​The year 1976 started out no differently from any other year.  I had been boarding with Rita for almost seven years and could be likened to one of those kids who wouldn’t leave the nest. 
 
I don’t think I ever gave much thought to what I would do, or where I would go, once Rita could no longer have me. 
 
I was convinced that I had been left on the shelf - unwanted.
 
Early in 1976 my best friend Rod died.  He was a big drinker, and I had tried to keep up with him.  With his death, I started to change my ways. 
 
At this time, I was involved with the local Victorian Railways Institute.  We were running Old Time dances in our hall, and it was my night to run them.  Towards the end of the night, just after I’d finished reading The Herald, a lady approached me and asked me to dance.
 
This lady was Doreen Bamford.  I knew Doreen, her late husband Reg, and her two daughters, from playing golf and socialising at the Golden Vale Golf Club.
 
We arranged that if either of us needed a partner for a social event, we would call each other. 
 
On Friday 13th August 1976, Doreen and her friend Val were going to a ‘Parents Without Partners’ Ball at Mooroopna, so I tagged along. 
 
From then on, we were a couple.  Before this I had booked a cruise on the Arcadia around the Pacific Islands, which I went on and as planned, enjoying the experience immensely, while at the same time looking forward to continuing my relationship with Doreen when I returned.    
 
Doreen and her mother came from large families, so wherever we went, I would be introduced to friendly relatives.
 
Doreen’s two daughters, Cheryl and Lois, were living at home, and both had boyfriends.   We decided that the three couples would marry.  Lois was first, then Cheryl, then us - in 1978.
        
Rita was at last free of her boarder!
 
Having escaped parenthood, I soon became a grandparent to Derek and went on to have five wonderful grandchildren.  They had eight children of their own and so, having a 19-year-old great grandson, we are waiting for the next generation.
 
We have had a good marriage, travelling whenever we could. We have been avid bowlers, which has taken us everywhere, and we met and made good friends along the way.
 
Having moved into a wonderful retirement village, Cooinda, our life is easy - less housework and no garden to look after.  We’ve taken advantage of the social life at Cooinda and the U3A activities offered in Benalla.
 
It is amazing where life takes you!
 
We are now 89 and 90 years old, both still able to drive and do some physical tasks, for which we are grateful. 
 
We have been married 47 years –the third marriage for Doreen, who was widowed at an early age with two young children, and the first marriage for me.  
 
I wasn’t left on the shelf – unwanted - after all!
 
 
Max Tilbury
October 2025

Walking into a hamburger bar, I noticed a uniformed air serviceman seated with some friends of mine.  "He looks like a nice guy," I thought, putting in my order.
​
I ventured over to the group to say hello.  Turning to he new man, I smiled and said, "I'm Heather".

"Hi, I'm Paul Hartland", he replied.

It was 1978 and, at 27, I worked as a duty police officer for the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF).  For two months I'd been living at the Amberley Base in Queensland, which was a long way from my home in Perth, WA.

Sitting next to Paul, I soon found myself having a great conversation with him.  "I'm originally from Sydney," he told me.  I also discovered that he was a supply clerk with the RAAF, and that we shared a love of photography.

Paul, 24, joined my group of friends, so we saw each other regularly.  We were all single, and started calling ourselves the "Glutton Club", as we went to different restaurants each pay night. 

Over the next two years Paul and I became great friends - and found our bond got even stronger as members of our group left Amberley for different units.  We began to spend more time together - just the two of us.

"I'm missing my family," I told Paul one evening, "I'm thinking of taking a month's holiday so I can visit them in Perth."

"Can I come?" he asked. "I'd just love to meet your parents."  I was taken by surprise.  "Would you really?" I said to him.

Paul smiled and nondded.

A few weeks later, we were in Perth, having the most wonderful time with my parents, Bert and Audrey Davies.

"You've finally found a really nice man," Mum told me one aftenoon.

I hadn't really considered having a relationship with Paul, but soon realised that he was serious about me!

We returned to queensland to find a message on my answering machine.  "It's my superior," I said to Paul. "They want me to transfer to the Pearce base in Western Australia."

Paul looked upset and, while I was sad to leave him, I was looking forward to being close to my family.

Soon I was settled on a new base and Paul started ringing me once a week--but before long, he was calling me daily, as our relationship grew stronger.

