like a derelict when he appeared in court. Asked what had happened to his clients’ money, McCowan said: ‘My troubles started about ten years ago.
‘I lost several thousand at racing, and I had to use these monies to keep other people quiet and pay interest on money I should have invested, but didn’t. My biggest problem was that I was always a super optimist and up till recently when things looked very bad I could always put my hand on £5000 or £6000 to meet any pressing demands. It was Peter to pay Paul and Paul to pay Peter all the time.’
At his trial the following month, when the crown prosecutor attributed his downfall to gambling and extravagant living, a distraught McCowan admitted: ‘The bookmakers got most of my money.’ In court, McCowan was nervous and appeared flustered. On one occasion when Mrs Beatty was giving evidence about how he forged her name, he smiled at her.
The Truth reported: ‘But when she caught that smile she burst out with “You’re a beauty” and for some minutes McCowan dropped his face and supported it on one hand, and he was thereafter very still and almost immovable till she stood down.’
Even McCowan’s defence offered little hope, explaining there was no prospect of retribution, as he was bankrupt. McCowan pleaded guilty to six charges of stealing and one of fraudulent conversion as a trustee, involving a total amount of £15,516. Two weeks later, in March 1930, he was sent to prison for 14 years for fraudulently misappropriating funds.
Even with McCowan behind bars, the issue continue to simmer. After an appeal to the Full Court failed, questions were raised over the ownership of the yacht Juanita and McCowan’s house during a Supreme Court public examination in bankruptcy.
His wife Kate or ‘Kitty’ explained that she had for some time had a separate estate. McCowan was present, but remained outside the court while his wife was in the witness box. She gave him money on several occasions, including a loan of £2200. That had not been repaid. Their relationship appeared to be over. Then in 1935, Mrs McCowan died. Her husband was not allowed out of gaol to attend the funeral.
In August 1938, after a stint as the Boggo Road prison’s tailor and then to Palen Creek prison farm where he was its storekeeper, McCowan was released. While Palen Creek’s ‘most prominent inmate’, he wasn’t popular with fellow inmates, who believed he was treated as a privileged prisoner. Not surprisingly, after being threatened by other inmates, he fled Brisbane as soon as he was released from gaol. His son met him and drove to Southport.
The following day he had disappeared, with his son refusing to provide any information to the prying press. Too old and not in the mental or physical state to serve in the Second World War, his final years were spent working as a cleaner at the Cudgen Headland Hotel, near the Queensland–NSW border.
His family appeared to keep their distance. His 30-year-old son Robert enlisted in the 6th Division, 2nd AIF, in November 1939. He wrote on his enlistment papers the next of kin was his sister Nancy. There was no mention of his notorious father.
Four months later, Nancy married Reginald McCay in Southport. As their mother had died, special leave was granted to Private McCowan, in camp in Ingleburn in NSW, to attend the wedding so he could give his sister away. There was no mention in newspaper reports of her father being at the wedding.
On the morning of 7 February 1941, McCowan was found dead in his hotel bed. A post mortem disclosed death was due to heart disease.
There was no fanfare, no final ceremony. Australia’s second rugby Test captain was buried in an unmarked grave in Murwillumbah in northern NSW.