6 o'clock Rock at the Wedding

In the 1970s I had a boyfriend from St Albans. I can remember clearly the first few times when JJ and I went there. It was like being on another planet. It was so different to white bread Croydon. We used to joke it was like the Wild West, and thought it hilarious the time we actually saw a tumble weed (thistle bush) rolling down a deserted Main Road West one dark deserted night.

Many of the St Albans sharps were olive skinned and exotic and together as a gang, when they were talking and laughing, (they all had heavy new Australian accents, even the fair skinned Aussies) they seemed to have their own language and at first it was hard to understand if they were laughing at us, we were way out of our teenage depth among these worldly young men.

 St Albans sharps

As we grew up with our new St Albans friends, parties and weddings were grouse. Especially the Maltese ones. Fantastic food, attention to detail, wedding cakes with fountains and six o’clock rock music. I remember my boyfriend Chap used to joke ‘Elvis is the King of Malta’. And every Saturday night, when we were out cruising in the metallic green HD Holden, the boys would turn up the radio and sing along with the Six o'clock rock song. JJ and I would roll our eyes.

Me and JJ

I had forgotten about all of this until I went to a Maltese wedding on the weekend…

I invited Shellbelle, one of the witches from our coven (Can’t remember if I have posted about the coven, I am a social member because I am too fickle to turn up regularly to ritual) to my 50^th and she couldn’t make it. She was going to meet her new boyfriend’s parents. I sulked a little, but quickly forgot  when I heard a rumour to keep the Spring Equinox free as I would be getting an invitation. Expecting an engagement invitation, I was blown away when I opened a wedding invitation. And not just a wedding, a fantasy wedding. At Mira Mira, a venue with dragons, hobbit style houses, and a grand hall with a hand painted ceiling.

The engaged couple - 

how could she say no to a man that proposed while wearing a ‘onesie’. A bloke that is comfortable enough to wear a onesie gets my vote.

The bride and groom could easily have been the children of my old friends and it was beautiful to witness the narrowing of the generation gap as I remembered and compared the weddings of the past, in the massive Catholic church and traditional reception centers to this magical wedding.

 St Albans 1979

Sunday’s ceremony had all the pagan trimmings. It was officiated by Nicky, a pagan elder and marriage celebrant, with a ritual by High Chief Scary Fairy from Werribee’s Raven Hearth Coven. The bridal party were smudged with sage on entry into altar in the circle by a coven member and during the ceremony were handfasted and bound together with a rainbow assortment of thirteen satin cords, trimmed with amulets. 

The bride said 'We had lady bugs for good luck instead of traditional flower girls. I decided to wear a veil as its an old European tradition to protect the bride from jealous people. We wanted our guests to make a wish with a gerbera & write it on the red hearts, add it to the circle to increase the energy of our citcle. We used various traditions in the ceremony... Unity candle from Jewish tradition. Ring exchange Egyptian & hand fasting Celtic. Az isn't pagan but aligned with the universe'

 Satin cords inside the circle

Throughout the ceremony, a chorus of frogs in nearby dams sang their approval and after the ceremony, the bridge and groom jumped the besom (broom) onto the red carpet as their first activity together, symbolically leaping into their new life, leaving the past behind.

Bride and groom jumping the besom

This creative and inspiring ceremony was happily witnessed by a crowd of mixed generations, with good looking, stylish Maltese mafia types and exotic witchy and fae folk. An amazing family, celebrating the style of their unique children.

The Bride and groom

Lady bug flower girls in the background and red polka dot bridesmaids. 

Vintage pin up glamour.

 

 

 

 Best. Wedding cake. Ever.

I nearly wet my pants when the entertainer, Maltese Elvis arrived dressed in a black cape and then later had a costume change into Elvis’s Viva Las Vegas white bejewelled jumpsuit. Even the little boys and girls under ten sang along to the old rock n roll. When Maltese Wedding Elvis had a break, the dance floor went nuts to Bon Jovi’s Livin’ on a Prayer (I had to confirm with a Gen X who was singing, cos I am old).

The Bride and Elvis

 

Dad’s speech was sweet, especially when he said, ‘I loved her first’ as he welcomed the groom into the family. Mum’s was just as good, remembering Shell as Little Miss Naughty, Little Miss Bossy and always playing ‘Teachers’ and saying she now has the son she always wanted.

