REACHING OUT TO THE CITY LIGHTS....CHAPTER SEVEN

 

6th April, 1966

                                       

Noosa Heads...looking across to Laguna Bay

                                           

Noosa Heads Surf Lifesaving Club these days.....

                                            

 

 

The “Top Secret” show at Lennons Hotel was a roaring success. Kolotex Hosiery certainly was no longer top secret. That evening, announcing our arrival we’d made a grand entrance into the Brisbane fashion trade. 99.9% of the invitees turned up for our promotional evening.

The function room, filled to capacity with interested buyers, departmental heads, store managers, boutique owners, advertising and media people, etc., buzzed with excitement. The “Top Secret” launch was the first of many bigger, more adventurous promotional evenings we were to produce, and entertain the trade with throughout the coming years. At this stage we were just dipping our toes into the shallow end of the pool. Many much more exciting times were ahead, though we weren't aware of that at the time.

Sales increased. Our little office became busier by the day. Along with the growth the stock in our small storeroom grew and grew as well. Excess stocks of the various styles of stockings and pantyhose were bursting out of the shelves. Soon, our staff of two expanded to three. A young lad was hired to assist in the storeroom with the packing of orders, also for stock counts and stock-control in the city retail stores, freeing up our boss to handle the pressing managerial, marketing and sales matters. After about twelve months, the young fellow left our employ and two young men were hired in his stead. Then we were four.

Sales in the country and regional areas, handled by our wholesale agents, were exploding daily, too. I didn’t like dealing with our agents. I found the head of the company to be a pompous snob and his son appeared to be headed in a similar direction…to be a carbon copy of his father. He was a spoilt “private school” left-over! Often I would see the son, a few years older than me, at various night-spots or social gatherings I attended. I always dodged him, not particularly desirous of his loud-mouthed company and over-inflated ego. My dream was that we, in our own office, could handle all our sales ourselves, without the wholesale agents.

 Randall and I continued to exchange letters. I wrote more often than he, of course, being “naturally gabby” in that department as friends of mine will testify to! He’d gained employment at a resort hotel in the North Island of New Zealand at Waitomo in the Waikato Region. He was having a wonderful time from all accounts. I didn’t stay at home packed in “moth-balls” either. At that time, so many years ago, I was a young, attractive woman who enjoyed life and all that it had to offer. I was damned sure I wasn’t going to sit around knitting. I was a hopeless knitter, anyway. I went out, met new people and had fun. I missed Randall, of course. I loved him, but I wasn't prepared to let life pass me by, not for him, not for anyone.

At a much-frequented nightspot, one night I ran into an old friend. During the Gympie Ball Season he would return from Brisbane where he lived and worked, for the weekend to escort me to the balls. It became an unspoken habit with us for whatever reason, that he was my regular partner at the balls. This was before Randall appeared on the scene. Mervyn, my ex-ball partner, was also a Noosa Heads Surf Club lifesaver, along with my brother, Graham. My brother had since moved to live and work in Mackay and was no longer a member of the club. Mervyn had been raised and schooled in Gympie before moving to Brisbane to work in telecommunications and study when he completed high school. He grew up in a home in a street behind where my family and I lived. As he was older than me, I didn’t know him when we were children.

From when I started going to Noosa Heads at weekends, he’d had a bit of a “crush” on me, but as he was five or so years older than me, he purposely stood from afar looking on, believing I was too young when we first met to be getting serious about anyone. He was right. I liked him. I always had. We both enjoyed surfing, rock ‘n roll, dancing and having good times. We had mutual friends. He would seek me out at the record hops and dances, but that was the limit of our “relationship”. When our paths crossed in Brisbane, we started seeing a bit of each other, going out for dinners, attending parties and various social events. His weekends were spent at Noosa with the lifesaving club. Sometimes I accompanied him, sometimes not.

Still engaged to Randall, I was in a bit of a quandary, torn between where my heart was…made tender and vulnerable by distance and absence. I found myself caught in a whirl at what was at hand.

Even though we’d known each other for quite some time, we’d only been dating for short period when Mervyn asked me to marry him. Caught up in the moment, I said, “Yes”. The news shocked not only me, but everyone else around me. A few detractors tried to give me advice, my mother included, but stubbornly I didn’t listen to them, nor did I listen to my heart…my inner being. I was susceptible. I wanted to be placed on a pedestal. and Mervyn had done that. I wanted to be “first” in someone’s life; Mervyn had placed me as Number One in his.

