Friday night Roller Girls

Across the road is a familiar red brick art deco building dated 1931, with the raised brick work stating…Alfred Harrap & Son Pty Ltd Est. 1857. The windows are boarded up and construction signs signal the imminent transformation into yet another high end unaffordable apartment or industrial-style hotel.

I am sitting opposite, enjoying my first coffee of the day at Bread & Butter Bakehouse, a small bustling cafe in Launceston that offers good strong coffee and an array of freshly baked goods. The warm, sweet, savoury fog had beckoned me as I wandered from my nearby hotel room.

I choose the spinach and feta pastry and bite into the salty, flakey, cheesy goodness. Yummo!!!  Congratulating myself on the perfect selection I am already calculating whether I should eat a second.

Later I would regret not purchasing a second, but comforted myself with the thought it and more on my next visit. Perhaps the freshly baked cinnamon rolls or giant pretzel.

 

In-between the slurps and moorish mouthfuls I am searching on my laptop for history of the brick building.

Apparently Harrap & Son was a commercial trader that operated until 1967 specialising in shipping, wool broking, and grain. I am guessing because of the historical value of the building, the facade must be kept as part of the new venture.

I know this building, this facade, and while I can't quite see the original doorway hidden under the scaffolding and corrugated iron, I can still remember how it felt to walk through those doors.

For in the 1980’s this building was something entirely different; it was a heaving vessel of teenage sweat and hormones. Loud, colourful, exciting and dangerous. My weekly Friday night escape where I transformed from high school dag to a roller skating superstar. At least in my own imagination.

Preparation for the nights always started early. A little make up applied at home, under strict parental supervision, and the carefully chosen clothes that could magically transform my teenage body, and me, into a stella mega hot babe. 

The preferred item, that belonged to my mum, was a pair of stretch black velvet flares. They hugged every one of my under-developed curves and made me look at least two years older. Well, that is what I hoped. At home this look was camouflaged by an oversized wind cheater, that would be tossed into the duffel bag upon arrival at the rink.

And once through the doors of the roller rink I joined other girls, crammed into the crowded toilets to apply more layers of eye shadow, lipstick and hairspray before selecting the ill-fitting boots and hitting the floor with big hair, sprayed on jeans and glitter shirts – the perfect attire for disco and skating combination.

Teetering to the barriers before launching ourselves into the intermittent darkness and flashing lights. Flying around the rink, building speed, wind in our hair and 80’s tunes pumping through the sound system. Songs inspired by the movie of the day; Ghostbusters, Beverly Hills Cop, Xanadu and the best of the best…Flashdance. We all wanted to be Alex; welding during the day, dancing on stage at night. Rebellious, desired, feisty, formidable and sexy.

Younger boys whipping past at speed between the pretty girls in pink and blue while older boys leant against the barriers, grazing the scene before making their target. Theirs was the longer game. They were practiced skaters, who did not rent shoes, but brought their own. Stonewash jean-clad spotty tall youths, somewhere between lego and legover, who would sidle up beside us with an unrealistic confidence. The noise made it impossible to hear anything, so there was no conversation on the rink, unless it was yelling at someone to back off or stop being a dick. 

There was a kind of magic on the floor where, like the intoxicating blue light discos of the same era, strange things could happen with the unlikeliest of characters. Dark corners, whispers and sweat, could often lead to the promise, or reality, of fumbling, fingers and tongues.

Pulsating beats of 80’s classics became the soundtrack to the skating, jostling and frenzy of faster and faster laps. All culminating in an end of night game of British bulldog that threatened at worst injury and at best some type of physical touch between the sexes.

And now as I take my final bite of pastry and brush the crumbs from my shirt, I wonder at this empty, gutted building - the external brick wall a façade, held in place by regulations, without the historical substance and in readiness for the next big thing.

A little tinge of sadness, but also a sense of joy at the secrets that we all keep, those lucky skaters who turned up regularly to feel the heavy thud of the skates against the timber floors and the freedom of flying. Just for a moment.

Note: I found it quite difficult finding out information about this roller skating rink, but there's plenty of other sites that share the story of skating in the 80's. What is your memory of this building and roller skating in the 80's?