"I'm putting in for a transfer to Pearce," he told me one evening.  "I miss you."

But he didn't get the transfer.  "Oh well," I told him.  "Maybe another time".

Then he phoned next day.  "Will you marry me, Heather?" He asked.

"There's no point if we're on other sides of the country," I explained.

But my refusal didn't deter him - he continued to propose weekly for months!

I'd been living on the Pearce base for a year when Paul rang and said, "I'm leaving the RAAF. I've arranged a job with an aviation company near you.  I'm coming over in six months".

"Really!" I exclaimed.  "Yes," he replied.  "Now will you marry me?"

"There was only one answer I could give.  "Yes!" I said excitedly.

My family was very happy about the engagement and, a week later, I went to spend some time off with them.

One morning, as I was having a cup of tea with Mum, someone knocked on the front door.  Mum went to answer it.

"Heather," she yelled.  "There's someone here for you!"  I walked to the front door to find Mum's postie on bended knee!

"I'm acting for Paul," he told me.  Holding out a registered post package he said, "Heather, will you marry me?"

Laughing I said "Yes!' as I opened the parcel.  Inside was a beautiful engagement ring from Paul!  "This is wonderful!", I said.

Mum had told the postie I was recently engaged and, assuming the registered package had a ring inside, he'd taken it upon himself to act as Paul and propose!

We married on November 28, 1981.  Today I'm 52 and Paul's 49.  We now live in Victoria and I've since left the RAAF, but I still have a chuckle when I think about my postie Proposal!

Heather Hartland

I married young, at 23. My wife quickly knocked some sense into me. She taught me to plan, to think ahead, and to act like a responsible human being. We both realised early on that marriage might have been a mistake, but we decided to make it work. For twenty years we built a life together, raised two wonderful sons, and enjoyed happiness—until we agreed it was time to change.
 
The next decade was less structured. A few short flings, a longer one with a French Moroccan air hostess (best left unspoken). I drifted back to my old ways, living by instinct. Surprisingly, it worked. Life was adventurous, sometimes reckless, but never dull. Then came Irina.
 
There are two versions of that story. One is romantic. The other is just as romantic, but far more tangled.
 
The romantic version: Two artists searching for a place to rent. They meet at a viewing above the old Marrickville Post Office. A modest flat with a kitchen, bathroom, office, and two large bedrooms. They talk about art, see the possibilities, and agree—the bedrooms could be studios, the office a shared, if cramped, bedroom. They move in together. That was 25 years ago, and they are still together. Ninety-nine percent true.
 
The missing details: I first saw Irina at a backyard party near Manly. She was stunning. Most of the guys couldn’t stop staring. She had arrived with a friend of mine, sat quietly, and looked uncomfortable in a crowd of drunk men arguing about football.
 
Months later, another friend asked me to make up a foursome at a French restaurant. Irina was the third guest. We talked about cameras, art, and life. She told me she was a nurse in a children’s cancer ward, exhausted by the relentless loss of life around her. I urged her to apply to art school and offered a way to cut costs —share a flat with me in Canterbury. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
 
At the same time, I was completing a master’s degree at the Australian Film Television and Radio School. Of course, sharing a flat wasn’t easy. I’m Irish by descent. Irina, Polish descent. Our views on living arrangements clashed often, leading to short, fiery altercations. By the time the lease ended, we were both considering separate paths. And that’s when the truly romantic story begins.
 
Ten years ago we moved from Perth to Benalla. My youngest son, Craig, now works as a paramedic in Numurkah. My eldest, Kim, is a filmmaker, constantly travelling—at present he’s in Cambodia. And Irina and I? Still together. Still creating; Still writing our story ...

Merv Beamish
​September 2025

​It all started when I was 18 and decided I wanted to travel and see the world.  I had finished my secretarial course at the Frankston Technical College and was working in the city, travelling in every day on the red rattler.
 
My neighbour had mentioned she was eager to go travelling, so we mapped out our plan and decided to save for a year.  Halfway through the year she changed her mind, so I was left thinking did I really want to travel alone?  
 