It was moving watching the new generation acknowledge the previous generations with gifts, kind words and special dances. The Groom danced with his mother to ‘Muma, Queen of my heart’ and thanked his in-laws for raising a princess to be his queen. Other messages from the parents were - When children find true love, parents find true happiness - Continue to make each other laugh and create new memories - You don’t marry the man you live with, you marry the man you can’t live without.

What a thrilling wedding, the Maltese mafia meets Werribee witches, bought together by Maltese Elvis, the king of Malta.

And the witches, I love them. They see me cry and just shove a tissue in my cleavage. I need one now.

 

Poster girl for ageing badly.

Awhile ago, one of the sharpies created a series of 'Then and Now' photos of old sharpies and made a you tube video. We quite like it. Yes, we may have been arseholes, but many of the ones still alive have defied the odds. Hep C, alcohol and drug addictions, violence and shitty childhoods.

One of the sharpies found this on Twitter. The man that posted this claims to be a consultant in Human Resources. He deals with people, they are his lively hood. I feel he is a tad judgmental. And really, what is the alternative? Death? I'd rather be old and haggard.

Gangs of Melbourne 1860s-1980s

This is a quick unreferenced snapshot of Melbourne born gangs I typed up for a Film student.

Melbourne has a long history of gangs and subcultures that are unique.

The first subculture was the Larrikin. It is believed the term ‘Larrikin’ came about in the late 1860s in a Melbourne courtroom, when a local foot policeman with a heavy Irish accent described some naughty boys he had arrested as ‘a larkin in the street’. The judge asked him to repeat what he said and a court reporter recorded it as ‘larrikins in the street’ and the name stuck. In those days people could be arrested for play fighting, whistling at girls, jostling passers by, drunkenness, swearing in public, loitering and vagrancy, if they had no money in their pocket.

Larrikin boys and their gangs, called ‘pushes’ are described as wearing tight black bell bottom pants, with a belt at the back to pull them in at the waist, a white shirt, and a short jacket. Often the jacket was decorated with pearl buttons. Shoes or boots in a Victorian style would be high heeled and laced, carved or beaded, and hats could be a black velvet cap, straw boater, bell topper or a wide brimmed hat, depending on the gang. A bright coloured scarf would be secured around the neck with a bone ring, preferably carved in Pentridge.  Larrikins loved going to Pentridge, they would insist on hard labour, so they would come out tanned and fit, after working in the sun and a guarantee of three meals a day. It would give them a chance to network with other Larrikins and criminals and increase their social standing once back on the streets of Melbourne. In prison, they could learn shoemaking as a trade, but often preferred to hang out with mates once back on the street.

The Larrikin girls, known as Donahs, wore fashionable frocks of the day, but in gaudy colours, with lots of ribbons and feathers and similar footwear.

The push hung around street corners, or in broken paddocks and would make their own fun, drinking, telling stories, and practicing dance moves, until the constabulary would come to break it up, which could end up in a bluestone rock fight or a chase through the brothel lined lanes of Melbourne.

The Larrikins featured in Melbourne until the 1930s. During the 1890s a group of policeman called the Terrible Ten were bought in to smash the Larrikin menace and imprison the main trouble makers, leaving their younger brothers and sisters to come up through the ranks during the 1900s. The Bourke Street Rats are one group that had a media presence for decades and Squizzy Taylor was a member before he became famous.

In the 1920s a new version of the Terrible Ten returned, to deal with Squizzy and his razor gangs and once The Great Depression started, the Larrikins disappeared from the media during the 1930s and 1940s.

During that time the media favored the name ‘hoodlum’ adopted from the gangs in Chicago and New York, so once the war was over, they were way behind in finding out the name for some of the new teenagers in Melbourne. The Bodgies and the Widgies. 

 

  A Bodgie and his Widgie (my parents)

Copying the draped Zoot suit styles of the American soldiers and newly arrived European immigrants, the Bodgies created their own fashion, and got their name from using suit fabric that was considered inferior, or bodgy which they wore with satin shirts and pointy winklepicker shoes.

There was plenty of work and money to splash out on the latest fashions and the new Devil’s music. Rock’n’roll. The teenagers stopped dressing like their parents and exploded with the new style. This was a time of moral panic, especially with young woman were cutting their hair and teenagers becoming openly rebellious, so during the 1950s the police created the Bodgie Squad, to deal with these horrible criminals.  

In this1950s newspaper report. Mr Mayor is way out of touch with who the gangs are, but right up to date with the preferred punishment method of the authorities.

During the 50s a small group of Bodgies decided their clothes were of a better quality, and called themselves Sharpies. Their look was so much like the Bodgies, it was too hard for them to differentiate themselves, and they disappeared.

