AINSLEY GOTTO – WORKING WITH JOHN GORTON

In 1968 the new Prime Minister, John Gorton, appointed Ainsley Gotto, aged 22, as his principal private secretary. She became one of the most talked about young women in Australia.  Hitherto, no woman had been so close to the centre of power, and certainly none was known publicly to be so close. A most private person, Ainsley Gotto has been brought back to full public recognition in Ian Hancock’s Ainsley Gotto. To give an insight into this remarkable woman, acclaimed historian Ian Hancock addressed The Sydney Institute on Wednesday 11 March 2020.

AINSLEY GOTTO – WORKING WITH JOHN GORTON

IAN HANCOCK

In February 1968 John Gorton, the new Australian Prime Minister, overrode two Public Service mandarins and insisted that Ainsley Gotto should be his Principal Private Secretary (PPS).  Ainsley had just turned 22 years of age. For the next three years she occupied and developed what one journalist called “the front seat of the nation’s most strategic administrative post”.

In February 2006, a party was held at the Royal Sydney Golf Club to celebrate Ainsley’s 60^th birthday.  Race Mathews – a former lover, Gough Whitlam’s PPS when Ainsley worked for John Gorton and later a minister in the Cain Labor Government in Victoria – was one of two main speakers.  He said that Ainsley had “punctured, albeit sadly failed to shatter, the glass ceiling of the day”.

Ainsley did pierce the ceiling well before its survival was seriously challenged though she did so whilst remaining almost wilfully oblivious of its existence.  She turned her back on the then Women’s Liberation movement and disavowed of any role as a trail blazer.  Nevertheless, she did register two firsts in what had been, and remained for some time, an exclusively male world: she was the first female PPS and the first female political staffer of an Australian Prime Minister.

At first glance, Ainsley’s sole qualification to be a PPS was that she could type. How, then, did she get the job?

Ainsley’s education had been disrupted because her father, an RAAF officer in administration, had been shifted between states and between countries throughout her school years. Despite failing in maths and science, Ainsley obtained a Victorian Intermediate Certificate though, as a teenager, it seemed more likely she would find a career in ballet or in the theatre. Her father suggested she take a secretarial course. He regarded ballet as a risk. Gotto bones were notoriously fragile.  It was good advice. Ainsley broke ankles six times in her life.

At least she had good connections, determination and impeccable timing.

An uncle by marriage had been a PPS for Menzies.  He may have been responsible in Canberra’s small world of 1964 for Ainsley’s move out of the Immigration typing pool to be a secretary for a very senior public servant in the Prime Minister’s Department. She was there in 1966 when Bill Aston, the Liberal Party’s Chief Whip, needed several phone calls to persuade a very reluctant Ainsley to take a secondment as a clerical assistant in the Whips’ Office.

Timing now took its turn. Aston was elected Speaker for the new Parliament after Harold Holt won his landslide election in 1966, and the Prime Minister appointed Dudley Erwin, the Deputy Whip, to replace him.  Dudley was a decent man but not overly bright.  Jim Killen, the new Deputy Whip, had no enthusiasm for the post. He thought Holt gave him the job to muzzle a noisy right-wing maverick. Killen would send one-word telegrams to the Whips’ office from his base in Brisbane saying he was “coming”, omitting to add a date or a time.  Ainsley seized the opportunity to take command of the Whips’ office when Erwin was in the House.

Sitting alone in the Whips’ office, Ainsley recorded and dealt with backbench concerns and problems.  Backbenchers often approached her first about speaking on legislation or came in just for company. Ainsley ensured that ministers were ready to take their turn to sit at the main table in the House, that MPs were available for debates and divisions, and that “pairs” were arranged with the gentlemanly Gil Duthie, the Opposition Whip. Ainsley did not have the authority to make decisions but could assess situations and advise. She was not afraid to confront the recalcitrant.  Standing just shy of 5’3” tall, her father was barely taller, Ainsley became known during 1967 as the “mini-whip”.