My personal life had been thrown into turmoil when Randall left. I’d felt lost and alone, then Mervyn walked into my small world with love and caring.

Finally, I wrote to Randall to give him an ultimatum. An ultimatum I’d never considered giving him when he first announced his plans to travel overseas, as I believed in his right to do for himself what he felt best to do, but now caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, I needed definition. I wrote saying, “if you don’t come home, I’m going to get married.” He didn’t come home, and true to my word, my threat, I got married.

Easter Thursday, 6^th April, 1966, at 6pm, five months after Randall left Australia’s shores I was to walk down the aisle to be married to Mervyn. Misgivings began to make their presence known, but I forged forward, forcing myself to ignore them, naively believing I couldn’t go back on my word or my decision. “Everyone knows”, I kept telling myself. “I can’t back out now.”

I’ve never been one to have pined for the whole “wedding catastrophe” of tulle, satin, silk or chiffon, penguin suits and lavish receptions, always believing it was a total waste of money. Following my personal beliefs, I had a sheath mini-length dress of white linen made for the event.

Our guest list, which included immediate family members and very close friends, was very small. We offended some family members on Mervyn’s side as he came from a large family, but I didn’t care. The date was set for our wedding. We were wasting no time. I could see no point in being engaged again. I'd already done that, and look what happened there!  I’d even refused an engagement ring.  I already had one, and look what good that did me! We mutually agreed we didn’t want to waste money on a big affair. I didn't want a “big do”, anyway. We promised "the family" we’d throw a party in Gympie at a later date to celebrate our union.

My brother, mother and grandmother arrived in the morning of the "day". As I’d taken only that day off work, I was busy organising the food for our “reception” that was going to be a small party held in my flat after the ceremony. Once again, I was the caterer. I’ve always been a demon for punishment, it would seem! Mervyn had found us a small one-bedroom apartment in Merthyr Road, New Farm, which we intended moving into after our marriage. Mum and Nana would remain in my existing flat until the day after our wedding, helping my flatmate with the cleaning up of the aftermath from the previous evening.

The time rapidly arrived. The clock ticked down. Soon it was time for me to shower and dress for my “event”. I could see the look in the eyes of my mother and grandmother, but they said nothing. I knew they still were unsure that I was doing the right thing, but they held their counsel.

We arrived at the Presbyterian Church in Sylvan Road, Toowong just before the appointed time. Mervyn was already in the church. I froze at the top of the stairs. I couldn’t, and wouldn’t move. Again the floodgates opened. Unstoppable tears poured down my face. I cried and cried. Mum and Nana tried to console me, telling me I didn’t have to go ahead if I didn’t want to. I shrugged off their words in a fruitless effort to compose myself. The minister came out to see what the hold-up was. Seeing the state I was in he told me to take my time because he had no other weddings or pressing matters to attend to that evening. I had all the time in the world to get myself in order, he told me. Poor guy he must have wondered what he had stumbled into. Finally, I calmed myself down; composed my fragile self, wiped away the remnants of my tears, took a few deep breaths and firmly held onto my brother’s arm. He walked me down the aisle to a beaming Mervyn, who was completely unaware of the drama that had erupted outside the church.

Without further delay or hitch, the marriage ceremony went ahead, after which the small group descended upon my soon to be previous abode for a party. And, it was a great party wherein everyone had a wonderful, happy time. My tears were forgotten. I was married….to Mervyn. We spent our wedding night in our new apartment before heading up to Noosa for a week’s honeymoon.  We had a passenger on the trip to Noosa…my brother, Graham, who intended spending the Easter Weekend at his second home…the Noosa Heads Surf Lifesaving Club.

The day I got married, Randall stepped aboard a flight to Canada, en route to New York. Separately, both of us were heading into the unknown...

Upon arriving in New York, Randall immediately found employment with the New Zealand Mission to the UN.  His boss was diplomat Frank Corner (later to be Sir Frank Corner)…Ambassador to the United Nations (1961-67) and the United States (1967-72). He was later New Zealand’s Permanent Secretary of Foreign Affairs from 1972 to 1980.  

 

To be continued....

