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....