Importantly, throughout a long day in the Parliament, her keen and alert mind was absorbing information and learning about political and personal likes and dislikes. In the process, she made lifelong friends with many Liberals, including Don Chipp, Andrew Peacock, Tom Hughes, Gordon Freeth, Billy Snedden and the irrepressible Killen.  She also established a lifelong dislike for Malcolm Fraser and Billy McMahon.

If Erwin’s promotion to Chief Whip and Killen’s many absences had given her greater notability, three occurrences – the damaging “VIP affair”, the death of Harold Holt and John Gorton’s pitch for the Liberal leadership – thrust her into the centre of Liberal Party politics.

Towards the end of 1967, the Government was suffering from self-inflicted wounds emanating from Harold Holt’s determination not to release details on the use of VIP flights.  With the collusion of Sir John Bunting, the Secretary of the Prime Minister’s Department and Peter Howson, the Minister for Air, Holt claimed that records of VIP flights were not kept for long, and that there were no available records of flight destinations or of passengers carried.  On 24 October 1967, with pressure coming to a head in the Senate, Sid Gotto rang his daughter to say that flight authorisation books were kept permanently and passenger manifests were retained for 12 months.

Armed with this information, Erwin took Ainsley to meet John Gorton, the new Leader of the Government in the Senate.  At a stroke Gorton defused the issue and became a hero within the Liberal Party for rescuing the Government.  Without his intervention in the “VIP Affair” it is inconceivable he would have become Prime Minister after Holt’s death.  Ainsley’s information had another outcome.  Gorton had received solid evidence that Bunting and Howson had misled Holt and thereby damaged him politically. When he became Prime Minister, Gorton sidelined the former and dumped the latter.

Gorton was now a frequent visitor to the Whips’ office and especially enjoyed talking to a smart and attractive young woman who liked to speak her mind. Ainsley, in turn, shared Erwin’s view that Gorton was like a “breath of fresh air”.  She was captivated by his fervent Australian nationalism and his vision of a country being proud of itself and united in purpose. 

The Senate election of 25 November delivered a sharp rebuff to the Holt Government. This result increased the chatter about Holt’s eventual successor first prompted in mid-1967 when Erwin and Gotto witnessed Holt’s sudden stagger in the Whips’ office. 

At some point in early December 1967 Ainsley recorded her conversation with Alan Fairhall, the Minister of Defence and fifth in seniority in the Cabinet. The record reads like a conversation between equal and hard-headed politicos. The two discussed strategies for dealing with Holt’s loss of popularity and his failure to master Gough Whitlam, the Leader of the Opposition. Ainsley offered sound advice on how to proceed and collected inside information, including Fairhall’s rejection of McMahon as an alternative Leader.

Ainsley heard on the radio around midday on Sunday 17 December that a prominent person was missing at Portsea.  She immediately concluded that Holt was the unnamed individual and was almost certainly dead. She rang Erwin in his home city of Ballarat and told him come immediately to Canberra and to contact John McEwen, the Leader of the Country Party. Ainsley had two objectives.  First, she wanted to ensure that McMahon, the Deputy Leader of the Liberals, did not secure his election as Leader by persuading Erwin to call a Party Room meeting within the next few days.  She wanted to gather the anti-McMahon forces. Secondly, she wanted Gorton to succeed Holt and, after Erwin reached Canberra, she joined him on the Sunday afternoon at Gorton’s home where the three of them made lists of possible Gorton supporters and opponents in the Cabinet and on the backbench.  On the Sunday and the following Monday, she rang Fairhall in Newcastle insisting that he come to Canberra immediately to help thwart McMahon.

Ainsley then worked with a small group, to which Malcolm Fraser belonged, on Gorton’s campaign where her role was to contact and recruit some of the newer members of parliament. Her list included Edward St John who voted for Gorton in the leadership contest and became the first MP to demand his resignation.

How important was Ainsley Gotto in the leadership outcome?  Gordon Freeth who voted for Hasluck in the leadership contest, later said it was “probably due to her efforts more than most others” that Gorton became Prime Minister.  Clyde Cameron, a Labor front bencher in 1968, told Gorton in 1984 that “it’s accepted by all of those who saw what was happening that she had just as much influence, perhaps more than some, in canvassing or winning support for your prime ministership”.  Gorton did not think Ainsley had obtained a lot of support, but she certainly secured some in places around Australia besides Victoria.  At the very least, it was obvious to anyone observing Liberal Party politics in 1967 and early in 1968 that Erwin’s “little girl” wasn’t “just a secretary”.  Her appointment as PPS was controversial but should not have been surprising.

