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....

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

Some of the Color Radio 4IP Crew....Randall on right at the console

                                    

                                          

The saddest thing about leaving Gympie had been leaving my cat, “Cat” behind. He was a large ginger fellow. I could never think of a name to suit him, so I’d christened him “Cat”.    I christened him “Cat” a long time before I first viewed the movie, “Breakfast at Tiffany's”, wherein “Holly Golightly’s beloved ginger cat was also named, “Cat”.

I loved my pet very much. Every afternoon when I arrived home from work, he would be out on the footpath to greet and meet me. “Cat” managed to tear my heart apart the day I left Gympie. He walked right out to the roadside with me when my “lift” arrived to whisk me away to my new world. Forlornly sitting on the curb, “Cat” knew he was about to lose his mistress. Mum and Nana wouldn’t let me take him to Brisbane with me, which probably was the wisest thing to do, but that didn’t ease the pain of my parting with him. Throughout my life up until then, I had always had a cat. Now, I had to leave my mate behind. It was a bittersweet parting. I was happy being on the brink of a new life, but so very sad to be leaving my dear friend of many years.

Once settled into Brisbane, and my new abode, all that had been familiar to me was now in my past. I had a new home, a new “housemate” and a new job with new friends yet to be met. I had my independence.

My fiancée, Randall, was busy with his job as disc jockey with Colour Radio 4IP, in Ipswich, so I saw little of him during the week.  Often weekend promotional radio work also interfered with our time together but, at least, we saw more of each other than if I had remained in Gympie.

My exit from Morris, Fletcher and Cross came with little or no fanfare. I would not be missed after such a short tenure with them; and I wouldn’t miss the working environment therein. Although, I did run into my ex-boss, Tony Atkinson a few years later and, strangely enough, he remembered me.

My entrance into Kolotex Hosiery’s Queensland office caused little or no fanfare, too. With only John Trimmer and me in the office, there was no need for streamers, bells and whistles. They came later!

An interesting fact or two…Kolotex manufactured the first pantihose in Australia. In fact, Australia produced them before the US did, as well. We were on top of the ladder (pun intended) in the hosiery stakes. I loved my new job from Day One. John Trimmer, a gentleman in all senses of the word, was out of the office a great deal of the time visiting the company’s retail customers. I enjoyed working alone. Not having others around me was of no concern. Within a few months the status quo was to change.

A couple of weeks after I commenced my new job, a tall, very attractive young woman, a few years older than me, walked into the reception area. She introduced herself as my boss’s wife.  At the time of our first meeting, she was towards the end of her first pregnancy.

Politely, I said, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Trimmer.”

She laughed, ordering me to call her “Shirley”, which I did from that day forth. As the years unfolded, She and I forged a strong friendship.  However, a lot of water has flowed under the bridge in the intervening years.

Not yet 21 years old, I was “treading on unfamiliar territory”. My old enemy, “shyness” had a bad habit of reappearing when in the company of strangers. Shirley was still a stranger to me, plus she was my boss’s wife. I had only met her on that one, brief occasion in the office, and at the time, she had been towards the end of her pregnancy.  Shortly thereafter, she gave birth to a beautiful, bouncing baby boy. His birth was about six weeks after the first brief meeting between the new mother and me. The proud father suggested it would be a nice gesture for me to visit his wife at the hospital during my lunch break to spend a little time with her, and to view their newborn son.

 At that point in time, Shirley was fairly new to Brisbane, too, as she and her husband had relocated from Sydney to Brisbane less than twelve months earlier.  She was without many friends in her new city. Feeling I couldn't decline an edict from my boss, off I went, alone, to St. Andrew's Hospital in Brisbane. New to the city, I had no idea the location of the hospital, but fortunately the taxi driver did!

