Category Archives: music

Home From Work- Friday Fictioneers: 30th March, 2023.

Right from birth, Karen had never understood her creative, dreamy daughter, Matilda. A marine biologist, her entire world was classified into the natural order of things while Matilda didn’t fit into any category, and she couldn’t get a diagnosis!

“Matilda!” she screamed after stepping on a wet painting.

Battling long covid, now more than ever she questioned:“Why couldn’t I have a normal child?”

Karen fell into her chair, immediately leaping to her feet. The neck of Matilda’s violin had snapped like a dead man hanging from a noose, and Karen had become “The Scream”.  

That was it! No more violin.


100 words PHOTO PROMPT © Amanda Forestwood

I was delighted to see this week’s prompt as I play the violin, although I stop well short of calling myself a violinist these days. Practice had dropped off before my lessons stopped during covid, but I’ve been picking it up a bit again lately and am practicing Peter Allen’s hit: “I Still Call Australia Home”. My mother used to play it on the piano and I’m wanting to play it with her and I really do love the words of the song.

The Scream by Edvard Munch

When I was growing up, Mum would occasionally lose patience with the eccentricity of the rest of us and ask: “Why can’t this family be normal?” Mum played things pretty much by the book but the rest of us didn’t even know where to find it. As it turned out, in my mid-20’s I was diagnosed with hydrocephalus and had a shunt inserted to sort things out. Being creative, I wasn’t exactly “fixed” but I was a new improved version of myself and at least I wasn’t falling over all the time.

It wouldn’t surprise me if my husband had told me not to leave my violin on a chair in case someone sat on it; and I’m probably lucky my violin’s still in one piece.

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields at Addicted to Purple.

Best wishes,


Violin Concert 2015.

Frozen: Friday Fictioneers: 16th February, 2023

More Cyrano de Bergerac than a handsome Romeo, Josph knew Jasmin would never love him back. still, he dreamed. A musical theatre obsessive, he’s pass by Jasmine’s flat singing: “Jasmine, I once met a girl called Jasmine!” at full blast in his head. No humble crush, Joseph was burning up.

Suddenly, Joseph stopped. A voice was mournfully singing: “Where Is Love?” from Oliver.

He knew he voice anywhere. They’d played Danny and Sandy together in Grease the Musical together.

As much as he yearned to sing: “I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You,” Joseph was frozen.

What to do next?


100 words PHOTO PROMPT © Lisa Fox

This is another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields from Addicted to Purple.

Best wishes,




Temptation…Friday Fictioneers: 27th October, 2022.

It had to be a sign…an abandoned guitar propped up against the tree in the middle of nowhere. It was hers.

A virtuoso violinist, Charlotte had been thinking about switching to guitar and jamming with the cool kids down at the park. She was sick of being different – the lone violinist accompanying the wind.

Besides, this guitar was asking to be taken.

Suddenly, she heard Charlton Heston’s voice booming out with unequivocal ancient authority: “Thou shalt not steal”.

“Little Miss Goody Two Shoes” couldn’t argue with Moses.

Capitulating, Charlotte left the guitar behind and kept walking.

Violin it is.


99 words PHOTO PROMPT © Bill Reynolds

As you might be aware I play the violin. Well, I played the violin right up to the start of covid. It is a relatively lonely instrument unless you belong to an orchestra or ensemble of sorts while guitar is much more social at least where we live.

By the way, Charlton Heston played Moses in The Ten Commandments.

This is another contribution to Friday Fictioneers kindly hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

BTW I mixed up the photo prompts this week and responded to last week’s by mistake and it’s too late to add it to the link but perhaps you’d still like to check it out, especially if you have views on minimalism versus hoarding.

Here’s the link: The Last Word.

Best wishes,


The Silent Type – Friday Fictioneers: 1st June, 2022.

The coast was clear. Max crept up the fire escape, through the open window into Gorjess’s bedroom. Wrapping himself in her pink sheet, he inhaled her sweet scent.

“OMG! I can’t even speak to her at school. Yet, here I am in her inner sanctum”.

“What the hell?!!” Jess screamed.

Caught in the act, Max ran. Wednesday 5.00pm…she was supposed to be at netball.

Soon, the cops turned up.

“Breaking and entering… what were you thinking?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “I just wanted to be near her.”

“I don’t get the next generation,” the Sergeant groaned. “Whatever happened to saying hello?”


100 words PHOTO PROMPT © Lisa Fox

This story was inspired by Chase Holfelder’s reinterpretation of The Police’s: Every Breath You Take in a minor key. I’d love to hear your thoughts. It’s so creepy!

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by our intrepid leader, Rochelle Wishoff-Fields at

Best wishes,


PS Thought this photo my daughter doctored of me on the weekend might give you a laugh.

Australia’s “Women At The Top” – 1961.

Years ago, I stumbled across an intriguing press clipping from the early 60’s about a celebratory dinner: Women at the Top. The timing of this dinner, along with the fact my grandmother, concert pianist Eunice Gardiner, was invited aroused my insatiable curiosity. Who were these women, and what did they do to get to the top?

However, this was long before Australia’s newspapers and magazines had been uploaded, and unfortunately my curiosity ended up in the too hard basket.

That changed last week.

After reading Mark Lamprell’s: The Secret Wife, I found myself thinking about my grandmother’s career again, and I remembered this reference to Women at the Top, only now I had the vast resources of the World Wide Web at my fingers tips to find out more about it. The only trouble was that the information needed to be captured in the first place, and unfortunately, this stellar event received very little media coverage.

From what I’ve been able to piece together, Sydney’s Royal Blind Society hosted Women At The Top on the 8th February, 1961 at the Australia Hotel. It was based on a luncheon held annually in London, Women of the Year. Although it was held as a fundraiser, the dinner’s primary goal was to raise awareness of women’s achievements.

Mary Tenison Woods (who also turned out to be my father’s godmother an enlightened choice for a boy I feel).

Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to find out much about the identities of these women at the top although it was said: “These women will represent the academic, artistic, literary, professional and business life, as well as the cultural and sporting circles.” It was chaired by lawyer Mrs. Mary Tenison Woods, C.B.E. In 1950, she had been appointed Chief of the Office of the Status of Women in the division of Human Rights, United Nations Secretariat, New York. Mrs Phyllis Burke was the Publicity Officer for the Royal Blind Society. She had a degree in Economics, held membership of the N.S.W. Housing Commission, and also had nine children. The guest speaker was Madame Hélène BurollaudIt, Sales and Technical Director in Paris of the cosmetic firm of Harriet Hubbard Ayer. She was in Australia at the time, and was recommended by the Lintas advertising agency. The only other women mentioned were my grandmother, Eunice Gardiner, aviator Nancy Bird-Walton and the attendance of Lady Amy Woodward,  wife of Lieutenant-General, Sir Eric Woodward, Governor of NSW, 1957-1965. Obviously, that barely touches on the 180 women who attended.

Aviator Nancy Bird-Walton in 1933 – Photo State Library of NSW.

While it at least seems significant to me that this dinner took place in the early 1960’s, the write up it received by Sally Desmond in The Bulletin was equally striking. You would hope that as a woman, she would have been pleased to see this celebration of female talent, and cracks starting to appear in what we now as the glass ceiling. You would hope for zealous enthusiasm and support for the sisterhood, even in the days before “the sisterhood” had possibly even become a term. Instead, she is rather critical, and uses her pen sword to cut the tall poppies down instead. Much to my disgust, she specifically questioned my grandmother’s right to be there: “Miss Eunice Gardiner is a pianist, but having seven children has successfully wiped out any claim she might ever have made to being a top-flight one.” Then, she launched into aviator Nancy Bird-Walton: “Mrs Charles Walton is a pilot, but she doesn’t fly a jet on a regular route.” Please! These seven children hadn’t wiped my grandmother off the face of the earth. She was still giving professional concerts, was a music critic with The Telegraph and was also a Professor of the Piano at the Conservatorium of Music. Moreover, on the 8th November, 1960 (only a year earlier) she’d appeared on ABC TV on a panel interviewing African-American singer, actor and civil rights activist, Paul Robeson on the eve of the election of JF Kennedy. This was a really cutting-edge interview especially for Australia at the time. Meanwhile, Aviatrix Nancy Bird Walton had made a significant contribution to early aviation in Australia. She’d taken her first flying lesson from Charles Kingsford Smith, pioneered outback ambulance services and founded the Australian Women’s Pilots Association.

So, given the questioning and frequently challenging tone of this account of the Women At the Top Dinner, I’ve referenced the full article, and I’d be interested to know your thoughts. I’d also be delighted if anyone knew more about it:

Where is the Top?

When I spoke on the telephone to Mrs Phyllis Burke at Sydney’s Royal Blind Society about covering her “Women at the Top” dinner she was charming but evasive. “You can come beforehand,”she offered. “I can give you a list of the women at the top table. I’m afraid I can’t tell you what the speakers will say.”

Suddenly she broke down. “I’ve had such a lot of trouble with newspaper-women ringing and asking to be invited,” she said unhappily.

“But I’m nobody,” I told her, with a trace of modesty.

“Oh, then,” she said, “do come along! There’ll be a press table where you can have a cup of coffee and sandwiches or a glass of sherry.”

So I went and had a cup of coffee and sandwiches and a glass of sherry while 180 of Sydney’s Women at the Top ate oysters, grilled chicken and pineapple glace flambee and drank Australian wines. It was an awe-inspiring spectacle.

Perhaps what inspired most awe was how those women had got themselves there in the first place.

It was a wet, humid night, but 180 of Sydney’s Women at the Top got into evening dress, then left their husbands comfortably in front of the TV or in front of a long, cold beer. Perhaps some of them left him uncomfortably getting his own dinner or putting the children to bed. Then the Women at the Top had to back the car out of the garage or walk to the station. You can’t park within blocks of the Australia Hotel, so they had to walk, picking up skirts from the wet streets. Most of them had to walk alone, because being at the top is a lonely business!

Although when they arrived many of them seemed to know, or at least recognise, each other. You didn’t see too many peering at the tags with name and Profession which each guest wore.

There were only 180 at the dinner, although it was originally announced that 300 would be invited. Mrs Burke, who does publicity for the Royal Blind Society, and whose varying achievements: a degree in Economics, membership of the N.S.W. Housing Commission and a family of nine, got her to the top table among the Women at the Top, said that 255 had been invited and there were 75 refusals. Whether 75 refused because they were unsure of their own importance or not convinced of the importance of the dinner is an interesting question.

There was a guest of honor, Madame Helene Burollaud, who is sales and technical director in Paris of the cosmetic firm of Harriet Hubbard Ayer. She became guest of honor at the suggestion of Lintas advertising agency, but Lintas was modest about its part in the Women at the Top dinner. “We heard Mrs Burke was organising the dinner for the blind and we thought it would be a good way to get some publicity for Madame Burollaud,” their representative said.

The fee for attending the dinner was three guineas, but, Mrs Burke said, although it was hoped to make money for the blind, the primary purpose of the dinner was to focus attention on women’s achievements.

The Women at the Top all sat down together with only one man in the room, Mr James Hanratty, the head waiter in the Rainbow room. His staff are all women, which might have proved something to the Women at the Top. Mr Hanratty’s nice Irish face grew red and his nice Irish brogue grew more pronounced at the idea of 180 women sitting down to have dinner together.

“Of course, I’ve, had men’s dinners,” Mr Hanratty said, “and I’ve had things like millinery shows here, but half of them are men. I’ve never had all women at dinner before.”

And that was what was mainly wrong with the whole affair. It’s all very well for women to adopt what men like to think are their exclusive callings but why do they have to emulate men’s barbarous habit of one-sex dinners? Men have no social gifts except those poor ones which women after generations have beaten into them. This is called civilisation. Men can sit quite happily like boiled owls at all-male dinners listening to boring speeches, although intelligent men will complain of how gruesome it all is, but why on earth would women try the same caper?

A luncheon would have been much better. Sydney women sparkle at all-women luncheons. They’re a strong tradition and they can be bags of fun, mostly much more fun than all-men equivalents.

Mrs Burke said that the Women at the Top dinner was based on a similar affair held annually in London. But in London it’s a luncheon and it’s called the Women of the Year.

Being at the top sounds so final. What will the selection committee do next year if it does become an annual affair?