 

REACHING OUT TO THE CITY LIGHTS....CHAPTER SIX

Queen Street, Brisbane in the 1960s

June Dally-Watkins with Bob Hope

Christmas was fast approaching. I wasn’t feeling in a celebratory mood, but decided that I would bury my heartache and face the world head on with a smile on my face. Life was still going on around me, regardless of my personal heartbreak. Taking a few deep breaths, I told myself I wanted to be part of life, not stay hidden away in some dark corner pining for something that couldn’t be altered.  It was what it was.  Randall and I hadn’t broken up. He had just gone away for a while. For how long at that point in time, neither of us knew. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that he wouldn’t be out having fun. So I took a deep breath; pulled my socks up (not literally..I was wearing pantyhose by that stage); straightened my shoulders, and told myself it was my intention to do similar.

I put most of my energy into my work, becoming very involved in every aspect of it. My boss introduced me to a young hosiery buyer from one of the city’s Myer department stores. Fay had relocated to Brisbane from Far North Queensland not long before my own defection from Gympie.  My boss believed she and I, being in a similar boat, would get on well.

Feeling a little uncomfortable by being the subjects of “friendship-making”, we were a bit wary of each other when we were first “pushed together”, not particularly enjoying a friendship being forced upon us. To appease my “Lord and Master”, Fay and I agreed to meet. She came to my flat one Saturday afternoon. It turned out my employer had better insight than we had, because Fay and I hit it off once we recovered from our initial discomfort during the first few minutes of our meeting. She was keen on having fun and causing a bit of mayhem. I was not at all opposed to that way of thinking, either. We were both as “crazy” as each other.

Together we posed a dangerous threat to society! Fay was a very attractive lass; one who was full of life, good humour and wit. Over the next few months we had some great times together, hitting the “high spots” of Brisbane. terrorizing the locals.

The following year, Fay decided to “test the waters” up in Papua New Guinea, gaining a job with the Australian Government at Boroka, outside of Port Moresby. We communicated for a while after she settled into Boroka, sending inane, insane letters back and forth, but after a time we lost contact, unfortunately. I’ve often wondered what happened to her, and which directions in life she chose to follow.

Laurie, a friend of Randall from their high school days, whom I’d met and befriended, decided he, too, would try being a radio announcer. Following in Randall’s footsteps, Laurie decided to join the Color Radio network, but because he was inexperienced, he was being sent to Mount Isa, a mining town way out the back of “Whoop-Whoop”, in far north-western Queensland. He was leaving shortly after Christmas to follow his chosen career path. After Randall’s departure it was good to have a friendly face on the scene. I was glad to have Laurie as a friend. Regularly he’s telephone, and often we met for coffee, or drinks after work. Laurie had an empathetic ear. I hated the fact that he, too, would soon be leaving Brisbane.  

However, slowly I was meeting new people. My network of friends was steadily increasing.

That year my Christmas plans were made for me. I spent Christmas Day and Boxing Day with Randall’s parents who lived in Geebung, a northern suburb of Brisbane.

New Year had been booked out since a few months earlier. A good friend, Marj, planned her wedding to be held on New Year’s Day. I felt like throttling her for doing so. It meant I had to spend part of my New Year’s Eve on a train trip back to Gympie, a thought that didn’t thrill me in the least. I’d not spent a New Year’s Eve in Gympie since before I commenced working in my first job, in the Gympie law firm. New Year’s Eve meant “coast” and “parties” to me, not sitting on a train, and then being stuck in my old hometown. I was not amused!

The eve of the New Year arrived. I’d booked a seat on the Gympie train for around 6.30pm. As I was leaving my office, I ran into a guy I knew.  He invited me to join him for a quick drink in celebration of the soon to be New Year. I had a bit of time up my sleeve so I agreed. On the way we crossed paths with Laurie, who decided to join us. Like the Three Musketeers we settled comfortably into a cocktail bar at a hotel in Queen Street, the CBD’s main street. Too comfortably it appeared because time had flown by without noticing it had done so.  Laughing, the three of us scurried up to Central Station, only to see the end carriage of my train disappearing out of sight!

Full of high spirits, like robbers after a heist, we ran to Laurie’s car, a VW beetle. We finally caught up with the train at “Sunshine” station on the northern side of Brisbane. I jumped aboard the train, sad to be leaving my mad friends behind.

It was a depressing trip to Gympie. In rhythm with the wheels on the rail lines, I cursed Marj under my breath the duration of the journey, a journey that seemed to take forever. What timing she had! Such a silly day to get married! Finally, the train pulled into Gympie station around 11 pm. I caught a cab home. Both Mum and Nana greeted me with open arms. Understanding my displeasure, although I did my best to conceal it in their presence, Mum offered me a rum and Coca Cola, saying, “I’m sure you feel like one of these!” Readily agreeing, I took a long sip.