Upon arriving at the hospital, I wished I was somewhere else, or the chore ahead of me was over. I'm like most people, I guess. I hate hospitals. I lose my identity every time I set foot in one, which, by my choosing, isn't often, fortunately. In trepidation, I walked quietly down the corridor, praying I wouldn’t slip on the highly-polished floor, diligently following instructions of the sign that said "Maternity Ward".  Neither looking right nor left for fear of disturbing patients or appearing rude, I eventually found the allotted room.

Stepping inside, I came upon four or five people gathered around the bed…more strangers! They turned and greeted me warmly. I smiled bravely, returning the greetings of the new mother and her welcoming visitors. I started to open my mouth to utter the expected utterances, when out of the corner of my eye I spied a face I recognised peering around a screen dividing the two beds in the room.

Too overwhelmed by the myriad happy faces greeting me I hadn’t noticed the screen when I first entered the room, I looked at the beaming face poking out from behind the screen to the new mother in front of me with whom I'd started to exchange pleasantries. A person who, by then, probably thought I was a friendly, well-meaning visiting Salvation Army “Sister Josephine” or, whomever. Shirley, who I was supposed to be visiting, was in the other bed, peeping out from behind the screen.

I withered. I wanted to disappear out of sight, and the world, forever!  Embarrassment didn’t begin to describe how I felt. I begged Shirley not to mention to “Mr. Trimmer” my unforgettable, unfortunate, embarrassing entrance. I couldn't stand the thought of them laughing behind my back at my blunder. I felt so silly. The only thing missing from the scenario, I thought, was the piece of straw from my mouth. What a “hayseed” I was, I berated myself! Shirley vainly tried to appease my feelings of desperation. I feigned her kind words had put me at ease.

After Shirley and I exchanged small talk, their newborn son and I had our first introduction. He was beautiful. He looked like a three-month old baby, perfect in every way. Peacefully, he watched in wonder at the world around him, a fine coating of blonde baby hair atop of his perfectly-formed head, chubby cheeks and big blue eyes. I was immediately smitten.

As soon as I arrived back at the office, I went to see my boss. I told him the complete woeful tale of my embarrassing blunder.  He was very understanding and gentle towards my fractured self, while laughing uncontrollably inside, no doubt, I thought. He wasn’t, I discovered later. He empathized, knowing what I was going through. In the years that followed, the story was repeated often, and became a “family joke”. There still remains a laugh or three in it to this day, and I still smile at the memory.

So my life settled into a smooth routine for a while.  Randall and I saw each other a couple of times a week when possible, and on weekends when he wasn’t doing “outside broadcasts”, or other radio promotional work. Sometimes I accompanied him to such events, other times I didn’t. Late one Friday afternoon, I caught a train to Ipswich to meet up with him. As a representative of Color Radio 4IP and one of the “Colo
r Radio Good Guys”, he was to “crown” the “Miss Rosewood” at the Rosewood Ball.  

Rosewood is a tiny country town a few miles out of Ipswich. The invitation to the ball had been extended to me as well, being Randall’s fiancée. I’d managed to coerce a dozen or so pairs of stockings and pantihose as an additional prize for the winner, by explaining to Mr. Trimmer it would be an excellent advertising opportunity for our product. He agreed.

Upon our arrival at the ball and to our surprise, Randall and I were treated like celebrities. The “red carpet” was out and “nothing” was “too much”. The ball organizers hovered around us, ensuring we had anything, and everything we wanted. It was a fun, unique experience feeling so “important”, if only for a few hours! We were quite taken aback by their genuine generosity of spirit.

Dawn, my flatmate, and I got on well together, not that we spent much time in each other's company. Most of the time, we were busy within our own lives. One evening, a few weeks after we'd moved into the flat, I met Jack (as he preferred to be called), her fiancee, when he called by our flat to pick her up for an evening out. As he hovered around the front door, waiting for Dawn to ready herself, I tried valiantly to make conversation with him but it was an almost impossible feat. He had "John Wayne/Clint Eastwood Syndrome"...he spoke in monosyllables! After three or four attempts to invite him into the lounge room while he waited, I finally gave up on him, letting him remain where he seemed most at ease, standing on the unlit balcony.

