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Her name was Marlene, she died a few weeks ago

21 December 2006, around 11am… A middle-aged man dressed in tired tan slacks and an almost-tan shirt jerkily paces from one end of the three metre-long service counter to the other. He stops, rubs his left hand over the fisted knuckles on his right hand. He looks through the right door behind the cluttered counter, then through the door to the left.

He turns around to look at the four people sifting through the well-packed clothing aisles in the RSPCA opp shop. “She died you know,” he says to no-one in particular. “She died in a car crash on the highway. I think her little dog died too."

He jerks back to face the counter, holding his European features firmly into a concerned frown. “She would give me my bag of rags every Monday. I don’t know iwhat s going to happen now. I don’t know if I’ll get my bags of rags now.”

Footsteps sound from beyond the doorway to the right. The anxious man moves his barrelled chest over the counter, with his hands palm-down on the surface at either side of his ribcage. “The woman who died used to give me bags of rags,” he says to an approaching volunteer.

The tall, thin woman rubs her wrinkled hands over her off-white trousers. “Yes, that would have been Marlene,” she says with grim composure. “Let’s see what we can do to help you.”

Marlene Millborn became a regular fixture behind the RSPCA opportunity shop counter following the death of husband Les in 2000. 

She was not one of those buttoned-up, god-fearing women who often seem to be the ones serving behind opp shop counters. Even at 71, Marlene was still Marilyn-esque pretty with her blonde and curly bobbed hair, well thought-out outfits and always-present pink lipstick. Years before Paris Hilton did it, Marlene’s key accessory and constant companion was a pampered small dog.

She was one of those confident women who men felt drawn to, and meek women were unsure of.

Her story ran in local newspaper ran on 1 December 2006, a week after her death. “Born entertainer with star quality,” ran the headline. She was born in Yallourn, married copper Les in Melbourne in 1953 and then moved to northern Victoria in 1970 where she became involved in local theatre groups. Singing, dancing, make-up, costumes – she had a whole lot of fun throughout the 1970s and ‘80s.

The new century wasn’t so lucky for her. Her run of bad luck possibly started with husband Les passing away, followed a few years later by the death of one of her sons. Then the nasty trip-up behind the opp shop counter left her right hand buckled and stiff. The trip-up changed everything. She needed help with working out how to cook, clean and tie her shoelaces again. Then came the single car crash just outside Horsham.

A few more weeks, a few more months, even a few more years from now, she no doubt will still be missed in the RSPA opp shop.

 

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