“MEET ME with my friends at Gallopers Sports Club,”
instructed my mother.
“Your friends? Who
are they?”
“They are ... the Red Hat Ladies,” she said with a dramatic
pause.
Gulp. That is an
intimidating social occasion for any male, or anyone under 50. Lunch with feisty older ladies bedecked in red
hats and purple dresses, determined to be noticed and heard.
When
I am an old woman, I shall wear purple
with
a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And
I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
and
satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.
Who are the Red Hat ladies?
Pay heed and respect if you see them out and about. They are not a mad gaggle of nannas, but a
local offshoot of the biggest women’s social network in the world.
The Red Hat Society started out in the USA in 1998, when founder
Sue Ellen Cooper discovered a red hat in a thrift shop and decided to spread
the good cheer.
She found the poem “Warning” by Jenny Joseph, and that was a
catalyst to add the purple and get active.
I
shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
and
gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
and
run my stick along the public railings
and
make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I
shall go out in my slippers in the rain
and
pick the flowers in other people's gardens
and
learn to spit.
Now there are 40,000 Red Hat chapters around the world, stacked with
intelligent, curious and outspoken women.
A woman becomes a Red Hatter when she decides she is not going to
be invisible, and is going to have a voluble good time.
The first Red Hatter I discovered was my friend Jan
Macintyre, a former equal opportunity officer, and a woman of courage with a wicked
sense of humour. I was not surprised to
find my chatty and MENSA-minded mother was also a member.
 | |
| Can't see my Mum. Photo Nicholas Falconer Sunshine Coast Daily. |
I could nearly hear them thinking “Who is this male? Not another one about to dump a squawking
grandchild on us!”
But once they saw I was prepared to engage in serious and
insightful conversation, they peppered me with sharp questions.
They had years of work experience in the public and private
sectors, and are not afraid to issue prickly barbs about politics.
The manager came over and with a big smile, said hello and
asked … how was the meal?
The smile became somewhat fixed as the Red
Hatters, naturally, freely gave him their opinion on how to improve the meal
and service.
The laughter and the hearty giggles resumed. I quietly sat on the edge of the group and
the conversations as I fretted about Guy, who daintily smeared his hands over
the glass wall panels.
“Just let him roam free,” one said, waving her cake fork and
smiling. “Can’t get into too much
trouble here. Carpet on the floor and he
can’t get out.”
Common sense and words of wisdom. If you see a group of ladies out in red hats,
have a chat and have a listen.
Carefully.
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