I'm having trouble with this damned blog!!!!!   Grrrrrr!   I can't respond to comments made on my post; and I can't comment on the blogs of others at present!   Grrrrr!

REACHING OUT TO THE CITY LIGHTS....CHAPTER 10

Junction of St. Paul's Terrace & Brunswick Street, Fortitude Valley, 1960/70s

 

Sir Raphael and Lady Phyllis Cilento

Diane Cilento

Randall lounging in is apartment in New York's Upper East Side during the 1970s.

Before continuing to the opening of Baxter Street and the new world that was ahead of us all in the Queensland branch of the Kolotex Group of Companies, I’ll trace back over the few months leading up to the commencement of that wonderfully inspiring, energetic time. Having ended up in Panama after leaving New York, Randall jumped aboard a German cargo ship headed for Australia, working his way back home. He’d temporarily left New York where he’d been employed for some time with the New Zealand Mission to the United Nations, and then later for a short period by the British Embassy, to travel to Mexico. Making his way through the Panama Canal, en route south, and then west across the Pacific Ocean to Australia, he scrubbed rust off the deck of the cargo ship to earn his passage home to the land “Down Under”. 

After my marriage break-up Randall and I had restored our contact via mail and phone. Through the years of Randall's worldly jaunt I had remained friendly with his parents. His mother and I, in particular, were very good friends. We had been from our very first meeting back in 1963. It didn't mean I wasn't good friends with his father, but Randall’s father, who was a gentleman of the first degree, at that stage in time travelled a lot within the position he held with Queensland Railways. Being manager of the railway dining rooms and dining cars throughout Queensland, he was often away from home. Later, before retirement, he became General Manager. 

After I moved to my New Farm riverfront flat I decided I wanted to earn extra money. I gained an extra part-time job in the evenings employed in a small restaurant called “The Pelican Tavern”, owned by a Russian gentleman, Kyriol Wypow. 

Mr. Wypow had escaped the Russian Revolution around 1920, and wended his way down to Australia, ending up in Adelaide at first, before settling in Brisbane. He was a most interesting man. Never having worked in a restaurant, or similar, before, it was quite a challenge for me, but one I was keen to tackle, and conquer if possible. 

Friday and Saturday evenings I waited on the tables. From those two nights my hours grew. I often worked a couple of extra nights, sometimes more, during the week, as well, by choice. I loved what I was doing, and I enjoyed the intelligence company of Mr. Wypow. To the amusement of the diners, Mr. Wypow would place his monocle to his eye to view what was going on out in the dining area.

Mr. Wypow was married to a well-known Brisbane hairdresser, whose salon, coincidentally was a couple of floors above our previous office in Heindorff House, in Queen Street. The Wypows also lived next door to Sir Raphael and Lady Phyllis Cilento, the parents of Diane Cilento. The latter I am sure most readers will remember was at one time married to Sean Connery, who played the character of “James Bond”, before others followed in his irreplaceable footsteps (in my humble opinion). Diane later married Playwright, screenwriter, novelist, barrister, advertising executive  Anthony Shaffer. 

Anthony's twin brother, Sir Peter Shaffer is best known for his plays, "Equus" and "Amadeus". As an extra tidbit of information, Peter won an Academy Award for his screenplay of the movie, Amadeus, which was directed by Milos Foreman

Kyriol Wypow and the Tavern opened my eyes to a whole new world. The Pelican Tavern was where my interest in the food industry began in earnest. I spent a lot of time with Mr. Wypow, watching him prepare meals for his diners. I learned much from him. We conversed a lot. He and I got on so well. He was a self-taught cook, and he enjoyed my keen interest in what was going on around me.. I was immediately addicted to the restaurant business. 

Socially, my life was pretty full, as well. By that time, I had a fairly wide circle of friends. When Randall arrived back home in Brisbane, in late 1969 we picked up where we'd left off before he'd begun his American and rest of the world odyssey. Randall’s spirit remained restless however. His urge to travel hadn’t diminished. His adventures were incomplete. He’d not left his heart in San Francisco, but in New York. After about four months back home, he returned to New York, the city he loved so very much, but I had a dream of my own to help me through the upset of his second departure from my life. I placed Randall back into the deep, hidden recess in my heart, a place I had reserved especially for him. 