But then a work mate had a friend who was contemplating going overseas. I met Ann and that was the start of a special friendship which has spanned 53 years.  ​
​Ann and I sailed to the UK on the Australis on the 5th of March 1972, stopping at 9 ports on the way.  We were on ‘D’ deck in a 4-berth cabin with an English lady and her daughter.  They became great friends, and we visited them in Manchester the following year.  Most of the travellers on board were Australians wanting to explore the world like us

​The ports we visited were Auckland, Suva, Acapulco, Balboa in the Panama Canal, Fort Lauderdale, Lisbon, Rotterdam and finally Southampton.  We always went ashore together, as it was a new adventure for both of us. 
 
My favourite city was Lisbon, our first taste of Europe.  The streets were cobbled. a testament to Portugal with its beautiful buildings, its tiled facades.  The craftsmanship was a symbol of the city’s rich history.
 
We docked at Southampton after five weeks on board.  It was good to be back on land and to be beginning a new episode in our lives.
 
During this time, we experienced the highs and lows of living in London.  In 1973/74 there were numerous bombings by the IRA in London which stemmed from the IRA ending British rule in Northern Ireland.
 
One high was the Trooping of the Colours in June, when the whole city celebrated the Queen’s birthday.  It was truly a wonderful sight, just a sea of faces and flags leading up the mall to Buckingham Palace.

​We were able to get plenty of temporary work as Australians had a reputation of being good workers.  We usually worked for a couple of months then travelled. 
 
We rented a flat in Hampstead and had a regular flow of visiting Australian friends staying.  We also flatted in Kilburn High Road, a very Irish area, but we found the people very friendly and no bombs.
 
We travelled extensively throughout the UK and Europe over the next two years.
 
One especially good trip was when we answered an advertisement at Australia House for companions to travel around Europe.  So, we applied.  There were four of us.  We travelled around Europe for 9 weeks in a VW Kombi Van, visiting 16 countries.

​The van was decked out for two sleepers, usually us, as the guys had a tent.
However, when it was wet, we all had to bunk in the van together! 
 
Sometimes we were held up at borders for hours getting our passports stamped and changing currencies.  A fabulous way to see Europe. 
 
Ann and I have long lasting memories of our travels.  Even though we have gone our separate ways, we still have an everlasting friendship.

Robyn Desmier
​August 2025

​When people ask us how we met, my husband and I laugh sheepishly and confess we met in smokers corner at a series of seminars about learning to be single. We finally gave up the smokes, but, with our 35th wedding anniversary approaching, there are no regrets about failing a course on single life.
 
George Orwell had already predicted 1984 to be an ominous year and it was certainly a turbulent year for myself and my inaugural husband and our children as we grappled with the new reality of separate lives. The transition from suburban married to single life was challenging. Most of my friends and work colleagues were in a couples relationship and I was suddenly the odd one out.
 
I could have condemned “Perfect Match” as superficial contrived television but it became a guilty pleasure after work: 5.30 daily. At least the participants were single and proud, not sitting around feeling sorry for themselves.
 
A single friend and I decided to try out a city nightclub. We dressed up but not enough. Our heels weren’t high enough, our dresses not figure hugging enough, our hair not teased and lacquered enough. No one spoke to us except one man who regaled us with stories about his time in Long Bay jail. Fortunately, he drifted off after a while and we made our escape, nervously watching that we weren’t being followed. Most of my forays into the “single scene” were equally disastrous.
 
I found satisfaction in work, family life and friends. I planned to remain independently single for the foreseeable future.
 
Divorce rates increased in the 1980s after reforms to the Family Law Act. The Cairnmillar Institute in Camberwell advertised a series of seminars for single people. After some hesitation, I finally enrolled - late. There were topics such as financial management, children and divorce, coping alone and goal setting. I skipped the sessions on single socialising. The evening would start with a talk/lecture by an expert, followed by a short break, then small group discussion about that week’s topic.
 
During the short break, there was just enough time for one cigarette and a brief chat in the crowded smokers courtyard. The tall guy with blue eyes and dark curly hair seemed quite nice. A few weeks later, I decided that maybe there would be no harm in joining the coffee and chat supper group. He wasn’t there the first evening. The second time I joined the supper group, we left at the same time and found ourselves heading across the road together. “The old Ford’s my car,” he announced sheepishly.
 
“That’s my little Ford van behind,” I admitted.
 
