The Rose-coloured Dress Rosemary Dobson Bolton tells the story behind the Library’s Norman Lindsay portrait When I worked in Angus and Robertson’s Editorial Department in the 1940s and early 1950s the Department was housed in three or four attic rooms approached by a steep and narrow stairway from the first floor of offices which were above the shop in Castlereagh Street in Sydney. I loved the work there. I loved the people who worked there, and I loved the feeling of excitement when writers called in. I was embarking then on a lifetime’s career in writing myself, and my poems had already found a foothold in the Bulletin. Beatrice Davis, head of Editorial at Angus and Robertson (‘A&R’), was the most notable book editor of her time, and it is largely due to her that excellent editorial standards were set for book publishing in Later, Alec Bolton joined the department, then went on to make a more general and very valued contribution to the firm. Alec and I were married in 1951—the most fortunate event of my life. Later in his career Alec became the first Director of Publications to the National Library. He is now widely known as the founder and sole operator of the Brindabella Press from which he issued beautiful, privately printed books. This was the culmination of a lifelong ambition for which he had taken early retirement.
During those earlier years there was a close working relationship between A&R’s Beatrice Davis and the Bulletin’s Literary Editor, Douglas Stewart. Their friendship and close collaboration in various projects often brought Stewart to the A&R office.
When Stewart and Margaret Coen (artist) were married, they had rooms in a flat in Bridge Street, which in part was Norman Lindsay’s studio, in which he liked to work when he came down to Sydney from Springwood in the Blue Mountains. Margaret had worked for Lindsay earlier, and Douglas Stewart greatly admired him as artist and friend and was very much influenced by Lindsay and his ideas in his own writing. Stewart had persuaded Lindsay that he should draw or paint portraits of Australian writers, and Lindsay had begun with a drawing of Robert FitzGerald and later David Campbell. It was then arranged through Beatrice that I should go down to Bridge Street to sit for a drawing; initially, in my lunch hour from A&R’s, and only a short distance away, as I remember. Norman Lindsay’s first drawing was done at speed and I marvelled at the certainty of the work.
That drawing was given to me. It was then suggested that I should sit for my portrait in oils. Norman Lindsay asked me to wear my rose-coloured evening dress, which I had brought in at Margaret’s suggestion. I felt very self-conscious at first at these sittings but grew used to Lindsay’s silences as he painted. Sometimes Margaret would come in from her work in an adjoining room and then we would all three talk. By this time I came on Saturday mornings mostly, for I had to adjust to Lindsay’s work hours and juggle mine at A&R. This oil portrait, again generously given to me by Lindsay, remained in the care of my mother, Marjorie Dobson, and then hung in our house for many years. Later I realised that none of my family really cared for it, my youngest son attributing my expression to the annoyance of someone who had just missed a bus. I was glad that it was bought by the National Library of Australia, though I admit to feeling a surprise when I see it displayed in the Manuscript Reading Room, or at a Library exhibition. Before I continue writing about the rosecoloured dress in the portrait, I will insert a postscript—Norman Lindsay asked me to sit again, this time suggesting clothes which were not of my choice. I ended up in black lace gloves which I disliked, a red hat and a pale dress. I was still too much in awe and indebted generally, to decline these. Lindsay painted me against a stormy background. This portrait was also given to me, and although I never actually received it, I remember it very well. Margaret, with whom it was left, looked long for it for me, in the Studio—and later, after Lindsay died, in the house at Springwood. I have never seen it again.
A special occasion during my first years with Angus & Robertson was the Annual A&R Ball. It was held in a very large space in the Anthony Hordern building. Beatrice undertook to rustle up a party for it. Most of her immediate staff were unwilling to support her in this. I remember that in the first of my two ventures her party included the Stewarts, Donovan Clarke (journalist) in a full evening dress suit, and Percy Lindsay, then about 80 (artist and eldest of the Lindsay brothers), who sat bemused on the sidelines wearing everyday clothes and white tennis shoes. So I wore my fine new dress, for my mother and I had set out to buy a dress for the occasion. In a small street in the city we almost fell into a shop window displaying one dress only. It was of rose-coloured taffeta, the bodice formed by overlapping petals. Wonderful. It was a small size and for this reason somewhat reduced in price. I tried it on, and we felt we must have it. Though I had few opportunities to wear it, I kept it through the years, lying in a box which would always be part of my possessions. Then I learnt that the National Library might like it as a companion piece to the oil portrait already in the Library’s possession. The dress was genuinely a deep rose-colour when I bought it. Before showing it to the interested people at the Library, I took it to a dependable drycleaners. This was a mistake. The material lost a little of its strength and crispness, and the colour accentuated to the more definite red it now is, although the shade of red in the portrait is due more to Norman Lindsay’s dramatic flair. So now I have the first drawing, which will remain in our family. The lovely simple rose-coloured dress is perhaps an odd asset to the Library, but certainly belongs with the National Library’s portrait. And the second portrait in oils, also given to me, is still missing. Sometime later in that early period I was very fortunate in also being drawn by Thea Proctor, from whom I was having lessons. About five of us were in the class, and as we drew, Thea sometimes did quick drawings of us. She later gave me four of these—I have now distributed them among my family. It always pleases me that I have drawings of myself in those days by both Thea Proctor and Norman Lindsay. They could hardly be more dissimilar in their work but I knew them both as dedicated artists, who, I feel, would have respected that dedication in each other’s approach to their art. ROSEMARY DOBSON BOLTON has published numerous collections of poetry, most recently Untold Lives and Later Poems (2000), which won the 2001 Age Book of the Year Award |
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