Cheryl Wilson

Daddy Who? 

There was a time when I shared work space among musicians such as Gary Young, Ade Monsborough and Frank Traynor – and back then Gary was employed as a young clerk in Allans Music Instruments, and myself a junior secretary in Allans Sheet Music section. Where most days, on one side of the separating glass, I take down shorthand from boss Frank to noisily translate, into letters, on my manual Olivetti.  Sometimes I pause, and watch fascinated as over the way Gary practices his drumming technique. He uses no sticks but his hands and wrists are flicking rhythmically all over his desk. Other days there is Lazy Ade Monsborough, making an unfashionably suited entry as he languidly smokes. Ade’s an Instrumentalist, and plays with Frank Traynor’s Jazz Preachers. Though right now Ade’s here to chat something over with Music Instruments chief, sexy Rexie – as fast talking Rex is commonly known – especially by friendly Frank from Sheet Music. As this is a fun job, and no bars are held, after all it’s the sixties and bantering is what we staff love to do.

Out of hours I’m in a crowded upstairs room in the city. It is to do with Frank Traynor and the music is Jazz. It is also where I serve beverages on a Friday or Saturday night – and tall mugs of coffee laced with alcohol get gaily consumed. Only my stay here is not for long, as I really prefer Rock; and it’s this enticing sound that leads Gary to playing drums, also a backup vocalist in the iconic Australian band, Daddy Cool. With the band’s first record, “Daddy Who? Daddy Cool” released in ’71, becoming the first Australian album to sell more than 100,000 copies. – While my absolute favourite, Eagle Rock, stays number one on the Australian singles chart for ten weeks.

***

Since my leaving Allans, nightlife has slightly changed – with a small corner pub in Carlton especially popular on Friday nights. Many go there. Some just to witness its beer sodden carpet trampled by the mainly shod feet of hopeful poets, also by writers, freelance journalists, by the odd academic – well, to be honest, trod by all sorts. With classic scenes of mayhem amid laughter quite the norm as everyone hogs the circular bar. And Southern Comfort and coke, slightly watered, then dirt cheap at sixty five cents a pop. There is a resident jukebox tucked away. And as it’s another Friday night I’m there to meet up with Angela and Sofie; it has been a long week. But as I expectantly make way through the crowd, above the din, I hear the unmistakeable refrain … the eagle rock rock rock … blasting from the jukebox. And already knowing that someone will play it again I’m at home – and tell myself that Gary from Allans and the band Daddy Cool have come a very long way. 

The Beatles 

The Beatles are in Melbourne and appearing at Festival Hall – and the two girls clutching their tickets are to be seated downstairs in the very third row facing the stage. They are the best of friends, and sit in middle smoking section of the tram that heads toward West Melbourne. Susan, has teased her dark hair into a six-inch beehive, it has also been lavishly sprayed. Beneath the solid fringe, jet black eyeshadow is lavishly applied. And she’s in the cosy winter duffle coat with its nice wooden toggles, plus the favourite pixie boots. Oh, and a smatter of passion pink lipstick. While Marilyn’s lips are a glossy tomato red, and as it really suits her the colour is smartly coordinated with the long red over coat. Marilyn has been talking nonstop. After another argument with boyfriend Barry the previous night, regaling him as “Barry the bastard,” and Sue to change the subject announces, “Forget him, Marilyn.  You only live once.”  Sue has a boyfriend, of sorts, but he is not remotely interested in the Beatles and turns away whenever she mentions them. “He thinks they are a bit poncy,” she tells Marilyn. “Maybe it’s their suits, he doesn’t like suits. He just likes T shirts and bands like The Who.” adds Susan. “Never judge a book by its cover,” goes Marilyn. With this Maz bucks up, “Yeah, he’s got no taste? Has he?” Marilyn dislikes him even though they haven’t met. Here we are, she stands, pulls the strap.  

More of the Beatles story to come.

Copyright Cheryl Wilson, January 2026. All rights reserved; this intellectual property belongs solely to Cheryl Wilson.

About Cheryl Wilson 

Writing stories may be a way of life or as an escape from real life. I enjoy inventing characters and placing them in surroundings once familiar to me – especially our inner northern suburbs during the seventies. I also write shorter pieces about real people who are closer to my heart.

Search Cheryl Wilson to find her other stories.