Edward had been going with a girl by the name of Beth whom Dad could not stand a bar of. I won’t be unkind enough to repeat the nickname he called her behind her back, but I can assure you it was not complimentary. Dad was less than impressed when Edward announced she was pregnant and that he wanted to marry her. As far as Dad was concerned Edward was marrying below his standing. Be as it may, they were married and I was their bridesmaid.
Beth had arranged for me to apply for a job at Golden Investments, which was the head office of the Golden Casket agency. She had been with the office for a short period of time before I started there. Working with her gave me a better insight of what she was really like and I knew that this girl was more trouble than what she seemed. I remember overhearing her telling one of our co-workers that Edward had ruined her life because she was pregnant. I may have been ten months younger than her, but I still knew I had more common sense than what she had shown. For a start, I wasn’t that naive that I didn’t realise that it took two to tango, and secondly, I had more self-respect than to sleep with a fellow whom I’d only known for a few weeks. She and her friends always tried to make me feel as if I was dirt beneath their feet. Maybe I was, but if I was, at least I didn’t try to blame someone else for my downfall. I think it would be a fair assumption to say that the entire Long family, with the exception of Edward didn’t approve of Beth, however, we tried our hardest to tolerate her for Edward’s sake.
Working at Golden Investments was different to say the least. There were approximately thirty girls working in one large room, each of them was as different as chalk cheese and chips. Our job entailed writing out the casket tickets for interstate and overseas customers. I can assure you that the majority of the customers had sick perverted minds, if their choice of syndicate names were any indication. Pennytration, Mickey Dripping, 041 Nought E, and I’ve got a l-o-n-g’n for u. These were just some of the requests that come to mind. All of us would have a good laugh at some of them, the more suggestive, the louder we’d laugh. One of the girls who worked near me was a girl by the name of Diana, she and I got along fairly well. We had one particular thing in common, she disliked Beth as much as I did, probably more. Well, actually there were quite a few who disliked Beth, but no one dared show it because Beth was on very friendly terms with the head girl of the office. Of course, when there are more than three females in one office for any length of time, there’s bound to be a certain amount of bitchiness sooner or later. Believe me, not one day went by that at least one girl wasn’t being talked about. One particular girl really sticks in my mind, because her nocturnal habits left everyone agog. In all fairness to her, it would be unkind of me to say that she wasn’t a full quid, but she certainly stretched the strange barrier. Betty washed her black hair in Rinso a common brand of washing powder in those days to try and make it whiter and brighter. She was a very plain looking girl who dressed in child-like dresses and she always wore black school shoes with white socks. Her hair was black straight and cut in the basin style. Most days she would come to work looking like something the cat would refuse to drag in. She would invariably give anyone who was prepared to listen to her, a blow-by-blow description of her sexual prowess of the night before. At first when I heard her telling her stories I thought, she’s got to be kidding. She was not by any stretch of the imagination a very pretty sight. My theory proved to be totally wrong someone had observed her on a number of occasions out with different fellows. Diana and I came to the conclusion that she would have to put a bag over her head before any fellow crawled into bed with her. She certainly had the entire office whispering when she started pumping No Doze tablets down her throat to keep herself awake after a particularly heavy night. It wasn’t long after Edward and Beth were married that I was given my marching orders. According to the boss, the head girl, I won’t even give her the satisfaction of a fictitious name had reported me for swearing too much. I didn’t argue with his decision, but I couldn’t help but smile to myself when I thought of the double standard irony. Hypocrisy by another name. For six months I had been exposed to reading and having to write lewd and suggestive sayings and listening to an obviously overactive, pill popping, nymphomaniac. Yet I wasn’t allowed to say an occasional shit or bloody because it supposedly offended a big fat stuck up bitch who didn’t like me.
Ah well. You win some you lose some.
My losses seemed to be far out numbering the wins though. My luck was bound to change soon though, surely to God.
I loved to dance and going to Cloudland ballroom on Saturday afternoons and to the Railway Institute on Friday nights was the most important thing in my life from the time I left school. I can’t remember what year it was when Johnny O’Keefe arrived to play at Cloudland. He made a big Cecril B de Mille production of an entrance, pushing his way through the kids on the dance floor, wearing a lime green and lemon suit. I took one look at him and said with my usual panache, ‘Oh shit.’ He heard my exclamation and with a swish of his arms he replied, ‘The fans rushed me, I didn’t have time to change’. Without batting an eye, I retorted, ‘I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire’. I know that some people may be offended by that comment, because O’Keefe is a rock and roll icon in Australia. But the truth of the matter is he was also an egotist. And as far as I’m concerned, he couldn’t sing to save himself, he was a screamer and a showman. It was around the same time that I went to a big rock concert at Milton Tennis Courts where I saw Johnny Cash, Gene Vincent and Col Joye on the same programme. I went down to the back of the stage along with hundreds of other screaming fans and we all stood in hope of meeting some of the stars. I couldn’t believe my luck when both Gene Vincent and Col Joye came down and signed autographs. I stood at the wire fence separating them from the fans, and instead of leaving as soon I got their autographs I stayed and talked to them for what seemed like an eternity. I was thrilled out of my brain when they asked me if I’d like to go to a party at Oxley. They gave me the address and told me it was Johnny O’Keefe’s home for when he stayed in Brisbane. I would have given my right arm to go, but I figured that they might have wanted more than my charm and personality to entertain them that night. I declined the offer.
I walked into the Railway Institute one night sporting my first perm which I had paid an absolute fortune for. It had cost me an extra two pound to have a secret formula poured on my head to prevent the perming lotion frizzing my hair. I had arranged to meet Diana, and on seeing her, I walked up to where she was sitting and stood in front of her. She looked up at me and when she showed no signs of recognition, I smiled and said, ‘It’s me’. She looked at me and said, ‘I’m sorry I don’t know you’. Thinking she was joking I said, ‘Ya silly bugger’.
She looked at me again and absolutely roared with laughter and screamed out at top note, ‘What went wrong, did you put your hand in the light socket.?’
‘It’s not that bad is it?’ She wiped tears from her eyes and said, ‘Not unless you plan on joining the Fuzzy Wuzzys.’ It was many years before I dared to have another perm.
I met Robin and her sister, Ellen, through a girl whom I had met at Stott’s Business College. I had known them awhile and I would occasionally bump into them at dances. Robin was the same age as me and had a bit more get up and go than Ellen who was about a year older. Ellen always seemed to me to be a bit on the shy side, she was certainly a lot quieter. Anyhow, Robin had made arrangements with me to go to the Gold Coast on this particular Sunday. After much pleading with Edith she finally consented to my staying at Robin’s home on the Saturday night so that we could get a good start the following morning. I had been to the Gold Coast with Leone on the train a few months earlier and it had been the longest, most boring trip of my life. We had spent most of the journey pretending we were cowboys shooting out of the windows at Indians, just as we had seen on Wagon Train every week on TV. So rather than be bored senseless again, Robin and I decided to travel by bus. We got to the highway in plenty of time and waited for over an hour. When we finally realised that the bus wasn’t going to show up, we were just about ready to go back to Robin’s home when she said, ‘Let’s hitchhike to the Coast’. I was not keen on the idea at all. It had always been drummed into me from an early age never to get into a car unless they were family or close friends of the family. ( Even though I had taken the risk by getting into a stranger’s car in the dead of night, a year or so earlier.) When I said this to Robin, she said, ‘That’s for kids, come on don’t be