Memories of Warminger's Wastepaper Yard

‘It’s no place for a 10-year old girl,’ my mother commented darkly, as I anxiously awaited a reply to my request to spend yet another afternoon at my father’s wastepaper yard. Finally, she relented and the usual deal was struck: I was to stay on the building’s top floor with the women employees and not venture to the lower, more dangerous, working areas, or into the paper storage yard outside. I skipped off, happy and excited. Not only did I relish the laughter and banter that was to come, but, these women knew how to be jolly and welcoming. In school holidays, I would try and wangle a whole day there, and for a child, what days they were!’

Jan Warminger