Always one who becomes suspicious if life runs too smoothly and happily, I thought things were almost too good to be true, but pushed the thought from my mind, not wanting to rock the boat. My life had settled into calm waters with blue skies above; as if on cue that was to change all too soon. Dark clouds were forming on the horizon. The thunder had not yet made its presence known, and I’d not noticed the clouds.

 

REACHING OUT TO THE CITY LIGHTS...CHAPTER 3

                                          

                                                      

Monday morning couldn’t come quickly enough for me. As soon as I arrived at work and found a couple of moments of privacy in my office space, I rang to make an appointment for an interview for the job I'd been told about at Saturday night's party. I'd checked out the advertisement in the weekend paper, and it seemed just right for me, as Beth had explained to me.

 

An appointment was arranged for 1.15pm.  It was difficult to keep my mind on dictation during the morning, but I managed to muddle my way through somehow, probably making up words as I went along. Legal terms become very repetitious after a while. I had already been working in the legal office in Gympie for five years, so I was familiar with most of the jargon, but we hadn’t handled many insurance cases and even fewer divorces in my previous position. I was eager to shrug off the coldness and the harsh realities of the city legal world, having been accustomed to a more relaxed, very often fun-filled working life at Tozer and Jeffery, the company I had not long left behind.  It had been sad for me leaving five years of friendships formed where the boss, his wife and their son treated us “girls’ as part of the family. Graham, my boss’s son was doing his Articles under his father’s guidance. He became a close friend (and still is to this day).

 

Like me, Graham loved the beach and surfing, so he often gave my friends and me a lift to Noosa to “ride the wild surf”, his carefully waxed board strapped to the top of his car. Graham eventually went on to take over his father’s business, which he successfully built into a much larger firm. He retired at reasonably early age. He and his wife then lived at Rainbow Beach, a stone’s throw and a half from the waves of the Pacific Ocean.

 

Working at the Brisbane law firm, Morris, Fletcher and Cross, was a world away from the life I’d become accustomed to in the Gympie office. There was none of the warmth I had experienced during my first five years of my working life. I was now just a number, an unrecognized face amongst many. And to make matters worse, I was expected to join a union! That fact in itself motivated me into finding another job! I had never been a member of a union, and I had no intention of ever becoming one. Throughout my working life, I never did join a union.

Dressed for the occasion, I wore my “Miss Australia” pure wool, yellow Chanel suit on "interview day", wanting to impress the man who, I hoped, would become my new employer. Hair in place, high heels polished, I rushed out of my office on the stroke of one. Striding across Queen Street towards Heindorff House, my heart pounded in my chest, my stomach turned cartwheels. Reaching the top of the stairs to the first floor, I paused for a few minutes to catch my breath, and still my thundering heart. Shoulders back, stomach in, head held high, just as my mother had taught me, I walked into the office a good ten minutes before the appointed time. I exuded an air of confidence that was lacking inside of me, which I hoped wasn’t. I tried not to fidget as I waited in the reception area. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long. Within a couple of minutes, Beth ushered me into a rear office.

I stood frozen to the spot, completely out of my comfort zone. It had been over five years since I’d applied for a job. There had been no interview required by Morris, Fletcher and Cross. A telephone call was made on my behalf. All I had to do was just turn up on the day I had specified. Now, I was face to face with a total stranger, without a clue as to what I was letting myself in for. My mind was both blank and in a turmoil at the same time. Was I doing the right thing? I was on my own with no one to advise me. Would I listen to advice if it was forthcoming? Probably not! Smile…put a smile on your face and try to look somewhat normal!

Reaching across the desk, I shook the hand of the stranger standing behind it, commending myself in the meantime for actually being able to manage that much.

“Please…sit down, Lee,” a well-modulated voice instructed me. The man in front of me smiled kindly. “I’m John Trimmer.” He was in his early forties, suited and well-groomed.