At the final gathering in smokers corner, I was in a quandary. Should I give him my phone number? We could be friends. The opportunity seemed to disappear as the group separated. Someone tapped me lightly on the shoulder,
 
“This is my phone number if you’d like to keep I touch.” “Thanks,” I said.
 
We married in 1990 at the Astor Theatre in St Kilda and had the after party in our new home.


Anne Stewart
August 2025

​I first met my children the day they were born. The moment they were born to be exact. The relationship and feeling I have for all 3 was created at that time and has not been changed. They in turn have not changed and have stayed the same. The character and personality that was revealed that day has stayed in place.

All three children were planned. All were anticipated with love. No gender was known in advance. All three births were different experiences. There were absolutely no similarities.

The first was the most physically demanding. The labour was about 5 hours but seemed to be difficult. Lots of pain and not much movement. Drugs were administered but did not work. I had announced at least 1 hour before birth that I could see its head – and indeed I could see a head with hair. After a lot of further exhausting painful effort the Doctor finally held up the forceps in a threatening manner and this did the trick. The forceps looked both medieval and veterinary and did look frightening. They did the trick and Tom was extruded shortly after without the help of the forceps. But Tom was born drugged and asleep. As soon as he came out he was whisked away to a corner in the room and tubes were inserted in his mouth and throat. After a short time however we could hear him breathing if only like a dentists suction tube. This was a relief. Normal breathing was soon resumed. The Doctor checked him over before he commenced the tiresome duty of sewing Jenny up. After Jenny was sewn up Tom was handed to us. He still had his eyes closed. We both held him close to our faces. He opened his eyes. Looking straight at us. Seemingly in recognition. HELLO. Hello we both said in unison.

Jenny asked for a cup of tea – the first she had had in 8 months. She had gone off tea while pregnant. Tom still looks at us in the same recognising way.

The next birth was on a Saturday morning. Jenny had feelings she wasn't sure of so she phoned the hospital they said to come in. There was no urgency. No hurry. However the moment we walked into the ward area she had a massive contraction and we were shown into the birthing room. We were welcomed by what appeared to be a 19 year old girl. What had happened on the previous Wednesday was that Jenny’s Doctor had been killed in a car accident. We had not been told anything apart that he was dead. I did not exactly ask if the girl was here on work study or what school she went to but she could see my concern and she laughingly explained that she was a Doctor – the Hospital Registrar and she was here to supervise the birth.

And she was wonderful. She took charge straight away. Jenny went into deep contractions close together and The Doctor announced that the birth was imminent. She just had to break the waters. Which she did and indeed the waters came gushing out like a fountain. She then told Jenny to stop pushing as he was coming too quickly. She said she wanted to get the head right. She inserted her hand into Jenny and held James down while keeping Jenny calm. She then said OK push and James immediately came out. He almost shot out. It was like he was coming out of underwater. As he came out he put his hands in the air as if to cheer that he had made it out. He started crying immediately. He was placed on Jenny’s chest while the umbilical chord was cut and he immediately tried to suck. He had dark hair. Lots of it. He was happy to be alive.

The third came slowly but surely. Were they contractions she was having? Should we go to the hospital or should we wait. We went to the Hospital and waited there. Jenny said it felt different. It must be a girl. It wasn't a big thing. We did not mind.

Suddenly things sped up. Jenny said she felt she was not prepared. And there was no Doctor there. He was away on an urgent case. There were two midwives and they reassured her that all was well and they would handle it. And they did. Their technique was to urge breathing deeply with every contraction. Jenny tried but requested gas and took it in hungrily. They reassured her that everything was OK. The baby was pointing the right way. They had their listening devices and they could tell the baby was not stressed. Their listening devices looked over 100 years old but they knew what they were doing. They appeared to be made out of Bakelite. They kept placing them on Jenny’s stomach and listening on the other end. Everything was OK. Just keep breathing and don't do any pushing as yet. Jenny said that she could not help pushing. She was worried she might want to go to the toilet. Not possible said the midwives. Don t worry about it. Just don't push. Jenny said she couldn't not push. "OK, Push" they said. She pushed with relief. And Alexander was born shortly after without too much trouble. He came out like he was still in the foetal position. The first thing I saw was his testicles. There was no mistaking him for a girl. I told Jenny and she was pleased. Another boy. Alex cried for a short while but then seemed to relax and went to sleep lying on Jenny’s chest.


Neville Gibb
September 2018