Those three pubs. Ahh the memories.I was in Frankston for most of the later 70s. In retrospect, it's a bit of a black hole in my life. I certainly recall the inebriation, and to a lesser extent the listlessness, which probably says more about my lifestyle and age than the town itself. What you euphemistically describe as a 'lovely little township' was hardly the sprawling mess of poverty, affluence, suburbanites and bogans that I recall a decade earlier.
For entertainment there were hotels on 3 corners of an intersection and a police station a stone's throw away staffed by young cops whose aggressive disdain for the public gave the force a bad name. Lots of the townsfolk were of English derivation and the Pines commission area between Frankston and Seaford comprised some of the wildest kids I ever taught.
Frankston had a varied population but the town was always considered a bit of a backwater where the wearing of moccasins, smelly sneakers and tracky dacks was de rigueur. A train journey into the city seemed life threatening due to the calibre of people who hung around the entrance or rode the trains. No wonder Dave is not allowed to use public transport there at night. But I was teaching at a progressive school with a committed but social group of teachers and felt insulated from the general milieu. I've lived in worse places.
One was the 21st Century nightclub with the public bar on the ground floor.
I used to be a bouncer there part time while I was at Uni.
Interesting times. You sure did earn your money. Some serious nut case locals, especially those from The Pines.