I somehow managed to find a chair, and sat down carefully, back straight, knees together.

“Hello, Mr. Trimmer,” I whispered. Where to had my voice disappeared?

Gently coaxing information from me, he said, “You speak so quietly, Lee. Speak up, I can hardly hear you.”   I think he forever rued the day he said that to me!

The interview came to an end; Mr. Trimmer rose from his chair and walked with me to the front door, promising that he would contact me “soon”. And “soon” did become soon, because mid-afternoon that afternoon I received a telephone call from him advising me I had the job.  

 

“When can you start?" He asked.

My new position was to be secretary to Mr. Trimmer, who was the Queensland Manager for a national hosiery company, Kolotex Hosiery. The office in Heindorff House included a small storeroom in which stocks were held to service the inner-city department stores, such as David Jones, Myer, Barry & Roberts, as well as Waltons, Edwards & Lamb, Bayards, Weedmans, and McWhirters in Fortitude Valley, together with the smaller salons and boutiques. Gresham, Down and Johnson, wholesalers, were agents for Kolotex. They, in turn, serviced all the country and regional towns throughout Queensland. The head office and factory of Kolotex was in Leichhardt, a Sydney suburb. All other hosiery manufacturers were based in Melbourne, Victoria.  In those early days, the Queensland office was only a small cog in a much larger wheel. That was to change within a couple of years.

Receiving the good news, I promptly handed in my notice to Tony Atkinson, the lawyer to whom I was secretary. As I had only been employed with the firm for five weeks, I advised him I would be finishing up on the coming Friday. I was to commence my new job the following Monday. Suddenly, everything was moving rapidly. I was happy, excited and eager to take the next step in my course of my life, a step that would continue growing bigger and longer for the next fourteen years.

News of my change in direction wasn’t accepted well by my family back in Gympie. My brother, again acting like “big brother” threatened to come down to Brisbane, and take me back home, saying, “You leave home and you think you can just chop and change jobs!” He continued on with a diatribe of which I took little notice, telling him to mind his own business; that I knew what I was doing. He didn’t agree, but I remained firm in my resolve.

 

My mother warned me of the dangers of “fly-by-nighters”. “A one-man-operation” was doomed for failure, taking me down with it, she repeated. I did my utmost to calm the waters, insisting I knew what I was doing and all she was prophesying would not come into being; for her to trust me and my judgment. In the meantime, Nana said little other than, “I hope you know what you’re doing, love.”

“I do, Nana…everything is just fine,” I assured her. Nana exuded a certain calmness, empathy and wisdom. She had gone to bat for me when I wanted to leave high school to go out to work and earn my own money, when my mother argued against such a move, because she wanted me to continue my schooling, attend college and become a school teacher. Unless I won a scholarship it was a snowball's chance in Hell of my family, or me, being able to afford my progressing through to college. I wanted to earn money to help within our small household, and of course, for my own independence. Nana was the one who talked my mother around to my way of thinking at that time. And, I was certain she was doing similar regarding my latest decision. I left the appeasing of my mother and my brother to her. There was little more I could do from afar, other than prepare myself for my new job, one I knew I was going to enjoy. The hosiery company wasn’t going to “disappear overnight”, nor was I!

I didn’t know then but I was about to go on the ride of my life filled with wonderful adventures and opportunities; a ride that was to last for the next fourteen years; one that would have a large influence on my life. A new world of big business, fashion parades, top models, television and radio and much more was beckoning.

 

 

REACHING OUT TO THE CITY LIGHTS….Chapter Two

 

Queen Street Brisbane in the 60s

Randall & me shortly after we became engaged...taken at Geebung, Brisbane; and the one below taken in Gympie (Beehives were prevalent!!)