Sitting on our verandah chatting quietly with my mother and grandmother, a car pulled up outside. It was Marj and her soon-to-be husband, Quentin. She and Quentin had failed in their plan to meet me at the train station so decided to catch me at home. For a brief few minutes, we all sat around talking and sipping on rum and cokes before Quentin was duly and dutifully chased away at midnight. Marj and I spent her last night of “singledom” discussing our past, and what our futures had in store for us, before finally ending our reminiscing and wondering in the early hours of New Year’s Day.   

Farewell 1965…welcome 1966.

An older brother of Marj’s was my escort to her wedding. Everything was going along smoothly at the wedding until it came time for the speeches during the reception. Without warning I began to cry. Not just cry, I became uncontrollable, inconsolable! I was losing everyone; all my dear and much-loved friends.  Randall was briefly visiting New Zealand’s north island where he’d spent a few weeks before continuing his journey to the United States, with New York his destination…following his dream.

 Marj was married and heading off to her own adventures.  During their honeymoon, she and Quentin were moving to Alice Springs in the Northern Territory, where Quentin would be working within an engineering company…,thousands of miles away.

Everyone I cared about was not just moving from one suburb to another. They were going to, or had gone off to far distant places…to the ends of the earth it seemed. It was all too much to digest, or deal with at that moment in time. Marj’s wedding was the catalyst that caused the floodgates of my broken heart to open. I left the reception room, not wanting to make a total fool of myself, or embarrass my very confused escort. After a while, concerned, he came out to find me, a flood of tears still streamed down my face, and my body racked with sobs. Feeling totally helpless, he offered to take me home. Without hesitation, I accepted his offer. My mother greeted us at our front stairs, surprised that I was home so early. My poor escort, who knew not what to say, or what to do with the crazy young woman he’d met for the first time that day, handed me over to my mother, making a hasty exit after doing so. I bet I was the last “blind date” he ever had!

Mum tucked me into bed, listening, understanding my outpourings of grief. I cried until I could cry no more, finally descending into an exhausted sleep. I had emptied the dam, at least for a while. I woke next morning feeling wrung-out. I caught the early afternoon train back to Brisbane. Mum and Nana were concerned about me, naturally, but I told them I would be fine. I knew I would be. It was entirely up to me to be so.

Once back in Brisbane, it was a New Year.  Determinedly, I was going to treat and face it accordingly. I had many unknown rivers yet to cross; hurdles to overcome; new people to be met. and fun to be had.

Early in the New Year, Kolotex introduced a new pantyhose product called “Top Secret”. The launch was to become part of my first foray into the promotion of a new line to the retail trade en măsse.

I contacted the June Dally-Watkins Model Agency.  Models were sent to us for our assessment. Lennons Hotel was the chosen venue to herald in “Top Secret”. A fashion parade was already in the planning stages, based on a James Bond theme.  We were moving at a rate of knots. I was in my element.  Three top Brisbane models of the day were chosen. They were Louisa Van Duerzen (who had been crowned “Miss Surf Girl” a couple of years earlier), Kay Roberts and one of the stylish Tamblyn twins.

Leading up to the evening, the office was a-buzz with energy and excitement. Invitations were sent out to the “trade”. Various outfits were chosen for the models, which included trench coats, scarves, mysterious hats and dark glasses to set the theme our new range of pantyhose. The catering staff at Lennons Hotel had been instructed on the fare for the evening. We were ready to take on the retail fashion trade of Brisbane…but were they ready for us? Our clients thought they were prepared, but we had a lot more in store for them in the ensuing years.

This was to be the beginning of some exciting wonderful times, but before they came into fruition, I was soon to go in a completely different, unexpected direction.

To be continued....

REACHING OUT TO THE CITY LIGHTS...CHAPTER FIVE

                                            Peter, Paul and Mary...."Leaving on a Jet Plane"

 

(I apologise for being slack  in reading, and commenting on your blogs.  Life has been a little topsy-turvy of ate for me, and being the turtle that I am, I'd retreated further into my shell, far away from the madding crowd.  I'm feeling much better that I was...and my spirits have lifted somewhat, and the anxiety that is often sky higher and higher has lowered somewhat. My intention is to catch up on everyone's blogs.   Take good care, one and all.)

