Feature - Old friends become new friends

By Gay Liddington

Old friends become new friends

By Gay Liddington

Two fresh-faced army girls, an ex-servicewomen’s lunch, and a friendship reforged.

In the late sixties, two seventeen-year-old girls from Queensland joined the Australian army six months apart. The first, Linda, travelled to Sydney from Noosaville and the other, me, boarded a train in Mackay.

“The military, being part of our family history, was approved by Mum and Dad and at 16 I thought, I just want to get out of here. I remember getting on the bus and Dad saying,

‘Two things. Don’t volunteer for anything and keep your legs together,’” said Linda Gold.

For me, it was a vastly different story as I posted my army application with a prayer asking for an escape route from abuse. 

Established in 1951, the Women’s Royal Australian Army Corp (WRAAC) at Georges Heights in Sydney trained female recruits until it disbanded in 1985, when female personnel began training alongside male recruits

Six weeks of instruction and study awaited young women who came from all states in Australia in a quest for adventure and life-changing experiences. Uniforms, parades, discipline…

Linda said, “I went close to being kicked out of rookies. If you did anything wrong, they would give you a chit for things like not saluting the flagpole, having a crease in your uniform, or not making your bed to standard. If I remember correctly, you received ten chits before fronting the board to show just cause why they shouldn’t discharge you. Well, I had 15 chits! 

“My belligerent behaviour was because, before I left home, I had a verbal agreement with my boyfriend to be engaged. While I was on recruit training, I received a ‘Dear John’ letter. I felt shattered and heartbroken and couldn’t stop crying, so they sent me to see the psychologist who was also on the board.

“The psychologist spoke up for me and I was allowed to stay. However, because I’d been a naughty girl, I had to wait 12 months before they sent me on a course to further my military career. 

“After WRAAC School, they posted me to the Royal Military College (RMC), Duntroon in Canberra where I carried out general duties like housekeeping. We were known as GDs.”

Six months later, I followed Linda’s path, ending up at RMC Duntroon as a GD. Each morning, dressed in our work uniform known as fatigues or giggle dresses, wearing our spit-polished shoes, we cleaned the female barracks.

A friendship blossomed, but we went our separate ways when Linda, who had chosen the Transport Corps for further training, went on her driver’s course and I studied administration. Surprisingly, we were both posted back to Canberra and barracked at Duntroon, where my friend wielded huge trucks while I sat with secrets in the Department of Military Intelligence. 

Following our army service, we stayed in touch by mail and met up a couple of times but after a few years, life sidetracked our friendship.

October 2024: A light splatter of rain began as I parked my car, then strode quickly towards the Beerwah Health Hub and the VWF Command Post Cafe designated for the monthly ex-servicewomen’s lunch.

The atmosphere buzzed as old friends caught up. I hung back, waiting to introduce myself to Fran Sinclair, who had been my contact via Facebook. I spied a woman who introduced herself as another Faye, also a first timer. The aroma of coffee filled the air as they pushed extra tables in place to accommodate the growing crowd.

There were three spare seats at the end of a table. Faye and I claimed two then, another woman who said it was also her first time sat opposite me. We quickly bonded with questions regarding our service. 

Faye shared she had served in the air force. 

“I was in the army… joined up in 1969,” I said.

The woman across from me added, “I joined the WRAAC in 1968. Where were you posted after rookies?”

“RMC Duntroon in Canberra.”

A weird look came over her face as she leant forward. “What was your maiden name?

“Whitworth,” I said.“

We were roomies! I was Linda Parker!”

My mouth dropped open while my brain caught up.“

And you were a bridesmaid at my wedding,” I shot back.

We stared at each other struggling to recognise our aging features, but as the waters of time settled after being stirred with memories, we could see the resemblances of those young women, fresh-faced and full of hope, keen to fulfil their military service duty.

Two weeks later, Linda Gold and I met for lunch and laughed because we wore the same style of shoes and ordered the same meal. We pondered the fact that I had lived in Maleny for 24 years and all the while; she has lived at Moffat Beach.

“I named my firstborn, Dean, after being a bridesmaid at your wedding and it was your surname,” said Linda. 

During the next three hours, we flipped through the pages of our lives, decade by decade, amidst the clatter of plates and the hum of diners, sharing stories, heartaches and laughter. 

Our faces reflected the joy of old friends becoming new friends and, as we relived the memories, wrinkles faded and those 17-year-old girls of the 1960s came to life with knowing smiles and tales yet to be told. 

Follow Gay Liddington for updates on the 2025 launch of her book ‘Will I ever be who I am?’ - facebook.com/Gay.M.Liddington.Author