In the late 50s the Bodgies were also known as Rockers and by the 1960s there were a few different teenage subcultures, the Hippies/freaks, the Stylists, the Jazzers, the Mods, the Rockers and the Sharpies. Some morphed and merged, but the sharpies quickly became known as the most troublesome. For a long time the sharpies stayed off the media radar. With their short square back, college cut hair and neat clothes, everyone was focused on the long haired smelly hippies instead. But after a few episodes of Sharpies mistaking military cadets on leave for rival shorthaired gang members, and running street brawls with the Mods, the Sharpies were recognised.

 1960s Sharpies

 Sharpie boys started off wearing the stove pipe style of the 50s but later changed to a  check pattern, wide leg trouser with 22” cuff, known as flags, with a Crestknit top, three buttons done up, cable knit cardigan and a trench coat in Winter. Shoes were handmade chisel toe, Cuban heel. Girls, or ‘Brush’ wore pleated skirts, pastel twin sets, with sandals and a string of pearls.

In the early 1970s some of the long haired teenagers decided to become sharps, and instead of getting a standard short back and sides, they had the barber leave the hair at the nape of the neck long and whispy and the sharpie haircut that became a recognisable feature was created.

 Early 1970s Sharpies

The 1970s sharpies took the fashion one step further. Flags were replaced with tight fitting, flared leg ‘baggies’, in plains and pinstripes and the cardigans, once cable knit were now skin tight and striped. Still wearing the Crestknits and chisel toe shoes, boys and the girls added platform shoes to the look, as well as Staggers jeans and other Glam Rock styles. If you were part of a gang, add in a t-shirt with the gangs name. Denim jeans and jackets were part of the look for both Bodgies and Sharpies.

 Later 1970s

In spite of the reputation for violence, all of these subcultures had their own walk, talk, clothes, hair, jewelry, music, dance, fashion and moral code that they created for themselves. We don't have to celebrate them, but their place in our history books should be acknowledged.

Bad Memory

Today some friends were talking about the Skyhooks' album Living in the 70's and I said that I would like it on cassette to play in my car. Later a friend sent me a link to an ebay listing of a Skyhooks greatest hits cassette. I started thinking about the songs on Living in the 70's, and then I recalled listening to Toorak Cowboy and noticing the country guitar twangs. So in the last two years, I have already bought the cassette, listened to it and forgotten about it.

The worst one was when I had my old XF Station wagon, I scrapped it against a yellow guard rail in an underground car park (stuck, scraped it, reversed back, scraped it some more, drove forward, scraped it some more and then drove off). I didn't get out to inspect the damage, and completely forgot that I did it. Shortly after that I lent my car to someone for a couple of weeks. Then I took it to the mechanics for a new transmission. Later I picked it up, I saw the yellow paint and scrape and tried to figure out who did it. I even looked in the car park at work for a car that colour. Who was the culprit? My friend, the mechanic, or a hit and run bastard? Then I remembered I did it.
Fuck I hate getting old and forgetful.

Hate Mail

One of a series of messages I received. Gotta take the bad with the good.

• Conversation started August 7
• 

  4:17pm

  
  

  I think it's pathetic how you terrorized, bullied, stalked, punched and harassed me in the 1970's as you hide behind your pathetic cowardice Sharpie image which translates into a pathetic loser thug gang member who picked on innocent good people and then with arrogant disregard for your victims, you write a book about your gutless pathetic gang days without so much as a thought for the people you hurt or abused in such a way that they are scarred forever. You should feel nothing but shame and disgust for your harmful actions on innocent good people. I didn't do anything to you. I was minding my own business and tried to avoid troublemakers like you but you couldn't help yourself. I wasn't the only one either; was I?? Instead of writing a book about abusing others, you should have gone to secondary schools and educating students first hand on the dangers and the harm that comes from being in a such a violent gang. But knowing you, you will just laugh it all off and not give it a second thought. By the way, I am shocked to see how time has aged you so much...i don't even look 40...my friends think you look at least 60 plus...a frumpy, old, used up, triple chinned, pathetic Sharpie gang banger's tart. Oh...before I go, I have to say that I'm very good with remembering a face; it you know what I mean. Social media is a wonderful thing; isn't it Julie. Nothing scares me anymore and if I ever come across someone from my past that has used me for their own personal gain; all I can say is that you are in for a surprise one day. Remember this; what goes around comes around.