Twenty Brisbane girls, known as gigolettes, have been enrolled as foundation members of the Hostesses’ Club. For a modest fee they provide entertainment and pleasant companionship for lonely men.
Long since I had this story true
From a jolly sailor-man I knew.
He’d a whiskered face and truthful eyes;
And I know he wouldn’t tell me lies.
When a ship was wrecked on a tropic isle,
From seaways distant many a mile,
Two souls were saved from the fierce sea’s fret —
A gigolo and a gigolette.
A lonely missionary there
In matrimony joined the pair,
Who reared, amid these sylvan scenes,
A family of gigolenes.
When half a score of years had fled —
Or maybe more (my sailor said),
He came there in his own good ship.
(“Blowed off ‘er course that blinking’ trip”).
And there, upon the sandy shore,
Was the strangest sight (my sailor swore)
Man ever seen, so strike him pink
(“And me not ‘ad a drop o’ drink”).
For standing there in rows an’ rows,
All tricked out in the queerest clo’es,
Amid the palms and tropic scenes,
Were scores of little gigolenes.
And every little gigogirl,
With perm’nent waves and hair a-curl,
In Paris models braved the gales,
Plucked brows and painted finger-nails.
And every little gigolad
In faultless evening clothes was clad,
Ties of the very latest wear,
And dancing pumps and marcelled hair.
They bowed and smirked and said, “Bai Jove!
Thrice welcome to our tropic grove,
May we escort you, sailors gay,
To a supper dance, with cabaret?”
This tale the sailors told to me
As an instance of heredity.
And I know he scorned to tell a lie;
For truth beamed out of his sea blue eye.
First published in The Herald, 4 February 1937;
and later in
The Queenslander, 18 February 1937.