REACHING OUT TO THE CITY LIGHTS....CHAPTER 8

Oxlade Drive Riverfront...Brisbane River

                                            

                                            

Warana Festival Parade Circa late 1960s

                                        

Returning from our honeymoon, Mervyn and I settled into our life together as man and wife. I enjoyed decorating our little apartment in an attempt to make it feel like “home”. Life was fine for a while, but in time I became unsettled and restless within myself. I began to feel fenced in, trapped. Discontentment crept in. It became invasive.

What I was experiencing wasn’t Mervyn’s fault.  He was a good person. I didn’t fool myself. Fully aware I’d married on the rebound, it was up to me to face and deal with the consequences. We socialised often; spent weekends at Noosa Heads when we could juggle them in with our other commitments. Mervyn was still a surf lifesaver, and had to fulfill club responsibilities. Reading and music, pastimes enjoyed by us both, filled our quiet hours. Periodically, we enjoyed intimate dinner parties with friends. My love of cooking had a stage upon which to play. Recipe books began to take pride of place on my bookshelves joining my many other books. I was always eager to try something new in the cooking field.

Mervyn was a keen participant and taste-tester, although he constantly raised my ire when he insisted on adding tomato sauce to a bowl of Spaghetti Bolognese, or Worcestershire sauce to a special curry made from the blending of spices! To save myself from rapid increases in my blood pressure, I soon learned to hide the sauce bottles at the back of the fridge or cupboard. Without any feelings of guilt at my secretive deeds, I would tell him I’d carelessly run out of the sauces. He’d have to adapt his taste-buds to eating certain meals without the addition of sauces if he wished to survive!

Throughout the years, looking back to that time in my life, dissecting it and understanding it, I’ve spent many hours reflecting in an effort to understand my actions of rushing blindly into marriage. Randall’s desertion and flight overseas left me feeling betrayed, lost and alone, not that I admitted my feelings openly to anyone else. The majority of the time, my pain and hurt I kept to myself, with only a couple of weak, indiscreet moments. Obviously, one such unfortunate untimely moment was when I attempted to enter the church the day I chose to be married to someone else other than the love of my life.

For the next couple of years, I attempted to push Randall to the back of my mind and into a secret hidden cavern in my heart. My efforts succeeded for a short while, but persistently my memories of him kept recurring to taunt and haunt me. As hard as I tried, he was difficult to forget.  Randall had stolen my heart, and had failed to return it. Battling with the reality of my true feelings, I couldn’t get him out of my mind. His shadow hovered constantly; in my dreams, and in the daylight hours. Unremitting, interfering thoughts of him teased and tormented me. I was fully aware that I had no one to blame for my disquietude except myself. Without stepping back, spending time to think, I’d vaulted the truth, and plunged into the deep end without a life-preserver…with a lifesaver!

Almost three years into our marriage, and our life together had become robot-like. I knew Mervyn and I couldn’t continue living with our heads in the sand, pretending everything was all right. It wasn’t. Our arguments were minor and few, but we had descended into silences and remoteness. Knowing this wasn’t how life was meant to be, one evening I insisted we both sit down together to calmly discuss our situation. And we did. Brought out into the open, we were able to face each other honestly and reasonably as we dissected our lives, our marriage, and each other’s expectations and need. No blame was shed upon the other by either one of us. We had shared many fun times. Generally, we’d had a great time; as friends. We were just not meant to be a “married couple” forever.

Agreeing we were better off parting and going our separate ways, I chose to be the one to leave the” marital home”. We weren’t in a hurry to get a divorce as neither of us had any immediate plans to get married again. I’d decided I'd “been there and done that” and I didn’t intend “going there” again for a long time, if ever. Mervyn admitted he felt the same, so the idea of divorce was put on the back-burner.

More pressing matters were at hand, such as finding a place for me to move into. Within a couple of days, I found a flat in Oxlade Drive, New Farm, down the street and around the corner a short distance from where Mervyn and I had spent our brief time together. Plans were put into place for the big “move” to be on the Saturday. However, before that could happen, we received a telephone call from one of Mervyn’s sisters. She and her husband intended visiting Brisbane for the weekend. They asked if they could stay with us overnight on the Saturday. What could we say?

My move was put on “hold” until the following Saturday. The weekend was spent entertaining our visitors. Our guests had no idea of our plan, as we preferred to keep our personal business to ourselves. They were completely ignorant of how they'd upset our plans for the weekend. We could see the funny side of it all, though, carrying on as if everything thing was fine while they were with us. Not many people, I am sure, put off a separation to entertain guests!

The “exit” day arrived, again. My removal from the ‘marital home” could not be delayed a second time. Mervyn helped me pack and move, much to the delight of our upstairs neighbours who we had befriended. They were a young British couple, around similar ages to Mervyn and me. They thought they’d seen it all when he took off on foot towards my new abode with a tall bookcase resting on his head and shoulders. He’d made the bookcase for me, though not very handy in that department, he was very proud of his effort, and rightly so! The image of him walking down the streets with the bookcase aloft still brings a smile to my face every time I think about it.