Go carefully through the list and see who’s slipped a bit? Or will the same 180 women face each other across the same tables and the same menu of oysters, chicken and pineapple glace flambee for years to come?

Women of the Year sounds much better. If you aren’t one of the women of 1961 you might remember warmly that you were a woman of 1951 or decide that with a bit of luck you might be a woman of 1971 or 1981. Women at the Top sounds so competitive and harsh, and few of the Women at the Top looked competitive or harsh. Many of them were very pretty and most of them were very elegantly dressed.

And most of them looked intelligent enough to question whether they were really at the top and intelligent enough not to worry unduly if they decided they weren’t at the top. After all, where is the top? Mrs Charles Walton is a pilot, but she doesn’t fly a jet on a regular route. Miss Eunice Gardiner is a pianist, but having seven children has successfully wiped out any claim she might ever have made to being a top-flight one.

Some of the Women at the Top didn’t seem to be taking it all too seriously.

But as long as any women take this sort of thing seriously, no one will take them seriously.


Clearly, Sally Desmond didn’t take the event seriously, and to some degree considered it a failure. That’s a shame, because an opportunity was lost to provide a serious account of what truly was a ground breaking event for the status of Australian women. It would’ve been wonderful to have hear a few quotes from Madame Hélène BurollaudIt’s speech, and more about who actually attended, rather than the paragraphs she wasted talking about their struggle to get to the dinner itself.

Such is life.

A media photo taken of my grandmother with her children in 1960.

It would be wonderful to say that I’d managed to walk in my grandmother’s shoes in some regard. However, I did try to interview her about her career, but by this stage she was in her late 80’s and like most of us, she wondered where the years had gone and who the old lady was staring back at her in the mirror. She was very proud of her achievements and being known as “Melba of the piano” and the “Baby pianist of Bondi”. I always intended to juggle work and family myself, but my health intervened. Indeed, I wasn’t juggling anything, but medical appointments for awhile there. However, I did manage to get appointed to the Status of Women Committee of our local council, whose responsibilities included organising the International Women’s Day March down the main street. I also joined a group: Business and Professional Women (BPW) and was able to fly the flag publicly for a bit there. I haven’t given up, but I’m also aware that a percentage of young men also need to be empowered now. Indeed, all our young people are needing compassion and understanding after covid had made it so difficult for them to study, work, have relationships and essentially be young people.

Anyway, I’d love to hear from you.

Best wishes,

Rowena Curtin

As much as I’m not happy with the Queen being Australia’s Head of State, she has long been a working mother and I’ve never heard anyone look at how that might’ve impacted options for women during her reign.

Working Women in 1960’s – An Insight.

Last week, I reviewed Mark Lamprell’s new novel: The Secret Wife, and gave it the definite thumbs up. I don’t know how you define a good book. However, I would think that a book which expands your understanding of people or the world in some way, would be high up the list. Moreover, that one which inspires you to undertake your own research, would rate even higher. Not that we generally read a novel for pure education once we’ve left an institutional setting. Otherwise, it would simply be a textbook.

Anyway, after reading The Secret Wife, I’ve been thinking about the women of my own family who were living and perhaps working through the 1960’s. There was one grandmother, Eunice Gardiner, who at this point was working in the aftermath of a highly successful career as an international concert pianist, subsequent music critic in the print and television media as well as being a Professor of Piano at the NSW Conservatorium of Music. She was also a member of the Society of St Joan which was a Catholic women’s organisation which believed in equality for men and women. It was headed by lawyer Mary Tenison Woods. In 1950, Mary Tenison Woods had been appointed Chief of the Office of the Status of Women in the Division of Human Rights, United Nations Secretariat, New York. She also happened to be my father’s Godmother, which has always struck me as an enlightened choice for a baby boy.

Meanwhile, my mother’s mother, Ruth Haebich, was a Lutheran Pastor’s wife, which saw her running many aspects of their church albeit in my grandfather’s shadow. She also occasionally worked as a hairdresser for her aunt, Rose Bruhn, in Brisbane. However, that was more the exception than the rule. Meanwhile, Aunty Rose was quite a budding business woman who ran an exclusive hair and beauty salon in Brisbane and counted Mrs MacArthur (wife of US General MacArthur) and the wife of the Queensland Governor as clients. She also trained birds to perform. She had a series of “Romeos” who could recite significant slabs of Shakespeare, and used to salute the men in uniform during WWII. She also had a kookaburra, Jacko, whose laugh appeared on Brisbane radio. Aunty Rose was also performed what was called elocution where she recited poetry with astonishing gusto. We actually have a recording. It’s hard not to laugh at it now, but she was certainly a mover and shaker. My own mother had also left school during the 1960’s and completed a degree of Teaching and Music through the conservatorium (my father’s mother was my mother’s teacher, which is how they met). I was born in 1969, which is more towards the tail end of the time period covered in the book.

My Great Great Aunt, Rose Bruhn, with Jacko the Kookaburra.

My mind was still buzzing when I’d finished the book. So, I decided to get my bearings and do a little research on what was going on with women and work in the 60’s. After all, it is important not to make assumptions, and just run with appearances. I’ve read one review of My Secret Wife which says the book covers the era before the pill. However, that isn’t the case. Australia’s first oral contraceptive pill ‘Anovlar’ was released on the 1st February, 1961. The book covers the period from the  12th April 1961 through to 1972. So, it is entirely set in the in the post-pill era.

Where’s Mr Sheen when you need him?

Anyway, I came across these very informative articles in The Australian Women’s Weekly dating from the 15th November, 1967, which I thought you might find interesting. The first article is reporting on a seminar: Problems and Opportunities of Women at Work, which was convened by the Sydney Metropolitan Business and Professional Women’s Clubs. The Second Story: Sometimes She’s Her Own Worst Enemy was by Joan Cowan-Aston, Head of A Sydney School Training Women For Sales And Demonstration. She recruited women into various positions and had some startling insights. Anyway, I’d be interested to know your thoughts and generate a bit of discussion in the comments.


“Don’t’ let us get into a bog of moralising about this, saying where a woman’s place is. A woman’s place is where she wants to be.” Fighting words, and from a man — Professor E. L. Wheelwright, of Sydney University.

