City Hall, Wednesday morning

Hello again dears,

OH MY HEART aches. I must leave you all, dear readers, and stay away for a time. I just can’t help feeling how much I am about to lose, I so love seeing you all at our precious Ladies Loo. When I boarded the 5C bus just outside my door I realised it was the day I would have to say goodbye to you dear Ladies of the Loo. Now, I don’t want you to fret; it’s not forever. The problem is I can’t tell you how long I will be absent.

Dears, I am torn. Yes, torn between family responsibilities and my love for you all. Oh how difficult it is to choose between two good things: knowing and seeing you all in our Loo, and travelling to Adelaide because Cecil has a new job there. Why, oh why, couldn’t he find something to keep him busy here? That’s the question.

As you know, when husbands move, we move too. The other question, thought of but not often asked by dutiful wives is ‘What about me?’ What indeed? Of course the Scriptures do advise that family duties impose the highest standards of loyalty. You will remember that the lovely Ruth, a widow herself and a paragon of virtue, promised her widowed mother that she would go wherever her mother-in-law needed her, no questions asked.

Now the problem with relatives is that they are just so awkward, and you’re stuck. You have to put on a brave face. I wonder if the term refers to the customs that once were common among native American Indians.

You remember that male persons, in other words ‘braves’, put on a lot of war paint before a battle with an enemy tribe. Did those painted faces hide fear, or at the least anxiety? And what about the wives of these warriors? I understand they were dragged off against their will to cook and sew, or worse, for the enemy if their husbands lost the battle.

I’m a bit off the track here, so to speak. However, we know that everything works together for good, as the Bible says, for them that love God, except that duty takes me away from you, dear Ladies. I’m sure I’ll love Adelaide.

I must say I’m a bit jealous of these ladies on the bus knitting booties for their grandchildren to come. I wish it were me in a way. I imagine myself as a grandmother, just for today. As you know, a grandmother will love the baby to bits and sometimes try to take over. A friend of mine said that a grandmother is supposed to keep her mouth shut and her purse open.

Just as well I can commit my thoughts to the written word, instead of boring people with chatter or advice. Someone advised that, even though one is full of wisdom, and ready to share it with everyone, it is better to keep all that knowledge to oneself so as to have a few friends left. What do you think, dears? Isn’t it tempting to tell other people how to improve themselves?

DEARS, I realise we shouldn’t put our trust in the things of this world, such as silver and gold, or our salt and pepper shaker collection. We are to rely only on the things of the Lord, as is our calling, and not lay up our treasures on Earth or else they could all be taken away in a flash. Well, I must have become addicted, so to speak, to our precious Ladies Loo, because now I have to give you all up for a time. There’s nothing like a husband to demand unquestioning love and obedience, and require that we give up other treasures, even if for just a time. I’m sorry to admit my willingness to obey, but, there it is. Cecil is a bit remote but his heart is in the right place.

I heard about someone once who played the recording of a Mahler symphony when feeling morose, so that the music would make him feel more morose. That’s me, dears. I’m feeling morose. This morning as the 5C began the journey down towards Adelaide Street, I wept. The City shimmered in the heat, and I felt it, the 5C not being air-conditioned. I’ve got eczema on my arms, and they’re very itchy, dears. Must be the stress. Packing, planning, working out what to do about the house, and so on. But enough of whining and feeling sorry for myself. It’s not suitable for a Lady of the Loo.

I MUST TELL YOU, dears, what happened to break my mood. Just as I was brooding over the impending move to Adelaide, and the loss it would mean, the 5C drew up to the stop by the Mater Hospital on Annerley Road. Shirl boarded the bus. She was carrying her saxophone. Someone she knew got on as well and bought the tickets for both of them to save Shirl the effort of setting down the instrument case.

‘Thanks, Jen,’ Shirl smiled at her friend. The two young ladies settled into one of the seats behind me. Apparently Shirl didn’t recognise me – a good thing, given that I had held her under suspicion for some time. As the bus began its journey forward along Grey Street, Shirl began to chat with her friend Jen. I couldn’t help overhearing.

‘It’s very strange,’ Shirl remarked. ‘I believe I’m being followed, and I don’t know why. There’s this bizarre little lady I often see in the Red Cross Tea Rooms as I get my tea and scones. I stop there usually before, or sometimes after, I go to my music lesson in Kings House off Queen Street. The first time I noticed the lady following me, I was going to meet my boyfriend in De Brazil, just to ask when we were supposed to meet for dinner after his band practice in the club upstairs. I thought I saw that little spy come into De Brazil after me. Actually I seem to recall she even followed me up the stairs to where the band was rehearsing. Then I saw her again after I’d left De Brazil. She seemed to be trying to hide around the corner near the Black Cat newsagency, pretending to read a magazine. It was spooky.’

