Oh my goodness. How exciting, another bonza morning. Sunshine again.

Friday was all about my long term Aussie Sheila friends, Anne and Gill, who have recently moved to London for a stint.

On Friday evening, I attended a charity dinner for International Justice Mission (IJM) with Nicky, and her husband John Barber, and some of our closest Scottish friends. Anne was my Sheila companion. IJM is an amazing organisation. I went to the Philippines with Nicky last November on a field trip. More on that in another blog.

Earlier I met Gill for lunch at The Ivy, Kensington. I had the scallops and a green salad. Gill had the tuna carpaccio and a green salad. Typical female lunch food. 

We took our daughter, Anna, to the one on King’s Road for her birthday. She had the chocolate bombe. Look on YouTube to see how they pour hot salted caramel sauce over the chocolate sphere, and it melts. Worth the calories! The food is good at The Ivy, but the décor is a feast for the eyes. They also rate high for people watching. The tables on the benches are very close, so it is hard not to overhear conversation. The gentlemen to the left had the full works – three courses. It was a reunion of sorts. One of them had been to Israel and was showing the other photos. I was listening while I waited for Gill. They had lobster for main course.  Stan the Man (Dad) would have approved. 

I go WAY back with the sisters. Anne was my first school friend. My first best friend.  I got to know Gill when I went over to play after school and on weekends. We spent lots of hours swimming in their pool. Their mother, Beryl (Bez), was a legend. She made things happen for her kids.

Anne is beautiful (as is Gill), professionally very successful (she is a mega lawyer right at the top of the tree), and we met under a gum (eucalyptus) tree in the school yard on our first day of school in 1966. Typing that date makes me feel ancient. We went to Kingsgrove Infants’ School (state), which was near where we lived in Bexley North. This area is inland, about 15 minutes from the sea, South West from Sydney. It was an ordinary, predominantly white, middle class suburb, which had nothing in common with the glamorous ones hugging the harbour like Paddington, Mosman or Vaucluse.  

45 years on… The Bexley North Sheilas

When I found Anne on her own under a tree, liking the look of her, I asked, “Hi, I’m Sandra. Will you be my friend?” And she said yes, and we started playing make believe under the tree in the dirt. I have an image of a couple of seconds in my memory bank. 

Anne and I parted company when she won a scholarship to a private senior school. Up until then we were inseparable.  She was pepper and looked like Snow White (and a lot like Cora in Downton), and I was salt, a blondie, with freckles galore. When Bev, Mum, picked me up after school, she would ask, “Why can’t you stay neat and tidy like Anne?” Somehow between the hours of 9am and 3.15pm I would unravel like a ball of merino wool. Bev would drop me off to school, crisp and neat with plaits or a pony tail. By the end of the day, I looked like I’d gone through a bush backwards; my clothes would be crumpled and covered in dirt, and my hair would be loose and flying everywhere.

Anne was always first in the class. I worked hard to keep up with her. In our final year, she was captain and I was vice-captain.

Our after-school club was the BJ School of Physical Culture (physie for short), which is still a huge craze in Australia. Back in the 60s and 70s it was synchronised exercise drills and marches to music. There were team and individual competitions (Champion Girl) at a regional and state level. Champion Girl finals were at the Opera House. I have a little glass bowl of my medals. Anne and Gill were stellar at physie, along with their older sister Jenny.

In preparation, physi girls would go to the hairdresser and have their hair put into a teased and quaffed concoction.  The hair was pulled tightly to the top of the head where an intricate bun of curls was arranged like a little crown. Then copious amounts of hairspray were applied so the hair wouldn’t move. Our Mums would get us up onto the kitchen table and paint our legs dark brown, even though our hands and necks were white and, of course, lots of fake makeup was applied. We felt glamorous, but looked ridiculous for small girls. And then we would wrap toilet (loo) paper around our buns overnight, so that the hair could be paraded around school the next day. Anne and I thought we were the bees knees and acted like preening cockatoos.  Now teased hair, fake tan and makeup are banned for young competitors. 

I’m back at the Old Rectory today. Some of my Book Club are coming down for lunch, and then I have tennis training for the C team tonight.