THE professor was  addressing a seminar on Problems and Opportunities of Women at Work, convened by the Sydney Metropolitan Business and Professional Women’s Clubs.

In a brand-new theatre at the brand-new Macquarie University, just outside Sydney, scores of women (and some men) listened quietly to this frontal attack on the traditional concept of woman’s place.

“Those who continue,” said the tall professor (an economist and himself the father of daughters), “to use the old slogan of ‘woman’s place is in the home’ have not kept up with the impact of technology on the home.

“To insist on keeping her there is like saying man’s place is on the land, when technology has so improved his productivity as to release five out of six to work else-where.”

In a democracy, the professor insisted, it should be a matter of choice.

“If a woman wishes to stay home and enjoy her family, then good luck to her, that is her business.

“If she wishes, for whatever reason, to work outside the home, then equally that is her business, her choice.”

Earlier, another man had attacked another concept, one which lies at the very heart of a married woman’s fears about taking a job — the effect on young children.

He is educationist Professor Hugh Philp, of Macquarie, father of six.

He said flatly, “Experimental evidence shows it is nonsense to say that pre-schools and kindergartens are bad for the children, and bad for Mum.

“For instance, in Great Britain in World War II women were conscripted for work.

“Surveys showed that their children in pre-school centres and kindergartens were taller, heavier, and healthier, and did better at school later.”

Still another man, economist Professor H. R. Edwards, of Macquarie, went even further: “British surveys show that there is more harmony in the home where the wife works.”

The professor (father of four) quoted from an investigation into consumer finances, made by Mac-quarie and the Universities of Sydney and Queensland, which cast much light on the working wife.

Married women in Sydney, it showed, made up 14 percent of the total workforce. (Commonwealth statistics indicate that this is about average for the six capital cities.)


It surprised me that the figure is higher for married women than single—”single” also including the widowed, the divorced, and the separated.

Also surprisingly, nearly one-third of all working wives came from families whose male head belonged to the executive and professional classes.

Professor Edwards commented: “This suggests pretty clearly that the wife’s going out to work is not only, nor even most often, a question of making ends meet on a low income.

“More often than not, it appears, it is the means of enriching the lives both of the wife and her family, in terms of the personal satisfaction she herself derives from the job in addition to her role as wife and mother; and by making possible a greater expenditure not only on expensive durable consumption items but on children’s education expenses, travel, and so on.”

However, in nearly half the sampled families where the wife does not work, family income was less than $60 a week.

The speaker quoted chapter and verse to prove the contention of the Governor- General, Lord Casey, that Australia badly needs her women, including her married women, in the workforce.

But The Best Brains Are Working To Free Woman From Household Drudgery.

By Kay Keavney

PICTURES show Professor H. R. Edwards and some of the audience at the seminar.

Already, certain sectors of the economy would collapse without them. Even in 1961, when the last published census was taken, one-third of the eligible women were at work — just over one million — and the numbers have been rising ever since.

Professor Wheelwright speculated on what would have happened if two-thirds had gone to work:

“Just think of it, one million extra producers, with incomes to spend, with savings to invest.

“They are here, right under our noses — the equivalent of ten years’ migrant intake. And with no transport costs, no assisted passages, no need for expensive missions looking for workers.

“All they need is training, re-training, the necessary facilities to help them cope with children and domestic work, and the expansion of suitable job opportunities.

“Last year the Department of Immigration spent $43 million for a net migrant intake of around 100,000, by no means all of whom were of working age.

“That sort of money would surely go a long way toward providing the facilities which would help release 100,000 women a year into the workforce.”

And there’s the rub—the lack of facilities to enable women to combine the domestic and the outside job.

It affects not only the married but the divorced or deserted wife with children, the unmarried mother, and the many single women caring for aged relatives—a high proportion, in fact, of half the population of this country.

Seminar speakers referred to other “rubs.”

They spoke of prejudice against women in all but the traditional “women’s jobs,” of low pay, unequal pay, lack of part-time work, lack of training and re-training schemes.

But lack of facilities to care for children ranked high. Before the seminar, the Business and Professional Women’s Clubs had under-taken a massive survey of their own, comparing facilities offered in Australia with those overseas.

The results were depressing, and so were the reports of several seminar speakers.

Miss Joan Fry, of the Sydney Day Nursery, and Miss Margaret Chase, of the Kindergarten Union, told of shortages of trained teachers and workers, lack of space, lack of money, and waiting lists as long as your arm.

Speakers and delegates both grew very fiery on this question. Obviously, it seemed to most, if Australia needed her women in the workforce, society must put some intelligent planning into enabling them to combine their responsibilities.

For a start, there should be a full-scale investigation into the problems themselves, so that informed action can be taken by government, industry, and the community.


Other countries are tackling the situation. For instance, in Chile, any organisation which employs more than 20 women must supply suitable child-care facilities.

Denmark, by a careful combination of government and industry, leads the world in its general provision for the needs of children of all ages.

In the United States, more and more employers are tailoring their schedules to the hours when their workers can work.

For example, in light assembly work they’re offering 9-to-3 and 6-to-10 shifts. A big insurance company has led the way by creating 6-to-10 mothers’ night shifts for clerical workers.

In many places employers are teaming two women for the one job, one working in the morning, another taking over in the afternoon.

“Many problems that seem insuperable,” said Professor A. Mitchell, Vice-Chancellor of Macquarie, “can be solved in fairly simple practical ways.”

He proudly cited M.U.M.S. of Macquarie — young mother undergraduates who have taken over a cottage on the campus, where their children have a splendid (supervised) time while mothers attend lectures.

Everyone from the Vice-Chancellor and Faculty to the local Apex Club has bucked in and given help to enable these women to develop valuable skills without adverse reaction on the children.

Alderman Mrs. Gladys Leach outlined community schemes in her own area (Lane Cove, N.S.W.) which are equally simple and practical — and far-reaching in their effects.

“Meals on Wheels,” for instance. Often the simple provision of a hot meal in the middle of the day for a sick or aged relative can release a woman to earn her living.

Where there’s a will, there’s usually a way.

There are solutions, too, to the immense problem of re-training a woman after a long child-bearing break.