                                   

About two years before I left Gympie to live and work in Brisbane, I began "seeing" a young man who arrived in town amongst much fanfare. He was a new radio announcer at Radio 4GY. The hearts of many of the local girls fluttered and missed a few beats when he appeared in town. He was handsome, cocky and single! A few times I noticed him walk by the office in which I worked, and I understood why he caused disruption amongst the hearts of Gympie’s young ladies. Dressed in his slim black trousers, white shirt and narrow black tie, he cut a fine figure, but other than my appraisal of his appearance, I took little further notice of him. 

The new boy in town began turning up at the drama club rehearsals and readings of which I was a member and regular participant. At one such gathering, he even arrived with a copy of the same book I was currently reading. I thought it was a remarkable coincidence as the book was a book on Chinese philosophy, not a one that was on the list of bestsellers. Around the same time, the brash young fellow somehow got himself onto the invited list of guests at one of my girlfriend’s birthday party. Everywhere I went, he appeared with a nonchalant air about him. I learned later this was one of his ploys. 

Spotting me walking along the town’s main street, he had made enquiries about me with one of his co-workers (who, coincidentally, remains a friend of mine to this day). It was suggested he not bother asking me out as “she doesn’t date Gympie boys”. Of course that was like waving a red flag in front of a bull! The statement uttered was true, I didn’t go out with Gympie boys, but then I never went out with any boys anywhere. It was for no other reasons than with everything else I had on my plate, I had little or no time for dating. I hated dating, anyway and never dated just for the sake of it…just for the sake of having “someone on my arm”. I was never particularly interested in “dating”. I’d not met that “special” someone whom I wanted as a “boyfriend”. I guess it’s difficult to explain. I knew a lot of wonderful young men, as friends, but I never singled out any one particular fellow as a “boyfriend”. The lads were all members of the people I knew, people who were friends, both male and female. I had a few secret crushes through the years, of course. 

One of the young men I knew, who worked in Brisbane, and who was a lifesaver in the Noosa Surf Club was an ex-Gympie boy. During the ball seasons, he came home to Gympie on the weekends, and he always escorted me to the balls. It just happened that way. We had a minor “crush” on each other, which flared up, and died down without ever being fanned into flames. That was as far as it went. Older than me by five or so years, he lived and worked in Brisbane, even though he was raised in Gympie. His childhood home was situated in a street behind the street where I spent my younger years. My older brother was also a Noosa Heads lifesaver, and they were good mates. 

Meanwhile, the “new kid on the block”, the handsome, young radio announcer, with the best voice I've ever heard, even to this day, was persistently hovering in the background, intent in his pursuit of me. I tripped. He caught me! 

At first I refused to go out with the lad called “Randall”, other than meet him for coffee or fruit juice at a local diner, telling him I was only interested in the two of us being friends. Of course, I was telling white lies to him, and to myself. The “radio announcer” and I would remain “just friends”. Of kindred mind, he agreed, but his secret intentions were similar to my own, no matter how hard we both tried to deny them. Ahhh…the folly and beliefs of a tender young heart! I tripped and fell heavily. It didn’t take long for my heart to take control. 

Randall and I became engaged on his 21st birthday in January, 1965. I was to turn 21 years in November, a few months later. He and I had no plans for an early marriage. From the beginning we agreed it was to be a long engagement. Our engagement turned a little longer than I had originally believed it would be. 

Shortly after our engagement, Randall left Gympie to become a disc jockey at the then “Colour Radio” station, 4IP, Ipswich, where he became one of the original “Colour Radio” guys. The radio station was then the most “hip” radio station in the Brisbane area, even though it was situated in and broadcasted from Ipswich. “Colour Radio 4IP” kept beating all the inner-city radio stations by a country mile by winning all the frequent ratings. It was Number One on top of the ladder of popularity. It was the powerhouse of Top Forty music in the south-east Queensland corner. 

