Chapter 21

My dear fellow tea lovers,  late last night Buckingham Palace  phoned me  and asked me ever-so-politely  if I would consider being  the official tea lady at the marriage of Harry & Meghan.  I told them that I would have a think about it.  What are your thoughts my dears?  Leave me a comment Yes or No. Should I fly the thousands of miles to serve tea at a Royal Wedding?   If you were me, would you go?  And if you did go, which tea pot would you take?  Or would you take the Billy and swing it around in front of guests to give the wedding a distinctly  Australian flavour?

Storm in a teacup: memoirs of a tea lady. Chapter 20

There were times in my long working life as a tea lady when it was financially  imperative that I turn my hand to other endeavours, such as in the late spring of 1983.  My work as a tea lady had temporarily dried up and my savings were too meagre to live off. But I was fortunate enough to get a job as a picker on a strawberry farm located on the outskirts of Wattlebird.The pay was, I admit, low at $4.50 per hour,but often we were given free if  slightly spoiled fruit and the owners of the farm and other pickers were good people with whom I became fast friends. Along with the other pickers, I started picking at six in the morning before the heat of day warmed the fruit and it became too soft to pick. We picked, bent over double with a wooden tray into which we’d place the ripe strawberries. I remember well, the dark red and greens of the strawberry plants and their little daisy-like flowers. And of course, how could I ever forget the aromatic smell of strawberries and having red strawberry stained fingers.  And it seemed the sky was always an unbroken blue, with the warmth of the sun on our bare arms as we picked along the rows, occasionally stopping to stretch our backs and have a chat or maybe squint into the sun and survey the Karri forest which surrounded the five-acre farm.  We would pick for three hours, then break in the heat of the day and return in the evening to pick for another three hours. 

In the cool of the evening, I would walk the short distance to my home in the forest, a small cottage with a wood stove on which I made batches of strawberry jam and in its oven, baked strawberry cakes. As I walked to my cottage, a gentle breeze blew and the last rays of sunlight glimmered through the trees while small birds twittered.Once home, I’d make myself a pot of tea and cut a piece of strawberry cake to eat. Without turning on any lights,I’d sit on the back step of my cottage, sipping tea and eating cake while watching the night sky which was a vast dome of inky blue strewn with white stars.

Storm in a teacup: memoirs of a tea lady. Chapter 19

I was there at Woodstock. And I remember everything.   It was in the summer of ’69, and I was busy backstage making cups of tea for Janis, Joni, Jimi and The Grateful Dead.  But the absolute highlight for me —and pinnacle of my brilliant  career— was the cup of tea I made for Joe Cocker. What a gentleman.  He asked me, ever so politely for a cup tea, dash of milk, one sugar, and strong but not too strong.  And  I can remember the song he sang, clear as a bell is my memory of him in that wonderfully raspy  and heartbreaking   voice of his, singing  what  became my anthem through all the ups and downs of being a tea lady— I Can Get By with A Little Help from My Friends.