As I listened, I shrank in my seat, hoping to avoid detection. Oh dear, how terrible to be found out, and to realise how badly I had interpreted her totally innocent behaviour. Oh my, I repent.

‘So what did you do?’ Jen asked.

‘I got into the cage lift at Kings House – it scares me half to death at times – and went up to the second floor for my saxophone lesson as usual.’

‘Did you say anything to the lady trailing you?’ Jen wanted to know.

‘No, but I kept a lookout for her the next time I went to the Tea Rooms. And there she was again, the old biddy. This time I had just finished my saxophone lesson, and wanted to relax with my tea and scones before taking the posters around to advertise our next gig. I put them up in the cafés, and especially in Rocking Horse Records, just down the street from King George Square.’

‘I know the place,’ Jen acknowledged. ‘So was everything okay this time?’

‘Not exactly, there’s more. I needed to get to Coles for something before closing time, so I thought I’d take my saxophone with me, plus my bag of posters, and save time before I had to get the bus home. That was a big mistake,’ Shirl groaned.

‘So what happened? Did the spy follow you?’

‘She did, the pest, but that wasn’t the worst. At the Coles checkout, I realised I was overloaded: saxophone, bag of posters, and a parcel with nothing to hang onto. So at the checkout I asked the girl there if she could provide me with a bag so I could manage everything I had to carry. “This is the checkout, not the bag department!” the checkout operator whinged. I had had enough of everything by then: spy, too much to carry, bulky parcel and a bus to catch, so I lost my temper and started to shout. The Coles manager overheard, of course, and raced to the checkout, yelling “Colleen, give the customer a bag for her parcel, NOW!” At last someone was sticking up for me.’

I sat there, chastened, making myself small as I listened to this sad tale. Poor Shirl. How could I have been so mistaken? Why did I keep on spying? I had resolved to stop. I hung my head and wept.

THE 5C MOVED ON, leaving Annerley Road, continuing down Grey Street through South Brisbane, and over the bridge linking Melbourne Street to the City. As we drew nearer and nearer to the bus stop just in front of the Ladies Loo, I cheered up. I dried my tears and for the first time noticed that some of my travelling companions, bless them, were Ladies of the Loo.

One Lady in particular was knitting a dear little baby’s bootee. The bootee under production was yellow, for safety’s sake, the colour most expectant grandmothers choose before the baby arrives. You will agree it would be dreadful to have done the layette in pink, only to discover that one should have knitted in blue. The knitter smiled at her work. She had such a peaceful look on her face, full of anticipation at the joyous event about to occur, and possibly considering going to lunch at Coles cafeteria, as one does. As I watched her I was reminded of that lovely chapter of the Book of Proverbs spelling out all the virtues of a good woman, who rises early and puts her hands to work immediately, cooking, sewing, knitting jumpers, and even investing in real estate. Yes dears, Ladies of the Loo are never idle, as you are probably all aware.

All at once, just as we crossed into the City, and the knitter was just finishing a row, the bus driver shouted ‘OH SHIT!’ in a very loud voice. The bus swerved to the left. A titter spread through the 5C as the bus driver’s neck turned red. Whatever was the matter, I wondered.

Then our driver shouted again, ‘Sorry, ladies. They’ve changed the arrows on the street, and I’ve taken the wrong turn. We’ll have to go the long way round past the Botanic Gardens so I can straighten this out.’

It was a relatively long speech for a bus driver. Then, bless her, the Lady who was finishing that yellow bootee spoke up.

‘That’s all right, driver dear, we don’t mind,’ she said in her sweet little voice, that way of speaking that prospective grandmothers have. Then to comfort the embarrassed driver further, she added, ‘We’re used to hearing a lot of that at home. Don’t worry, everything will be all right.’

There was a murmur of approval on the bus. You see, dears, as the Book of Proverbs points out, a soft answer turneth away wrath, and you get more time to finish a row before you get to the Loo. What do these Ladies on the bus want, boy or a girl? Remember Loo rules, disallowing boys over six years of age.

Our City is being renovated for World Expo ’88. Will our Loo be renovated too? The Premier would say, ‘Don’t you worry about that.’

I know we will meet again some day. I hope it’s soon.

Pray for me, dears. I need it, especially today.

Mavis