I have reservations about both barrels of this book’s title. Such fascism as existed briefly in Ireland in the early 1930s was driven by suspicion of de Valera’s conversion from gunman to Taoiseach rather than by corporatist social theory or admiration for a strong leader; it was quickly assimilated into a mainstream political party, Fine Gael, the main opposition party in the current Dail and firmly in the political centre. Likewise, describing De Groot as an Australian legend, in the same league as, say, Les Darcy, Don Bradman or Weary Dunlop, is to exaggerate public knowledge about the man.
The name De Groot may not be conspicuously Irish, but Frank De Groot was as Irish as 300 years of domicile in the country would entitle his family to claim. He was a descendant of Dutch Huguenots who had settled in Dublin in the 17th century to escape persecution by Catholics on the Continent. In time they became so well regarded that every male member of the family was entitled to apply for the hereditary right of Freeman of the City. Moreover, his mother was a Butler, than which there are few surnames more closely associated with Irish aristocracy.
He was in his early twenties when he first came to Australia, settling in Sydney. His initial break came as a result of the shrewd munificence of publisher and bookseller George Robertson, who provided him with the funds to import antique furniture from Ireland. In a short time, he was a dashing, flamboyant figure in the local antiques trade. He returned to Dublin to marry his sweetheart, arriving in time to enlist in the Hussars and serve with distinction in the Great War, retiring with the rank of captain.
Back in Sydney, he continued where he had left off as an antiques dealer, branching into the manufacture of quality reproduction furniture that was said to be indistinguishable from the original Chippendale or Queen Anne. In time, visiting royalty would dine at his tables, literally if not metaphorically. He was also heavily in demand for shopfitting, and was responsible for the original David Jones stores in Sydney. Among the well-heeled and well-bred of 1920s Sydney, Frank De Groot was quite the arbiter of taste.
All of this points up the folly of describing the well-known and highly respected businessman who cut the ribbon to open the Sydney Harbour Bridge as ‘a nobody’ or