After about five months or so of sporadic visits by Randall back to Gympie on his day off, which was a rare event, the distance between us grew longer with each passing day. Our living in separate areas was the catalyst that finally brought about my relocating to Brisbane. Brisbane was much closer to Ipswich than Gympie was. This was the perfect reason I needed! Upon arriving in Brisbane, the first few days I stayed with Randall’s parents at Geebung, a northern suburb of Brisbane. I then moved across the city to Toowong in the western suburbs to share a flat with a lass who became my “flat-mate”. And a new adventure and chapter in my life commenced. 

Toowong is classed as an “inner-city” suburb, with easy, fast access to the CBD. Everything was falling into place and working out well for me. I had a new job, which I was about to start in a few days; a new “home”’ a new “friend”, my flatmate, and I was closer to Ipswich and Ipswich was closer to me, which meant, of course, Randall and I would now see each other more frequently. Life was looking up! 

It’s funny how some things remain in one’s mind. I’ve always clearly remembered saying to my flatmate the first time we met when we were both moving ourselves and our belongings into the flat, words to this effect, “I want to say this up front…I expect each of us to respect each other’s privacy and space. I won’t be in your “pocket” and don’t expect you to be in mine.” I never needed to say those words and have always felt if I could have taken them back, I would have. I couldn’t have found a better person to share an abode with as it turned out. Even though she and I were as different as “chalk and cheese” in so, so many ways…in another way we were very much alike. Both of us respected each other’s space and privacy. The rare times we were together and shared a meal, we enjoyed each other’s company immensely, talking our heads off, catching up with what the other had been doing since last we’d sat down to talk. I always cooked (how strange!) and Dawn, my flatmate, did the washing up. We had a central fund that covered our rent, utilities and grocery expenses. We shared the household chores, but nothing was ever “set in concrete”. 

Raw from the country town and fresh to the "big city", I started working for one of the partners in the then law firm of Morris, Fletcher and Cross, the law firm my Gympie boss had rung the morning I handed him my notice. The offices were situated in the Penneys’ Building in Queen Street, Brisbane; Queen Street being the main street in the city of Brisbane. At the time, Morris, Fletcher and Cross, reputedly, were the largest law firm in Australia, if not the southern hemisphere, or so I was led to believe. There were twenty-three or twenty-four partners. The partner to whom I was secretary specialised in insurance claims and divorce matters. Walking into the building and offices on my first day was like landing on a distant foreign land or planet. Everything was so far removed from what I’d been used to in my workplace in Gympie. In the Gympie office, I was part of a “family”…a “country practice”, where I was cared for, nurtured and treated like someone who mattered. At Morris, Fletcher and Cross I felt I was just a number…one amongst thousands! I’d walked into a huge, multi-storey building housing many offices, as well as rows upon rows of typists sitting in front of typewriters in a “typing pool”. I shared an office adjoining my boss’s office with one other girl. Thankfully, I wasn’t part of the “faceless, nameless typing pool”. I had no idea how many girls were employed by the firm. I couldn’t get over the number of people surrounding me. I’d only seen such a sight in the movies. I was expected to “clock-in” each morning and “clock-off” each afternoon, as well as for lunch breaks. A “tea lady” pushing her laden trolley weaved her way around the corridors, office and typing pool mid-mornings and mid-afternoons. It was all so foreign, strange, unfriendly and cold to me. I wasn’t very happy. 

Day after day, hour after hour I was taking dictation, typing and putting together brief after brief on horrendous insurance claims, and equally horrendous divorce statements. This was just before the Divorce Law Reforms came into effect, when a person’s intimate details were still divulged in minute, precise detail. Having to read through and type such personal disclosures didn’t thrill me at all. I thought if I spent a few years doing that type of work, I would end up being a very cynical person and I had no intention of becoming one. 