Bunting tried, before his departure from the Prime Minister’s Department, to save the incumbent PPS.  Peter Bailey, a Rhodes Scholar, an Oxford graduate and a First Assistant Secretary of the Prime Minister’s Department met all of Bunting’s criteria was perfect for the job: a mature age, educated male who was a Department man. Bunting told Gorton he needed at his elbow ‘an official of experience, of grasp of the machine, and of all-round quality’. It was a good argument but wasted on Gorton.  He neither needed nor wanted an official he saw as by, for and of the Public Service.

Settling quickly into the job, Ainsley won an early power struggle with Lenox Hewitt, Bunting’s controversial replacement as Secretary of the Prime Minister’s Department.  The initial issue was control of information. Hewitt believed that all papers and letters intended for the Prime Minister should pass through his office. Ainsley argued that, to advise the Prime Minister, to look for potential political problems and to raise “red flags”, she needed to see all Cabinet documents and have access to all communications from state premiers. Hewitt tried to stop her but, within weeks of taking the job, Ainsley had won her battle. Gorton wanted his PPS to have access to everything directed to him.

Within two years of becoming Gorton’s PPS, Ainsley had established herself as Gorton’s principal confidante, a role Betty Gorton had occupied with her husband since the 1930s. One sign of change might have been the official visit to Washington in mid-1968. A frustrated Gorton sat alone with Ainsley for a succession of late-night conversations where an unhappy the Prime Minister released his feelings about President Johnson and the Vietnam War.

As PPS, Ainsley made herself indispensable, contributing to the day-to-day and overall management of government by keeping Gorton focused, by protecting him from intrusions and distractions and by being a frank and loyal confidante in an atmosphere where disloyalty and duplicity had become commonplace. And while doing the job Ainsley changed it into one more akin to the present chief of staff.

Initially, Ainsley was criticised on two counts: she was young, and she was female. A female appointment might have been acceptable, but a female who could be spoken of as “a girl”, “a mere girl”, or “just a girl” or, worst of all, “an attractive girl” was not. John McLeay, a conservative Liberal, one of Ainsley’s friends in the party room and a strong Gorton supporter, later described her appointment as a mistake: the Prime Minister, he said, should have employed “some old bag with thick lenses and big hips”.

Over time the criticisms of Ainsley took three main forms. First, she failed to respect men of importance; that is, she addressed them by their first names. David Fairbairn, the Minister for National Development, said Ainsley tried it with him once, and he pulled her up: he told Ainsley, “I (am) always known as Mr. Fairbairn” (though presumably not by his wife, Ruth).  Ainsley did not recall ever addressing Fairbairn by his first name and claimed she only used first names when invited to do so.  She also insisted always addressing Gorton as “Mr Gorton” or “Prime Minister” in public.  Perhaps there were occasional slip ups, or situations where the line between the public and private was blurred.  And Ainsley could be perverse. Labor’s Clyde Cameron claimed that Ainsley always kept her distance with him. He could never get her to address him as “Clyde”; it was always “Mr Cameron”.

Secondly, Ainsley was accused of blocking access to the Prime Minister.  The charge was accurate enough; the job required her to stem the flow of traffic into the Prime Minister’s office. Ainsley did what chief executives, bishops and vice-chancellors, among others, expected of their secretaries.  If a much older woman had told senior ministers and long-serving backbenchers that the Prime Minister was unavailable, they might have shrugged their shoulders or sat down to wait their turn.  Receiving the same message from someone Mr Fairbairn called “a young girl”, and possibly delivered in a sharp manner, would not have been received with the same equanimity or resignation.