                                      

November was around the corner and so was my twenty-first birthday. No huge “coming-of-age” celebration was planned for the “event”. I still didn’t know a lot of people in Brisbane, having been in the city for only a little over three months. Most of the people I’d met up to that point had been through Randall, my fiancée, his work associates, and subsequent others involved in the advertising, radio and music fields.

I’d become fairly heavily involved in Randall’s radio career in Gympie. Nightly, unfailingly, I taped his evening programmes to be played back and critiqued after his shift finished. Every evening following his four hour on-air shift, he came back to my home, where I always had a snack and coffee waiting for him. Together we would sit for hours, playing and re-playing his broadcast, picking holes in it, commending parts that deserved commendation, generally treating the sessions like a “broadcasting tutorial”.  Randall’s deep, distinctive, resonant voice was a special gift, confounding many when they first met the slim young man with a voice from the Heavens. Although it wasn’t allowed by the radio station in Gympie, or elsewhere for that matter, I would sneak into the studios during his Saturday night shifts and sit across from him at the turntables, having had carte blanche choice at the record library. Most of the music played those nights was of my choosing. It was fun…a bold action, not allowed...a rule broken! The hierarchy of the 4GY was unaware of our escapades, thankfully. We were pushing the boundaries, but the thrill of the game made it worth breaking the rules.

Randall had a brash, confident air about him that fooled many, but not me. He was handsome, independent, and highly intelligent. He drove a sports car, and was gifted with vocal chords that females swooned over and males envied. However, all of those curtained a certain lack of inner credence in his own abilities. He had turned twenty-one in the January before my November date with the milestone. As I’ve written earlier we became engaged on his birthday, with an agreed long engagement in the wind. Neither of us was in a hurry to be married. We were young. A persistent desire to travel nagged at Randall. He frequently talked of his wish to travel overseas…"to spread his wings...to see the world"   It was his desire, his dream, not mine, and I had no intentions of standing in the way of his dream.

A couple of weeks before my birthday, he came to the flat to see me.  My flatmate was out somewhere, so we had the place to ourselves. Sitting on the sofa, Randall told me he had handed in his notice to the management at Color Radio 4IP. The next bombshell to crash down upon me followed soon thereafter. He was going overseas at the end of November, firstly to New Zealand briefly before travelling across to the United States, with New York as his destination.

My heart felt like it had been gripped by an ever-tightening iron vice. My stomach flipped. All that remained, it seemed, was a giant, endless, empty pit. I went cold all over as I sat, somberly listening to him excitedly detail his plans. He’d never kept it a secret from me his dream to travel, to go on his “odyssey” in search of the unknown.

Although I didn’t harbour a similar desire to his, I understood his want to see the world. My understanding didn’t make it any easier for me, however, as I sat there stoically bracing and steeling myself. I believed then as I still do now, one cannot live for the sake of another, nor can one choose the path another decides is best for him or her. To travel overseas was Randall’s decision and desire, not mine. It was not for me to try to change his mind, or alter his decision, no matter how much I was hurting inside. There was nothing I could do to stop him, whether I wanted to do so, or not.

Of course, I didn’t want him to go, but it was his individual right to walk the path he wanted to walk. From the moment we’d met he had shared his dreams of travel with me. I didn’t share those dreams to travel...they were his, not mine...but I understood his wanderlust. Tears I shed, I shed alone in the darkness.

My birthday grew closer, and so did the date for Randall’s departure. His flight to New Zealand was booked for November 30^th. My birthday was November 11^th. I intended to make the most of the little time we had left together and not allow myself to be bogged down in self-pity and sorrow. Time enough for all of that later when I was alone. I was going to make sure I had a damn good time and to hell with heartache and feeling sorry for myself.

We were still engaged, nothing had altered on that situation. True to our word at the time of our engagement, marriage for the both of us was a long way off. I soon wearied of fielding questions from others who didn’t understand Randall’s change in direction. I told every curious by-stander he was fulfilling a dream. It was not for me to stand in his way. And I meant it. It was nobody else’s business, anyway. Privately, my heart was torn into many pieces, but I wasn’t going to allow others witness my pain. It was mine and mine alone to deal with. It was my life, and it had nothing to do with anyone else.

Fate looked kindly upon me in a couple of instances, though. My birthday fell on a Friday, so I planned a party, inviting everyone I’d met since my arrival in Brisbane. It wasn’t a great number of people. My landlady who lived on the ground level below the two flats above, one of which Dawn and I shared, was absent for a few days, including the weekend of my pending celebration. That was a blessing in itself as I knew our landlady wouldn’t appreciate the pounding of feet to the beat of music upon her ceiling!