Learning by correspondence is one, and it was dealt with by the Head of the School of External Studies at the N.S.W. Department of Technical Education — herself a woman, Miss Renee Erdos.

Professor Philp saw long-term answers in the use of educational TV and electronic recordings. In their own homes, women will be able to bridge the gap made by years out of their trade or profession.

Other women, who married young, perhaps directly from school, will be able to develop new skills.

These solutions and every other possible kind should be explored by the nation to stem the vast wastage of its womanpower, said the speakers.

They spoke of other problems to be tackled: inequality of opportunity, inequality of pay. They said women must themselves push for justice, making full use of their combined political power.

As Professor Wheelwright, the economist, reminded the seminar: “It was a 19th century economist who said that one could judge the progress of a civilisation by looking at the place of women in it.

“And,” he added with a broad grin, “it was a 20th century economist who said that economic development is an invitation to women to join the human race.”

Australian Women’s Weekly (1933 – 1982), Wednesday 15 November 1967, page 4


By JOAN COWAN-ASTON, head of a Sydney school training women for sales and demonstration.

“Executive Woman Wanted” -there are marvellous jobs offering for women. BUT – many are unfilled because the right woman can’t be found.

WHY aren’t there more women at the top?

“Because we are discriminated against, under-paid, exploited,” most women cry.

But from where I sit, as a trainer and employment agent for female staff, I find most women have themselves to blame for missing out on top jobs and good salaries.

And the main fault is in their attitude to their work. They just don’t take it seriously enough.

A man gets a position and tries, in most cases, to make it a career. This, in the main, is what women have yet to learn to do.

Women have not been consistently taught to regard their work seriously, although this attitude is slowly changing as the demand for their skills becomes greater.

Let me start with my own generation, the 30-45 age group.

Most of this group left school at about 16 and went to work in offices or shops.

The main aim of most of them (carefully instilled in them by their mothers) was to get married. Throughout their childhood all talk of their future was along the lines: “When you grow up and get married . . ?”

Consequently, they regarded work as a “fill-in” until they married, and the major part of their wages went toward buying things for their glory-box and saving for a big wedding. Little thought was given to what they should do after they were married.

They had their children, set out to raise them well, to run their homes-and their minds stagnated.

Their children grew older, their homes were well established, and they became bored with the monotony of housework and tea parties.

They decided to go back to work. However, what positions can such untrained women hope to get?

They are competing with girls fresh from business college and, more importantly, with women who have stopped working but have spent the ten or so years learning their work thoroughly, including new business techniques and terminology.

These last are the women now commanding good positions and salaries.

They have proved their capabilities, and now something real, and valuable, to offer employers.

The women who have done nothing but house duties for several years (and these are the women I deal with at my agency) are shocked to find that employers regard them as juniors.

Most of those I meet seem to think that because they have reached a certain standard in their private life and are of an age when they can cope with people easily, they are suited for the executive positions.

Feminine Foibles

But they lack experience and know-how, and are out of touch.

Another point is that women, although they complain bitterly that they are underpaid and exploited because of their sex, in a great many cases try to use the fact they are women to get special treatment.

They expect their boss to be sympathetic when they have an “off day.” But employers don’t want to be worried by these feminine foibles. They just want the work done.

To give you an example: Mrs. X recently completed a training course with me, as she badly needed a well-paid job to maintain a child and a home.

I placed her in a selling position, $30 a week and commission. Her weekly pay should have been about $50.

I thoroughly briefed her, told her the job would be hard work, and suggested she think it over before I placed her.

She did this and then accepted the position, and I arranged for her to start the following Monday.

She worked on the Monday and Tuesday, had what she termed one of her “bad days” on Wednesday, so stayed home. Then she phoned me on Thursday and calmly announced she didn’t like the job, and was there anything else in which I could place her.

Unfortunately, this type of incident is not rare, too many women expect “fairy princess” treatment. But mere are no princes in business. Women must forget their sex and concentrate on the job.

Another thing I find wrong with the attitude of women to their work is that it is too materialistic.

Women work for the wrong reasons. Their aim is not to do an interesting and worth-while job but to get a pay packet each week which will enable them to buy new clothes or household goods,

They merely use their employer and their job. Their minds are not on the work but on what they are going to buy next.

This wholly materialistic attitude is not new. It was there in the old days when women’s main aim was the pursuit and achievement of marriage.

It was implied in the words, “a good match.”

Just who was a good match? A man of fine character who loved his wife and children and worked honestly and well at his job?

No. A good match was the man who could provide a big house, expensive clothes, and so on.

How often did I hear in my childhood. “She made a good match and they have a lovely big home”

Although these attitudes are changing, there is still tremendous room for improvement.

In the younger generation is the girl who has been overseas and expects this to open all doors to her.

Many such girls take just any job when they leave school. They save for about three years, then go overseas.

This would be all right if their travels were designed to increase their knowledge and skills. But the majority wander aimlessly without learning a foreign language or doing any special study.

Then they come to me and say that because they have been overseas they feel they are ideally suited for public relations work or fashion compering. Yet these jobs, like every job, require training and experience.

Recently, I had occasion to place a number of women in a fast-moving promotion. One of the many I sent to the company was a 21-year-old girl who had passed my course with flying colors.

She dresses expensively (though not always in a business-like way), has travelled overseas, but has no experience to speak of. Yet she showed great potential.

She wasn’t successful after the second interview for this particular job, mainly because of her youth.

When I was talking to her about it, and discussing other positions 1 could place her in, she informed me that she thought she would like the sort of position held by the executive woman who had interviewed her.

She was surprised and, I think, angry when I suggested that she would have to wait a few years and gain experience before she could think of anything like that.

The basic attitudes I have instanced must be changed if women are to get employers to take them seriously and treat them as equal to male staff.

Young girls should be encouraged to adopt a career attitude, and to choose a job they can continue throughout life.

Ideally they should not marry until after they have established themselves in a career. And when they marry, they should not drop this career completely.

I do think it is important that a mother be home with her children when they are young, but these days it is not necessary for women to waste this at-home time and put themselves out of the running for a career later.

In fact, it is a wonderful chance for them to pursue some sort of study to increase their knowledge and skills.

A little later they can take up part-time work to fit in with young children’s needs.