Thirdly, Ainsley was accused of exercising too much influence over the Prime Minister. Erwin’s infamous explanation for his dumpling from the Gorton ministry – “It wiggles, it’s shapely, and its name is Ainsley Gotto” – was treated as evidence of her influence. Ainsley told me that Gorton discussed every appointment decision with her – except one.  She was dumbfounded by Erwin’s elevation. If asked, she would not have recommended him: “anyone else would have been better. I had worked with the man for years and I saw how incompetent he was, and I wasn’t shy of saying that.”

The Prime Minister’s original decision – and promise – in March 1968 to promote Andrew Peacock was overturned following a conversation with Ainsley.  The newly appointed PPS warned him that Peacock was “a player” and inherently lazy; whereas Phillip Lynch was a hard worker. He was also a Catholic and no Catholic had sat in the ministry since 1963. Peacock remained on the backbench until after the 1969 election.

John Gorton told Clyde Cameron in 1984 that a private secretary could have only a very limited influence over him: “. . . you might ask them what they thought about something. But very rarely . . . I don’t think you’d be swayed by what they thought, except as another example of thinking.”  Clearly, Gorton was keen to stress that he made his own decisions and did not need contributions from anyone else. Yet, even supposing it was rare for Gorton to ask Ainsley for her thoughts on an issue, it would have been a rarer moment where she did not proffer an opinion.

Critics within the Liberal Party never followed up rumours that the Gorton-Gorton relationship had a sexual dimension. Clyde Cameron did, however, raise the question with Gorton in 1984.  He quoted Ainsley’s comment to Woman’s Day of March 1975 that she “admired you excessively and had a tremendous affection for you”.  Gorton agreed that she had “an affection” for him and said he had “an affection for her, a very strong one”. Gorton spoke as someone experienced in extra-marital relationships: “I was in love with my wife but I don’t say exclusive love.” He and Betty had been married for more than 40 years, and “the first flush of love . . . generally goes in about . . . five years at the outside.”  While admitting he had “very very strong feelings for Ainsley” he thought people “might consider that I also was very fond of my wife.”

Ainsley Gotto and John Gorton evidently loved each other. Before speculating about a physical relationship, it is well to remember that no one close to them at the time thought they engaged in one, that they denied having one and that each had other romantic preoccupations.

John Gorton resigned and was replaced by McMahon in March 1971 after the Liberal Party Room divided 33-all on a confidence motion triggered by Malcolm Fraser’s decision to leave the Government. Ainsley remained with Gorton when he became Minister for Defence and stayed with him after McMahon removed him from office.

In 1972 Ainsley was head-hunted to work as an executive assistant to the Canadian millionaire, Bill Pollock, who owned Drake International, the world’s third-largest employment agency.  Within three months of moving to Monaco she sent Pollock two memos judging him, by implication, against John Gorton; that it, unlike Pollock, Gorton he listened, took notice of her opinions and took her seriously, treated her with respect for her mind and for what she could contribute and let her have a go on her own. Ainsley did not think it relevant that she had entered a business world for which she had no background, training or expertise, other than six months spent as a secretary-typist with a Canberra furniture removals and storage company.

Although she advanced to be a director of six Drake companies, Ainsley never felt comfortable in a place where the word “dialogue” was used as a verb. In 1978 Ainsley left Drake for a “trial marriage” with Rick Mauran, a Canadian who made his millions selling hamburgers whom she met in Monaco through Pollock. She regarded Mauran as her great love but the “trial marriage” was over within two years.

The post-Gorton years – Ainsley called them her “after-life’’ – did give her access in both hemispheres to the rich, the powerful, the titled and the very interesting.  Careers in the media, in politics and in business all seemed open to her. Yet, because Gorton had let Ainsley assume that, for her, anything and everything was possible, she believed her “unique qualifications” were sufficient to secure and sustain employment in every field she attempted to enter.  Having sacrificed a “normal” life by working for Gorton and, later, for Drake, Ainsley was unwilling to spend time acquiring the skills needed for the positions she sought.

Ainsley never found anything to replicate the excitement and satisfaction she experienced in working for John Gorton. That said, she had a glamourous lifestyle, moving in both hemispheres among the rich, the powerful, the titled and the very interesting.  Careers in the media, in politics and in business all seemed open to her.

