Lillian Frank, a force of nature, a character for the times

I arrived at the soirée atop one of the city hotels a little late, taking a glass of fizz from a waiter and seeking out a familiar face in one corner of the assembled throng. In an opposite corner was Lillian Frank, social diarist for the opposition weekend papers whom I had not noticed at that stage.

But I soon did. “Lawwwrence!” came the cry in Lillian’s distinctive accent. “Don’t you love me any more!”

Oh gawd. Heads turned, I waved limply. Seems Melbourne’s self-appointed social matriarch thought that, as a new gossip columnist on the scene (I think it was my Tattler column in the afternoon Herald at the time), I should have sought her out immediately. You know, a sort of column buddy. Lillian was a force of nature in her prime and her column-writing prime lasted a helluva long time.

Lillian Frank: As well as her bouffant hair style she was wearing long, long false eye lashes.Credit:Age photographer

Through changes of newspaper editorship, through changes of company ownership, Lillian Frank’s weekly jottings endured. No one pretended she was a good writer, or even a real journalist, but she had a phenomenal circle of contacts, many of whom, in the early days, seemed to be the wives and partners of business bulls and Rich Listers.

Some of these ladies were wed to newspaper execs – who tampered with Lillian Frank’s column at their domestic peril. Lillian’s husband Richard, a terrific bloke with a wicked sense of humour (and I am sad for his loss), became good buddies with my new wife Helen after our marriage in 2005 – and, as a result, I found myself in company with Lillian more than before.

We were an unlikely foursome in red-carpet land, considering the fact that I had sometimes referred to her in my columns over the years in less than complimentary terms (“Toorak barber” was one such epithet, “fringe-snipper” another) – but Lillian seemed to have no time for holding grudges. She always seemed to be in top gear, accelerating to the next event.

It is hard to imagine her now at rest. The lady they called “Lill” was a character for the times, a spirited citizen who used her dynamic personality to bolster many a local charity. Should I have “loved” her a little more at that city soirée back in the 1980s?

Well, in the end I think we grew to like each other. But I certainly loved the verve and energy she gave for so long to life in the city of Melbourne. RIP Lillian, that certainly was a colourful innings.

Lawrence Money wrote the Spy column in The Sunday Age for 18 years

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