Dora joined me for coffee this morning.
Back in the 1960s, half a century ago, Dora had the shop next door on this small lane, laundry and dry cleaning.
She told me of one of the working girls running into the shop, terrified and unable to explain why. Dora hid the young woman among the dry cleaning at the back of the store, then stood at her counter and prepared to face whoever it was pursuing the frightened lass.
A working class lioness.
Dora seemed unaware of the courage she displayed in this moment. This was just what Kings Cross women did for each other. They didn’t need to be told about feminism, they were teaching the subject.
It turned out the aunt of the sex worker was taking a stroll along Darlinghurst Road, and the aunt didn’t know about this career choice, and the aunt would have told the mother. A gangster or a disgruntled customer could be dealt with, but disappointing mum was too much.
Dora laughed at her role in this faux drama, finished her coffee, wandered off down Llankelly Place, peering into her old shop on her way, but not before apologising for boring me with her old stories.
Dora is a great artist.
Parkstreet
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