This raises two important community needs for which women must work.

First, employers should be encouraged to let married women continue in their careers, by allowing flexible working hours which enable mothers to be home when their children return from school.

Secondly, a good domestic workforce should be developed to free skilled women from the home. (A very high percentage of this country’s skilled labor is being wasted over a kitchen sink, which is a tragedy for a growing country.)

Domestic work these days is well paid and is the answer for women who don’t want to enter the hurly-burly of a position in business. Such women can work within their own areas, dodging commuting problems and spending more time with their families.

Finally, in return for the equal respect of their employers, women must be professional in their work. It doesn’t matter if they are doing a part-time job for extra money or a full-time one as a career, they still must think of themselves as professional.

Women are needed in industry. They are just as clever, just as capable as men, and, provided they think the right way and are prepared to work regardless of personal problems, they will find that they are in as much demand.


Anyway, I’d be interested to hear our thoughts.

Best wishes,



Australian Women’s Weekly (1933 – 1982), Wednesday 15 November 1967, pages 4 -5.

Midnight With “The Secret Wife”.

If you go digging through my archives, you’ll notice that despite being a self-confessed book addict, I rarely write book reviews. That’s because I’m unfortunately more of a book collector than a voracious book reader. Of course, I have good intentions, and get carried away on the wings of fancy, but all too often the rubber doesn’t hit the road.

Anyway, today I’m breaking with tradition because I’ve just finished reading Mark Lamprell’s: The Secret Wife, and I’m too excited to keep it to myself. I absolutely loved it, and thought you might love it too. I rarely read non-fiction, and despite my best intentions, have often failed to finish even novels I love. So, the fact I was sticking matchsticks in my eyes to stay awake and finish this book, is a very strong endorsement. Indeed, to quote Australian music legend Molly Meldrum: “Do yourself a favour”, and read this book.

So, what was so good about it?

For me personally, I’m Australian and I enjoy stories from my own backyard, as well as reading foreign literature. Indeed, I suspect each of us likes to see our own world reflected back to us through the arts, as much as we also appreciate a more cosmopolitan diet. Yet, at the same time, it wasn’t consciously Australian and would easily translate elsewhere.

Secondly, I really appreciated the highly developed characterisation with his profound understanding of human nature. The storyline hinges on the friendship of two very different women, Edith and Frankie, their husbands and children and is mostly set in the 1960’s. Naturally, as characters in a novel, they go through many ups and downs, dramas, catastrophes and successes. Lacking in self-confidence myself too often, I related very strongly to Edith even though I’m a born extrovert and would’ve loved to be Frankie in my dreams.

I also really appreciated how Lamprell handled the interaction of this wily cast with the finely-tuned precision of a symphony conductor, yet with casual realism. There were times the characters became people I know, but I also felt Mark knew me like the back of his hand. I’m sure I got goose bumps more than once.

Another point I greatly appreciated about the book was Mark’s dynamic and complex vocabulary. Not all writers appreciate words, but I love words with a passion and am quick to take my hat off to those who make the effort (or even flourish). My kids have told me off for writing in books, but I always read books with a pen in hand, and my pen was very busy throughout (which is a great sign, btw.) I even jotted a few words in the back.

It is also worth noting that The Secret Wife is a historical novel. I was touched and impressed by Lamprell’s eye for detail and accuracy. It’s so easy to Google these things now, that there’s no excuse for getting them wrong. There is just enough detail to add flavour and authenticity, but not too much to bog you down.

All of that makes me sound intensely critical and punctilious (to steal a word from Mark). However, what we’re all looking for is a gripping story. A tale which draws us in and keeps throwing us bait until we’re caught hook, line and sinker. Where we can’t put the book down, yet we don’t want the book to end either. That is certainly true of The Secret Wife. The plot is also refreshingly unpredictable. He leads us up one path, and then we are taken somewhere else entirely, although not left alone lost in the dark either.

I know I’m saying a lot without saying much at all about this book. That’s because I know how much I hate spoilers. I just want a “yay” or a “nay”, and something to back it up. Yet, I’m busting to talk to someone about it.

However, I’m also into biography. So, once I like a book, or fancy an author, I want to delve into their head, their heart, their past, present…the works. (Indeed, I’ve been doing just that with author Ethel Turner over at my other blog Tea With Ethel Turner.) So this leaves me asking: “Who is Mark Lamprell?” and I suppose you might be wondering the same thing, and why I read: The Secret Wife, especially when I could’ve been reading your blog posts and works of fiction instead…

Mark Lamprell – Photo Ian Erick

Well, the official answer is: “Mark Lamprell is an (Australian) writer of novels and children’s books published in sixteen countries and twelve languages, including the novels The Full Ridiculous and A Lover’s Guide to Rome. He also works internationally as a writer and director in film, with movie credits including Babe Pig in the City, My Mother Frank, Goddess, A Few Less Men and Never Too Late.

There’s a more complex answer here, where Booktopia asked him Ten Terrifying Questions:

However, for me, Mark Lamprell was also my uncle’s school friend. My dad was one of seven, and being the eldest grandchild, I was only ten and eleven years younger than my youngest uncles. So, it wasn’t unusual for me to be down at the house when their friends were around. Moreover, their house was a sprawling Californian bungalow. None of the doors were ever locked, and people simply came and went. Oftentimes, we’d be gathered around the kitchen table philosophising. One would be having breakfast, another lunch and someone else having a snack. It was definitely laissez-faire, although there were still non-negotiables like my grandfather wanting my uncle to get his hair cut.

My grandmother in a professional capacity. This was for the BBC around 1938.

Yet, as I’ve mentioned before, my grandmother was Eunice Gardiner, an international concert pianist, music critic and later professor piano at the NSW Conservatorium of Music. In the loungeroom, there was her Bechstein grand piano, and after my grandfather passed away, it was joined by a large concert-sized Steinway grand, which she’d brought out from England. Having two large grand pianos in your lounge room, certainly makes a statement.

My Great Grandmother, Ruby Gardiner (McNamara) was in some ways Edith to my grandmother’s Frankie. Both of them stood their ground at times, and were still their own people. I look at this photo now with Ruby looking across and even deferring to her daughter as though she’s not expecting to be in the shot. Hadn’t picked up on that before.