Dutifully, I did forewarn her of my planned party, subtly asking her permission, which she gave willingly. In the other upstairs’ flat adjoining ours, dwelt a very tall Canadian young woman of around twenty-five or six years of age.  She had moved in, with her little lady Chihuahua shortly after Dawn and I had set up our abode. We’d passed pleasantries while collecting our respective mail, or while hanging out our laundry. I’ve never been one to “pop-in” on people, and have never encouraged others to just “pop-in” on me. That’s one of my many quirks, I guess. Even so, the girl next door and I formed an “acquaintance”. I invited her to my party. It wouldn’t have seemed fair or polite not to have done so.

What became a habit formed back then in those early days, I handled the catering for my small gathering.  Leaving the office an hour or so earlier on the day in question, I raced home, eager to start my preparation for the night ahead. I’d bought a new “outfit” for the party at David Jones, a major department store in the CBD. I felt on top of the world. My new outfit was called a “skidoo”…and no, it wasn’t a snowmobile! It was actually Jamaican shorts, with a slit tunic of similar length to the shorts worn over the top. My “skidoo” was in a beautiful aqua-coloured woven-cotton plain fabric with the reverse side of the tunic, matching soft, multi-coloured floral voile, or similar material. I’m not a wearer or lover of floral so I never did reverse the tunic, but when I walked or danced, the contrast was very effective, or so I believed!

Of course, again, a habit formed all those years ago, I over-catered. At least I had food enough to cover Dawn and me for the rest of the weekend, if not the following week as well!

I enjoyed my twenty-first birthday party, spent with Randall and my new acquaintances, which included many of his co-workers, fellow radio announcers from Color Radio 4IP...known as "Color Radio Good Guys", who were joined by their spouses in some cases, and girlfriends in others.  Wee Scotsman, Donny Lloyd brought along his advertising girlfriend, Carol. Carol and Donny married sometime later, and then later divorced. Carol Lloyd, with her wild, flaming red hair became known amongst many circles as “Australia’s First Lady of Rock”. She was lead singer/songwriter in the rock band, “Railroad Gin”, which rose to fame in the Seventies, and established quite a cult following. Carol continued on with her genius in the advertising world and has been the recipient of many awards in that field.  David Jull, who had worked with Randall when they were both younger within the confines of the ABC, and who himself was at the time of my “coming of age”party, employed by ABC TV as a news presenter, also was in attendance. Also amongst my party-goers was a jazz pianist whom I'd met briefly previously.  I couldn’t help but notice he and our Canadian neighbour had struck up a friendly conversation in one corner.  The place was rife with radio and television folk.

My birthday had been a happy one. The party was a roaring success. I managed to push aside, for a little while at least, what lay ahead of me. I tried not to let Randall’s rapidly approaching departure put a damper upon my special evening. I succeeded, if only for a short time.

Putting on brave front, inside I was being torn apart, bit by bit. I didn't want anyone else to know of my torment or heartache. My steely facade and determination not to show to others what I was really feeling helped get me through the following couple of weeks between my party and his departure. Deep within, I knew our separation by sea and air wasn't going to be brief. However, I kept my thoughts to myself.

"Good-byes" have never been one of my fortes! I can manage to keep a "stiff upper lip" for only a short while when in the presence of a loved one's departure, then I'm ready to privately crumble in a melting mess. It is best I make such farewells, brief, disappearing out of view of the "departer" before both parties become drenched in my tears. I prefer to perform this flooding feat privately.

Fortunately, I accompanied Randall’s parents to Brisbane airport to farewell their son, my fiancee, my love, on his flight into his future…his adventure into the unknown. My being in their company forced me to control my emotions, if only until I was once more on my own in my flat.  Randall’s parents and I were the best of friends.  I loved them dearly.

 

Once alone, I crawled into my bed, pulled up the covers, and shut the rest of the world out. At that time in my life, I didn't even have a cat to comfort me! “Cat” was had remained in Gympie, being cared for by my mother and grandmother.  I wanted nothing to do with the world, or with those who inhabited it. What was the point? No one could possibly understand what I was feeling. I was in no mood to try to explain. My feelings, my emotions were my own. I had to deal with them in my own way, in my own time and space.

To be continued....