Halfway through the relocation, we stopped work, and invited Terry and Christine, our upstairs friends, to join us in going into the city to view the “Warana” procession. It was “Warana Festival” week and the parade of colourful floats etc., was about to commence. Shaking their heads and laughing, Terry and Chris joined us in watching the brilliant parade of floats, clowns and entertainers of various kinds. Now they had seen and heard it all, they reckoned. No one ever stops in the middle of moving out, separating from a marriage to go and see a parade! No one except Mervyn and Lee, that is!

There was no animosity, no spite or bitterness in our separation. Mervyn and I remained friends until his passing approximately six years ago. Throughout the years he never failed to telephone me on my birthday and Christmas. I did similar.  We often emailed each other. Periodically he would phone for no reason other than to say “Hello”. He married again eventually. His wife, though we’ve never met face to face, have chatted many, many times through the years; and still do periodically. Through the years we became friends…friends who never met face to face. They had three children, a daughter, and twin sons.  They always kept me in the loop. Their daughter mentioned me when she read the eulogy at Mervyn’s funeral service. All’s well, that ends well. There was never any animosity, and there was never any reason for there to be any.

Five years or so after we separated, Mervyn rang me to enquire about us divorcing. I told him I would handle it myself, rather than donate money to solicitors for doing work I was more than capable of doing. I’d had five years legal experience. Divorce Law Reforms had come into being in the intervening years. We didn’t have joint property, or children to be taken into consideration. So, I typed up the necessary papers etc., and in time, our divorce came through. It cost us $45.00, which included my cab fares to and from the court.

I don't regret those almost hree years of marriage to Mervyn. I know he felt the same way about our time together. They were probably good for me. I matured. I needed that "life-line" to stay on course, I guess. Who knows? Life has its own mind, and plan. We are just mere puppets at its will; in its hands.

Settled into my new home on the banks of the Brisbane River, I ploughed my energies into my job with Kolotex Hosiery. For the previous couple of years, I’d frequently been expressing to my boss my dream of how positive and intelligent it would be if we could set up our own joint marketing “under our own roof”, wiping out the need of the wholesale agents. I believed by employing our own people to market and sell our products; the company would expand even further, as our own people would be working for the company, and themselves, putting their hearts, souls and loyalty into Kolotex. Something I didn’t believe we received from our agents’ salespeople, because the agents carried many different products manufactured by varying, diverse companies. One product soon became melded with the other in the minds of the salespeople. I spent hours and hours daydreaming. Even more hours were spent talking with my boss about my dream for a stand-alone Queensland office, showrooms and warehouse.

Our little Queen Street office in Heindorff House was bursting at the seams. Not only over the past couple of years had we hired two young men, increasing our number to four, but the “bigwigs” behind the tiller of Kolotex in Sydney had purchased a handbag company and factory. My boss announced his plans of employing a hosiery consultant to be placed in the hosiery departments of the city and suburban stores, promoting our lines. The consultant would be booked out to the retail stores on a weekly basis to market and sell Kolotex Hosiery. Initially my nose was a little bit put out of joint as I wanted so much to be out in the market-place, “hands-on” promoting the products of the company I so much believed in and loved. Although I said nothing about my feelings, my boss picked up on my discontent.

Taking me aside once afternoon when only he and I were in the office, he said, “Look…I know you think you’d like to do the consultancy work, but I know better. It’s not what I want for you. It’s a shit job…you don’t want it, I promise you. We are moving forwards and upwards. Busy times, very busy times are ahead of us. I need you by my side to help me do what has to be done. I want to know you will be with me, beside me…I want you to be my “right-hand-man”. This company is growing, and there are massive changes afoot.”

What he said to me that afternoon proved to be an understatement.

He poached a departmental manager from one of the major inner city stores to join us. Isabel became manager of the Glo International Handbags’ section of the Kolotex Group of Companies. Along with the hosiery consultant, our little office of two had multiplied into six. The growth wasn’t to stop there.

Shortly after the purchase of Glo International, The Kolotex Group of Companies added another company to its stables. Rogtex Men’s and Women’s Wear was the latest acquisition.

My boss formulated a plan based on his dreams and my daydreams of our ridding ourselves of the wholesale agents. He had always agreed with my vision for our own Queensland office etc. Putting together a professional business plan, which I helped him work on, he flew to Sydney to present our ideas to the “powers-that-be” in the head office, and to the Kolotex board.

Not long after his Sydney visit, we were instructed to say farewell to the office in Heindorff House. A search began for new, much, much bigger premises, incorporating warehouse space, showrooms, general office area, reception area, managerial offices, and staff room. The search for premises began, as did a search for our own sales representatives to service an area extending from Tamworth in New South Wales to Cairns in Far North Queensland, to the western border. Warehouse and office staff were part of the quest.

We were about to embark upon the ride of our lives. We were on the brink of a most thrilling, exciting and fulfilling ride; one full of surprises, achievements and unexpected occurrences. I was ready but even in my wildest dreams I couldn’t have imagined what was in store.

To be continued....

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....