She might attend the Cannes Film Festival or the Monaco Grand Prix, sail around the Virgin Islands in Mauran’s yacht, dine at private clubs in London, spend weekends in the country estates of the English aristocracy or introduce a male friend to the Great Barrier Reef or Lizard Island. From 1979 to the mid-1980s, Ainsley lived in a five-storey house in London’s fashionable Belgravia, which Mauran had rented. There she hosted dinners either prepared by a butler or delivered by outside caterers.  The great and good sat amid tasteful surroundings which included original paintings, antique furnishings and exquisite objects d’art.  Ainsley’s hairdresser was the preferred choice of some of the Royals.  She bought expensive jewellery from a celebrated designer in Piccadilly Arcade.  Ainsley had ‘discovered’ Jasper Conran when he was just 19 and became one of his early private customers when he was still affordable.  She bought her antiques from a third-generation family company in London. She was pursued by a besotted Hollywood film mogul and by the even more besotted self-styled “Grand Inquisitor” of British television, Sir Robin Day.  Several American multi-millionaires and two German jet setters participated in the hunt.

In 1984 a Women’s Weekly article described Ainsley as “still extremely attractive with her striking dark good looks and freckled elfin face . . . her mind as sharp and her energy as high as ever”.  It relayed the almost obligatory first impression of “an imperious, rather brusque, woman”.  It followed with the equally obligatory discovery that “on further acquaintance” Ainsley was “a warm-hearted, sincere person who cares passionately about everything, especially telling the truth. Behind the clipped words, and no-nonsense manner, you discover a lady who is intensely shy and fanatically private.”

Australian and English publishers kept offering contracts, Harry M. Miller signed her up as a client and Ainsley entered negotiations in the United States, Britain and Australia to make television programs and to supply videos to the Australian market.  Australian magazines would still treat her as a celebrity for more than two decades into her “after-life”. They were present when she set herself up on the Gold Coast where she established her own interior design company – Ainsley Gotto International (AGI) – and acquired a boyfriend and a rural retreat in the Gold Coast hinterland.

In 1993 she married Nick Carson, a prominent Sydney solicitor, and settled for an Eastern Suburbs lifestyle: black-tie dinners with the legal fraternity and parties at the Royal Sydney Golf Club; trips to rural properties and race tracks; visits to art galleries, concerts and the theatre; and travel to the UK, Europe and the United States.

Ainsley became a leading figure in the national and international version of Women Chiefs of Enterprise;  she was in John Howard’s words “a great networker in the Liberal Party; she was central in the planning and execution of three celebrations of Gorton” life – two birthday parties and a biography – and finished her working life as chief of staff for a shadow minister, Senator Helen Coonan.

Unfortunately, there was another, sadder side, to Ainsley’s “after-life”.

Several attempts to enter film and television never got off the ground, partly because Ainsley was not prepared to do the work. She was sacked from one that did because her voice was considered “too posh” for the audience. Her interior design company went bankrupt; and her husband sold the rural retreat in her absence in order save his money which was needed to maintain it. All three of Ainsley’s of her longer-term relationships, including her marriage to Carson, ended in hurt and, in two cases, in acrimony. Ainsley’s four-year fight for what she saw as justice in the financial settlement of her divorce cost her in the region of half a million dollars to obtain a result in the Family Court which was available at the start of her campaign.  Ainsley’s father was right: his second daughter was hopeless with money; a spender not an accumulator.

Some friends thought Ainsley had an unhappy life, starting with her dysfunctional family, her parents’ divorce in 1972, a death by car accident in the same year of her younger sister and what became a toxic relationship with her older sister.  Race Matthews thought that the young woman he met at the end of the 1960s “had never been wrapped in love”. Perhaps one of her saddest messages was the one she wrote to her father in 1990: “we are – ultimately – alone. Whether we like it or not.”

 

Yet, for all that went wrong during her “after-life”, Ainsley’s one real disappointment was that her obsession with privacy meant that few people knew what she had achieved in the Gorton years; that she had exercised “some power and influence”.  My task, I suspect, was to rectify the deficiency, though it was never quite put that way.