The emerging plans of our Queensland office and the joint marketing enterprise were coming into fruition. Fortunately, I had little time to wallow in my own self-pity and heartache. As before, I kept my emotions and feelings private, deciding to put all my energies fervently into the gigantic task ahead of me. After all, during the preceding years, John, my boss, and I had spent many hours discussing our dream of joint marketing. Now it was within our reach. Much had to be achieved to get if off the ground, up and running successfully. It was not only that we had put our dream on the line, a lot was at stake. We now had an extra fourteen people who were our responsibility. They had joined us in our exciting endeavour. It was imperative that it be successful. 

Once again, I had bidden farewell to Randall as he boarded his return flight to the States. Turning swiftly on my heels, I strode determinedly towards my new world, leaving the past behind me. 

Gathering together our eager, new bunch of “troops”, we were ready to “open our doors” by the time the New Year had come and gone. All decorations, fittings and fixtures were completed. The warehouse was stocked to its limit and more. Paddy, the head store-man, was diligently instructing his “boys”, with me busy interviewing, hiring and training the clerical staff. The Glo International showroom beamed proudly. Its glistening glass shelves and brass fittings adorned with its metal showpieces. Men and women’s wear, displayed prominently and decoratively in the Rogtex showroom, were ready for the first buyers to step through its doors. The concertina doors were closed between the Rogtex and Kolotex showrooms enabling each showroom to stand alone when needed, displaying its wares. The building, its interior and the warehouse were ready. John and I, along with the rest of the staff, were crouched at the starting line, waiting for the starter’s pistol. We heeded its sound. We were off and running at break-neck speeds! A commanding lot of competitors we were! 

The excitement was contagious like a virus spreading throughout the staff, but quickly came the time to knuckle down. Our dream was now a reality. The heady days of “Clings, The Girl With the Poodle On the Pack”, Kolotex’s first major entrance as high-rollers in the hosiery trade, were in the past, but definitely not forgotten. “Clings” stockings had placed Kolotex Hosiery on the map. We had now expanded that map a thousand-fold with a vigorous resolve to keep the Kolotex name foremost in the minds of the retailers and their customers. Pantyhose were taking out first spot, shifting stockings down the ladder (no pun intended). 

Head honcho, Paul Kornmehl, visited from Sydney Head Office, which was based in the Sydney suburb of Leichhardt. (During his visit he didn’t get to meet his telephone buddy). Along with Paul Kormehl, his second in charge, Eric Baruch, the head of the handbag division also visited. So did some of the other “heavies” from Sydney. Each and everyone of them were rightly impressed at what we had put together in Brisbane. 

(Announced in Sydney's Daily Telegraph....June 16, 2014 - "Leichhardt’s Kolotex site bought by Greenland Group will become apartments, loft-style dwellings and retail spaces.   Leichhardt’s Kolotex site could soon become apartments, loft-style dwellings and retail spaces but not everyone is convinced by the plan."

To be continued.....

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

 

28 Baxter Street, Fortitude Valley, Brisbane

Glomesh Products by Glo International

After a three or so years’ hiatus, interruption, detour or whatever it was, finally my life was my own. I was living alone as I had wanted to do when first moving to Brisbane. I loved having my own place and space for just me and Sasha, my spirited ginger cat of whom I got custody, of course. It was a given, where I went, Sasha went.

Like the flat Dawn and I’d shared in Toowong, my New Farm abode was part of a whole house. Mrs. Smith, my new elderly landlady, had converted the rear section of her home into a reasonably large, private one-bedroom flat. It consisted of a well-laid out kitchen, a large lounge/dining room, bathroom with full bath as well as shower recess, and a large bedroom that opened out to a small balcony with four or five stairs leading down to the backyard that flowed onto the wide well-manicured banks of the Brisbane River.

From my bedroom, I could see across the expanse of the river to Hawthorne, a suburb on the other side of the waterway. At night, I left the French doors open so I could enjoy the atmosphere of the lights of the river traffic together with the luminosity from the buildings and homes across the way dancing on the water like phosphorescence, while resplendent and interruptive in the night sky, brazenly in competition with the stars.  (Imagine being able to do similar these days.  No way in the world!)

Mrs. Smith was rarely at home, spending most of her time in Papua New Guinea visiting her brother where he had lived for many years. Her abundant rose bushes and their magnificent array of colourful blooms, not only turned the front garden into a kaleidoscopic spectacle matching an artist’s palette with their breathtaking display, but they also enhanced every vase and empty container in my new abode. Mervyn was happy. I was happy. Sasha, too, was happy, having settled into his new surroundings without a backward glance.

The outside world was changing on the business-front, and had altered in the lives of my boss and his wife, as well. A couple of years after their first son was born, along came his baby brother. The growing family moved from their apartment at the riverside suburb of Kangaroo Point into the new home they had built in Kenmore, a western suburb of Brisbane. Both boys became part of my world and I, a part in theirs.