Five weeks following my introduction into my new job I attended a party on a Saturday night. Gary, one of the “Colour-Radio” guys hosted the evening at his apartment in Annerley, another Brisbane suburb. Quite a few “muso’s” were in attendance, so the guests sat around listening to them play their various instruments, sipping on a wine, scotch or whatever. I was deep in conversation with Beth, who was Gary’s girlfriend at the time. We’d not met before that evening, nor, for that matter, had I met most of the others at the party. The group mostly consisted of radio and advertising people. I was very new to Brisbane, and the folk at the party comprised of Randall’s work buddies and associates. Being a newcomer to the city, I knew very few people in Brisbane. 

Discussing my feelings towards my new job, Beth said, “Hey! My job was advertised in today’s “Courier Mail”. I’m leaving because I’m becoming an air hostess. Why don’t you apply for the job!” 

Beth gave me the relevant details, telling me her boss was a good man to work for. Only he and her worked in the small office in Queen Street. The office was situated in Heindorff House, which, as it turned out, was diagonally opposite the Penney’s building that housed Morris, Fletcher and Cross. 

My spirits lifted. Perhaps there was a light at the end of the tunnel, after all!

REACHING OUT TO THE CITY LIGHTS

Tozer's Building was designed in 1895 by noted Brisbane architect Richard Gailey as solicitors' offices for Horace Tozer (later knighted) and his partner Anthony Conwell. Practising as a solicitor in Gympie from 1868 until 1898, Tozer was noted as an authority on mining law and as a Member of the Queensland Legislative Assembly, minister and Agent-General. These two storey purpose-built offices with basement, designed in a classical style have been used as solicitors' offices from 1896 until the present day.

                                                 

Taken on the steps of the Gympie law office, along with my workmates. T

Picture taken shortly before I left Gympie...at a going-away party held for me

Photo taken for the Miss Australia Quest...so many years ago...1963

                                                      

 

From the moment I left high school to commence my working life in a local law firm, I planned, when possible, to leave Gympie, the town in which I was raised and educated. I desperately wanted to "spread my wings" and fly away.

Every weekend during the spring and summer months, and more…from September through to the long weekend in June, I spent at the Sunshine Coast, soaking up the sun, swimming and surfing. During the week, other pastimes filled my leisure hours. At one point, I was a member of the Gympie Drama Group, which turned out to be a lot of fun, and so very interesting. 

Amongst my group of friends there was always a party or a get-together happening somewhere. The parties were more “get-togethers” than actual “parties”. My friends and I enjoyed philosophical debates, to try and solve, and understand the world in which we lived. We were all keen readers. 

During those years my hungry mind eagerly devoured the writings of Kant, Kafka, Jung, Friedrich Nietzsche, among many, many others. I was introduced to the works of Kerouac, Dorothy Parker and C. P. Snow, the English novelist and physicist. I became enamoured of his series of novels, which began with “Strangers and Brothers”. His books still have pride of place among my personal library. I intend reading them again. Books were a major part of my life then. They still reign supreme.

Music always played a role in my life from as far back as I can recall. My mother played the piano brilliantly, and frequently. For five years I had piano lessons, and always did will in the exams. I learned ballet for a lot less time, but enjoyed the experience. 

Music was a constant in our household, whether it was the piano, radio or recordings. Of course, as a teenager, music featured heavily wherever I went. At the party/get-togethers, and in my private, alone moments, jazz, blues, folk, intermingled with good modern “pop” and rock ‘n roll of the day were the soundtracks of my life.

In 1963 I was asked to enter the "Miss Australia Quest" as a represenative of the Gympie area.  The Lions’ Club was the sponsor of the Gympie section of the quest. My boss. a solicitor, was the president of the local club. 

After due consideration, along with three other young women from the town, I joined in with the fundraising, which was fulfilling fun. I enjoyed the experience immensely. Being a participant in the Quest, which raised money for children with cerebral palsy, helped me gain an understanding of the lifelong physical disability they suffered, and awarded me confidence within myself.   

Along with the lessons learnt by being part of the Quest, I had a very good excuse to have a dressmaker make a new satin ball gown for me, as well as a fashionable Chanel-style suit made of golden yellow pure wool. I felt very smart, indeed! My teenage years in Gympie were eventful, and filled with fun, mostly.

