Merle Thornton and Rosalie Bogner’s Night Out

Words by:  Jade Lindner
Art by: Tessa Cameron

In 1965 Queensland, two women walked into a bar. 
Rosalie and I had made the arrangements. We knew the dangers, but more importantly, we knew the law.

The chains and padlocks we bought from the dollar store jingled in my purse as we approached our destination. The Regatta Hotel. At this time in the evening, the street traffic was high on Coronation Drive, with people rushing from their offices or worksites, keen to wash away the sweat and stickiness of a sunny Brisbane day. In typical Aussie fashion though, the men found refuge from the heat at the public bar, sloshing cold beers with mates. 

Just before I entered the bar doors, I spotted a woman standing on the sidewalk, appearing to be looking out at the Brisbane River. But I knew that river was not the reason for her being there. Like many women do, she was waiting for her husband to finish drinking at the bar. It’s not unusual for the husbands to forget their wives were outside patiently waiting while they got their de-stress time with the boys.

How cruel and wrong that she’s made to wait for him. Seeing her made me straighten my back, and I strode into the bar with Rosalie, wearing a fierce look. 

“Two lemonades please,” Rosalie tells the barman as we set ourselves at the bar table. We were the only women in the venue. 

The barman gave us a bemused look before he poured our drinks. By then I had already looped the chains around Rosalie and I’s ankles, connecting it to the foot bar rail. Only as I clicked the padlocks did the patrons around us start noticing. 

“Now, what’s all this about? You don’t have to lock yourself here to get a soft drink,” one of the patrons slurred as he stumbled towards us with a grin, with his group of mates watching on. 

“Not a soft drink no, but I would kill for a beer,” Rosalie answered back with a pleasant smile. Before the man could register her words, I had shoved a pamphlet to his chest.

“We are protesting the ban on women being allowed to drink in public bars,” I stated clearly, letting my voice carry to the groups of men around us, who had then stopped their chatter to watch the scene. Good, I thought. 

The initial man now squinting at the pamphlet gave an awkward laugh. 

“You don’t want to spend your time around here loves, you’ll hear all sorts of conversations that a lady shouldn’t. Your company is better suited in the lounge don’t you think?” 

“Thank you for your concern but we would rather have the option to choose where to place our company, and don’t worry your conversations won’t bother us, we will be too engrossed in our own.”

Before long, many of the men in the bar had approached us to investigate our display. So much so that we ran out of pamphlets. Most took them with a look of mockery and teasing interest, not taking it all that seriously. For every pamphlet given, we asked if they wanted to buy us a drink. No one took up the offer. And it wasn’t surprising when a policeman showed up. 

“Where are the keys, ladies?” The policeman questioned.

“We don’t know,” Rosalie and I both replied as we had rehearsed. 

“I really don’t want to have to forcefully remove you two,” the policeman said, his tone almost fatherly. When we refused to move, he eventually fetched a hammer from the storage room and carefully smashed the locks from our ankles. 

“Now please leave the premises,” the policeman practically pleaded. 

“It is well within our right to be here as long as nobody buys us a drink. We consulted a solicitor, we can point out exactly under which section the act is written if you want,” I stated, standing my ground. 

Exasperated, the policeman finally conceded defeat, waving us off as he left, “Just don’t drink too much ladies.”

Just as I had hoped, reporters soon showed up. ABC planned a 15-minute piece on our protest, and with an interview secured for the next day, we got ready to leave the Regatta Hotel. 

I stepped out of the bar into the now cool night air and spotted the same woman on the sidewalk. She was chatting with another woman who I assume was also a waiting wife. I walked over to them and handed them our last pamphlet. 

“This time next week we are having a pub crawl with some friends starting at the Regatta. Bring your own drinks!” 

The women took the pamphlets in bewilderment before Rosalie and I strode off. 

In 1970 Queensland, two women walked into a bar. They ordered a beer. 

Based on a true story.