Everything started to move at a rapid rate of knots. The search for our replacement premises came to an end with the discovery of a newly-constructed building in Fortitude Valley, an inner city suburb, only a few kilometers from the CBD. The new building suited our requirements. There was room within it for a large warehousing area with loading ramp, two large showrooms; one L-shaped, both able to be divided off into two smaller areas if and when necessary; a general office area to amply fit four work stations including filing cabinets etc; an accommodating staff room, four generously-sized offices, plus a spacious reception/foyer area to hold a lengthy front desk, receptionist, sofas to accommodate visiting clients; together with parking for six vehicles at ground level, some of which were undercover.

An architect-interior designer was hired. I hardly saw my boss during those days as he was busily instructing the architect on the desired interior lay-out, as well as meeting with telecommunications’ people, painters, office and warehouse-fitters, plumbers, electricians and whomever else was necessary to achieve the successful completion of the new home for the Kolotex Group of Companies, and its increasing family.

Four sales representatives were hired. Well, actually, two. Ken and Charles, the two young men who had replaced the original new recruit, were promoted into the roles of representatives to sell the company’s products to the trade. Charles’ territory spread from Mackay to Cairns in far north of Queensland, out west to Mount Isa, and all areas in between. Ken’s territory started in Brisbane, extending up to Rockhampton and all areas west. Ron, based in Inverell, a country town in New South Wales, covered all of the northern, eastern and western areas of New South Wales. The Gold Coast and suburban areas of Brisbane were handed to Ian.

Paddy, an Irishman (how would you have guessed!) was hired as head store-man with two junior charges. Isabel managed the Glo International Handbags and Accessories. Mr. Head and his wife joined our employ as manager and assistant in the men’s and women’s clothing section of Rogtex. Mr. and Mrs. Head were always referred to as “Mr. and Mrs.” A young receptionist, Dale, adorned the reception area. Directly behind the reception area was my new, rather expansive office. Alongside my office was the boss’ office. The Rogtex showroom was next to the Head’s office. Isabel’s office was down the corridor, around a corner, nearby to the Glo International showroom. The main protagonist, Kolotex Hosiery used either one of the showrooms when required. Two young ladies occupied two of the desks in the General Office area. The other desks were for the sales representatives and consultants when they were in-office. Pam remained our hosiery consultant, visiting the department stores and boutiques promoting our lines.

When we opened our doors in 28 Baxter Street, Fortitude Valley, our original staff count of two had increased to sixteen.

Everyone was eagerly waiting in the wings as the interior of the premises was being put into shape. We’d hired the young receptionist before the rest of the clerical staff, who came shortly afterwards, once we’d moved lock, stock and barrel into our new “home”. As soon as the telephone lines were installed into the building, Dale was set in place, even though she would be surrounded by painters, electricians, tarpaulins, ladders and other work equipment.

The architect, who was a very tall man of around 6 feet 7 inches in height, was present every day, too. One morning during this hectic time, Our boss came running into the Queen Street office where I was still ensconced holding the fort up that end of the city. He was flustered, his normally tidy hair out of place. His face flushed, angrily he tossed his suit coat on one of the chairs in front of my desk. Growling rather loudly, he raged about our new young receptionist. Our “big kahuna” in the Sydney office had rung him, and Dale, still not familiar with the new-fangled switchboard and phones tried to connect him to the big boss in Sydney, but somehow managed to connect him to one of the painters, instead! Our boss never did see the funny side of it until years later.

All I could do was laugh, because I could picture the scene vividly. I could clearly see him ranting and raving, not caring who was within earshot, while the painters tried to become invisible, one having a conversation with our “big wig” in Sydney, and John, the Queensland manager talking to one of the shop-fitters. Meanwhile, failing miserably the long and lanky architect was trying to minimize his height, visibility and presence in a corner!

The New Year was drawing close. So was the opening of our joint marketing venture. Stocks of clothing, hosiery, handbags and accessories were arriving daily by the truckloads. The little city office was looking forlorn and bare as the shining new offices were gradually being completed and fitted with new furniture and equipment. New carpet and tiles covered the floors. I went with John, our boss, to an office equipment store to choose my spanking new desk, which ended up being bigger than his! Drapes were hung. Concertina doors fitted to enable the showrooms to be divided when appropriate.

We were ready, straining at the bit. I was the last to leave the city office, saying a fond farewell as excitedly I looked to the future.

To be continued.....(I hope I'm not boring you all!)

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....