So, the house had this sort of dichotomy, and that fits in very well with Frankie’s world in The Secret Wife. Moreover, like Frankie, there was so much we didn’t know about my grandmother’s career, and who she was. Indeed, I venture to suggest that everyone probably has their secrets. Things even our nearest and dearest know nothing about.

While The Secret Wife and I were obviously a very good fit, I ended up reading it because the publisher sent me a copy to review. I was attending a novel writing workshop with Graeme Simsion (author of The Rosie Project who I’ve reviewed before). I mentioned that I’d attended a similar workshop with Mark Lamprell at the Sydney Writer’s Festival, and the publicist said she’d send me a copy of his new book. I was delighted, and mentioned he was a family friend. The book duly arrived, and I thought I’d better read it tout de suite to honour the deal. No forgetting to read this book. By this time, I picked up an extra 38 “friends” at the Pearl Beach Book Sale. So, it wasn’t that The Secret Wife was without competition. I clearly needed to get reading.

Family Press Photo 1960 around the time of the TV interview.

However, reading The Secret Wife now was mind-blowing timing. A few weeks ago, I was contacted by historian, Ann Curthoys, who let me know that back in 1960 my grandmother had appeared on an ABC TV panel interviewing Paul Robeson, an African-American singer, actor and civil rights activist and soon of a former slave when he toured Australia in November 1960. The interview covered racism, equality and freedom and was recorded on the 5th November, 1960. Three days later, JF Kennedy defeated Nixon in the US presidential election, and it was broadcast on the 13th November, 1960. It was just under three years before Dr Martin Luther King’s famous  “I Have a Dream” speech, which followed a march by over 200,000 people on Washington on the 28th August, 1963. I was able to order a copy of the interview, and have been working on a transcript. I am gobsmacked.

A media shot – my grandmother with the eldest boys at the piano around 1942.

So, reading: The Secret Wife which is set in this similar social context, was an incredible fusion. However, my grandmother was leading a different life to anyone really what with her prodigious talent and being married with seven children and still pursuing her career. But I think she just had this trajectory in her mind and it just kept going. She probably knew nothing else.

As for my grandfather, there was a miniature grand piano on their wedding cake. So, I doubt he had any illusions. My grandmother, her piano and her career were a package deal. There was never any suggestion she was going to stop.

Wow! There’s been so much to think about, and more to come. For now, I’m going to let the book settle. I really want to talk it over, and share it with someone (something I obviously can’t do in a review.) Maybe, I’ll start talking to myself.

Best wishes,

Rowena Curtin

PS One thing I didn’t mention was that my grandfather was the consummate book collector and my grandparents’ house was overflowing out the back and under the house with boxes, and boxes of books. Indeed, when my grandparents first got married, my grandfather’s mother sent over his books to their new home, and they apparently arrived even before the furniture.

Don’t you just love family stories?!!

Featured image: Geoff Newton. Thank you Zac the dog for posing for the camera. Since he spends much of his life sleeping underneath my keyboard and while I was reading the book, it seemed appropriate for him to appear in the photo.

Weekend Coffee Share: 11th April, 2022.

Welcome To Another Weekend Coffee Share!

How are you all? I hope you are all well, and I thought you might like to join my friend Heather and I at a local live music venue called Link & Pin at Woy Woy. I used to go to this venue in it’s previous incarnation as a cafe and florist with my mother and kids. It’s just across the road from the train station and was particularly good when we were doing an exchange with the kids when they were younger. I think it was closed for a bit while it was being renovated and along came covid. We still have covid, but we’re supposed to be quite comfortable hanging out with covid everywhere we go, and believing it will be little more than a sniffle if we do get it. I like this venue because it’s outdoors. Well, that’s from a covid perspective. However, I also like listening to music in a relaxed smoke-free easy going venue and it also has plenty of personality or character. It’s the sort of place I’d expect to find perhaps in Sydney’s inner city around Glebe perhaps. Or, at least, the Glebe I used to know many years ago now where I used to watch a band called Paris Dumper at the Naggs’ Head on a Friday night. However, that was several lifetimes ago.

The band we saw today was called the Blind Pilots. I have no idea how they came by the name, and I guess I should be grateful that I was hearing them perform at Link & Pin and not hearing the announcement: “Your Captains today are the blind pilots”. Whether they can’t see or they’re incredibly drunk, you don’t want them flying you anywhere! Anyway, I enjoyed their music and anybody who’s known me for awhile would be surprised to see me there. I’m more of a classical violinist and tend to play Bach, and I’ve also spent much of the last week watching my daughter dance at the studio during open week. I’m actually surprised I had any watching capacity left, but being part of the audience isn’t a passive activity. It’s interactive and you need to give back to the performers as well. Not just clap at the end on autopilot either, but get into it. Smile, observe, indeed, absorb the whole experience. You might even tap your foot, and as long as Geoff isn’t with me, it doesn’t matter if I have terrible rhythm.

My grandmother, Eunice Gardiner, at the Australian Embassy in Washington in 1948.

I can actually understand why I enjoyed going to a band today. Last week, I received a message that my grandmother had been part of a TV interview panel when singer Paul Robeson visited Australian in 1960, and I contacted the ABC archives and they sent me the file. I did know that she’d performed with Paul Robeson in London in the late 1930s but I knew nothing about him. Well, that’s all changed. He was a world famous Afro-American singer and actor who had also qualified as a lawyer. Yet, his father had been a slave who escaped in his teens and fought for the North in the Civil War and went on to become a pastor. Paul Robeson developed close ties with the Soviet Union and even sent his son to school there for awhile because it didn’t have the racism present in the United States. Unfortunately, this put him under the microscope during the 1950’s in the McCarthy era. His passport was withdrawn for ten years. The interview was recorded on the 5th November, 1960, and broadcast 13th November, 1960. To give you some idea of the context of the interview, three days after the recording on the 8th November, 1960 the US elections were held and JFK won the US presidency against then US Vice-President Richard Nixon. Harper Lee’s novel: To Kill A Mockingbird was published on the 11th July, 1960, although it didn’t seem to attract attention in Australia until after the movie was released. It was just under three years before Dr Martin Luther King’s famous  “I Have a Dream” speech which followed a march by over 200,000 people on Washington on the 28th August, 1963. Anyway, it was quite interesting, astounding even, to see my grandmother, who was an international concert pianist and music critic on this panel. I decided the interview was so important that I decided to transcribe it verbatim and now I’m regretting it. It’s all so complex, and every word is so important and has to be exact. No “near enough is good enough” unfortunately. I’ve written it out. Typed it up and now I’m at the gruesome checking stage and there’s still writing all over the page. Yet, there are so many pearls in there just not about equality, but also musical composition, and every now and then I fancy myself as a song writer and he’s right into the pentatonic scale, which is sort of a musician’s ABC. Oh well. I am starting to believe ignorance is bliss. Or, that I can just stick to the words while someone else takes care of the tune. Or, I can just keep researching with writing up my results getting 95% of the way and finding it all a bit too hard and exiting stage left. BTW I am actually working on that!