Employed as a legal secretary in a local law firm during the day, this was to hold me in good stead throughout the ensuing years.

However, I was eager to leave my hometown behind, and move on to a “new world”. During lunchtime one day I raced home excitedly to breathlessly break my earth-shattering decision to my mother. My great “plan” had been concocted in my mind during my morning’s dictation session.

My mother, who was dressing and putting on her make-up in readiness to go shopping when I burst in all guns a-blazing, sat patiently listening as I carefully explained my decision to join the air force. Of course, by joining the air force, I would have to leave Gympie and head down to Victoria, which is a very long way from Gympie, hearth and home. After I’d finished gushing out my grandiose idea to my mother, she barely blinked an eye, nor did she turn towards me when she had her chance to offer her opinion.

Slowly directing her gaze away from her reflection in the mirror as she toyed at her lips with her tube of lipstick, she looked at me and said, “I think that is a wonderful idea, love.”

My mother’s blasé, calm and agreeable reaction certainly burst my bubble right there and then on the spot! I had been expecting a “Battle Royale”. However, I was bitterly disappointed and defeated in one foul stroke. To me it sounded like she was happy to get rid of me! I never did enlist in the air force. 

Nor did I become a nurse, which was another of my mind-explosions one morning, with a repeated effort of running up and down the hills of Gympie to my home during another lunch hour to announce I was going to Brisbane to train at the Princess Alexandra Hospital. 

Somehow the edges of my plans were removed when everyone agreed they were good ideas. I had to learn to beat “them” at “their” own game, I decided. I wasn’t going to be defeated.  I just had to go about the matter of my “escape” differently.

As it turned out, I didn’t really need any grand plans or schemes. The day came when it was the “right” thing to do. Very few obstacles or objections were placed in my way. On reflection, I don’t remember exactly how all the pieces fell into place, but into place they did fall, one by one. I announced I was going to move to live and work in the city of Brisbane.

Immediately I started turning the wheels towards that direction. My boss, upon my handing him one month’s notice, said he wasn’t surprised at my decision. He’d been expecting it. Immediately, upon my handing him my notice,  as I remained seated in front of him at his desk, he picked up the phone to call a solicitor/lawyer friend of his who was a partner in a Brisbane firm.

“I’ve a lass here who wants to live in the city. Do you have a place for her there? You do! That’s great!”

Looking to me, my boss, with a smile, said, “When can you start?”

“Umm…six weeks, I…I guess…I’ll need a little time to settle in etc.,” I stammered in return.

“Okay….she’ll be there at “such–and-such-a-time at such-and-such-a-day”,” he replied.

That was it! As simple as making a telephone call, I had a job. No interview was required. In those days, country girls were snapped up by city law firms like we were rare pieces of gold. My next step was to find somewhere to live, again by remote control.

I wanted to find a flat/apartment for myself only. Even back then I  desperately wanted my own “space” and didn’t take kindly to the idea of sharing my living area with anyone else. My mother and grandmother wouldn’t hear of it, though. That was one thing they put their collective “feet” down upon. 

Begrudgingly, I telephoned a girl I knew who had moved to Brisbane a couple of years previously. Explaining my plight to her, she agreed to help me out if she could. My timing was perfect, again. Fortunately, a workmate of hers had a younger sister who was looking for a “flat-mate” to share her expenses etc. Everything was falling into place for me, and as yet, I’d not even left Gympie to put the square pieces into the square holes or the round pieces into the round holes. All I needed to do was work through the four weeks to the day, of my departure, pack my meager possessions and buy a train ticket.

Once again, the winds were blowing favourably for me. Our neighbours’ house was being painted during this period. One of the painters drove back to Brisbane every weekend to spend time with his family. Willingly, he offered me a lift whenever I was ready to leave Gympie...

To be continued......