Meanwhile, I’ve done two posts about our son’s trip onboard the Young Endeavour.

Prior to trying to transcribe this TV interview, I was working on collating my 100 word flash fiction efforts. That’s going fairly well. Here is this week’s contribution to Friday Fictioneers:

Anyway, our daughter is on school holidays for the next two weeks. There’s a dance competition this week, and then we have Easter next weekend.

Well, that’s left you all with an eclectic array of things to explore. Meanwhile, for those of you who celebrated Easter, I wish you a blessed Easter.

This has been another contribution to the Weekend Coffee Share, which is hosted by Natalie the Explorer

Best wishes,


Dorothy’s Gift

Dorothy had travelled the world using her magic ruby slippers, and she was no longer the fresh-faced, young girl who had followed the Yellow Brick Road into Oz. Indeed, she was now older than Aunt Em had ever been, and it was time to hang up her shoes. However, she had no idea where to leave them, or how to pass the baton on.  Immobilised, the shoes took over, and they touched down in front of New Zealand’s Great Shoe Fence. Problem solved. Dorothy hung them up, and waited until a young woman took them home…Jacinda. She had extraordinary plans.


100 Words PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

The Winston Ruby Slippers made out of real diamonds and rubies.

There were quite a few directions I could’ve taken with this prompt. I had no idea what the “Raise Plow” sign meant. Being from Sydney, we haven’t had to deal with snow plows. Apparently, the sign is used to alert drivers of snow clearing vehicles to raise the snowplow that can get damaged due to construction plates hidden under snow or speed bump on the road. So, my focus was drawn more towards the hanging pile of shoes. What did that mean? I wasn’t too cluey on that front either. However, I did recall a shoe fence we’d stumbled across on our honeymoon in New Zealand 20 years ago. That was the starting point for this story. It’s a place where old shoes go to die. However, some people seem to find a pair there as well, and breathe fresh life into them. So I thought I’d find a special pair of shoes which could be left behind, and found this incredible pair of Ruby Slippers designed by jeweller Harry Winston to acknowledge the 50th Anniversary of the movie in 1989. They are made of real diamonds and rubies and are worth a cool $3 million. Wow!

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my story and additions.

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wishoff Fields:

Many thanks and best wishes,


Further Reading:

Weekend Coffee Share: 21st March, 2022.

Welcome to Another Weekend Coffee Share!

How are you? I hope you are well, and doing okay.

We are going really well here, although our men folk have escaped down South crossing the border of Victoria and are in Geelong. This afternoon at 3.00pm our son will be boarding a tall ship, the Young Endeavour, and at 4.00pm they set sail for Sydney arriving on the 30th March nine days later. It is a trip of a lifetime. Captain James Cook was sailing The Endeavour when he “discovered” Australia’s East Coast back in 1770, and for better or worse depending on your perspective, he claimed Australia’s East Coast for the British Empire. Anyway, in recognition of the Bicentenary of English settlement at Botany Bay on the 26th January, 1788, the British Government gifted Australia with the Young Endeavour to Australia as a youth training vessel and crews, like the one our son is about to be part of, have been sailing it ever since.

The last crew of the Young Endeavour where they’re sitting like large birds out on the masts.

Rather than giving you a second-hand and poorly informed account of what it’s all about, I thought I’d share this breathtaking video from their Facebook page. It makes me wish I was 18 again and on the trip of a lifetime. On the other hand, I was 18 back in 1988, and watching the Tall Ships sail into Sydney Harbour on Australia Day 1988 when it seemed all of Australia was congregated under the Sydney Harbour Bridge at Kirribilli and around around the harbour just to get a glimpse: Here’s the video link: If you’re interested in following their journey, here’s a link to the Captain’s log:

Meanwhile, I am reluctantly at home. Our daughter had a dance audition yesterday, and I needed to be here. She’s also in her second final year at school and it seems to be assessment season. She also had a nasty virus last week. She had five RAT tests, which all came back negative but that kept her away from school for awhile too.

However, I really enjoyed watching her and the other students from their studio dance yesterday and her long awaited tutu finally arrived yesterday so it was special to see her put that on, although nothing like seeing her p on stage and under lights. I can’t wait. She will be exquisite.

Last week, we went out for a family meal to celebrate both “the kids'” birthdays. As you may recall, Mister turned 18 and Miss was Sweet 16, which are both special birthdays. We went to a so-called “hamburger restaurant” in Terrigal called Milky Lane. OMG! I struggle to find the words to describe the food, the out-of-this-world which transformed the place into an almost out of mind experience. It was so not McDonalds (which is where Miss works btw). I felt old, but it was wonderful and I’d love to go back.

I am actually getting out and about a bit more, but still wearing my mask and social distancing. On Saturday, my friend and I met for coffee at Link and Pin in Woy Woy, and we returned yesterday afternoon to listen to live music. We had no idea who was playing, but caught two acts. The second was called the Howlin’ Rats. The singer, who calls himself Harry Hobbit as is a computer programmer, during the week, had some very interesting effects with his voice which I didn’t really understand so I’ve bought their `CD and I’ve got his number. He asked me to write a bio for the band. I thought it would be interesting, and I’m rather curious. I like stepping into other people’s shoes and it’s just good to have a convo with a stranger in person for a change. Covid has ruined my social life.

Anyway, I need to dash but will be back later to polish this off.

Best wishes,