El Greco Pizza's

 

Our next venture was a small takeaway business called El Greco Pizzas.

It specialized in pizzas and pasta, with a small dining room that seated no more than a dozen customers. It wasn't large, but it was busy, friendly, and full of character.

We bought the business from two Greek gentlemen who insisted—quite emphatically—that it was the Greeks, not the Italians, who had invented pizza.

I wasn't about to argue with them.

Whatever the truth, they certainly knew how to make one.

Their recipes and procedures were already well established, and to be fair, they knew what they were doing. 

Back then, food delivery services didn’t exist. 

If people wanted a pizza, they had to call in their order and come pick it up. 

Running the Business, Our workday began around 10 AM, prepping for the night ahead. Sheila and I would be in the back kitchen, while a young man named Ken handled the front. 

Ken was a wonderful young fellow.

Barely twenty years old, tall, with a head of curly hair and an easy smile, he had already mastered the art of pizza making.

. He’d mastered the art of working the dough and taught me everything I know—how to knead it, shape it, and stretch it without tearing. 

During service, Ken became part of the show. He’d toss the dough high into the air, spinning it above his head as customers watched, wide-eyed. It turned waiting for a pizza into entertainment—and people loved it. 

Even the New Zealand All Blacks became regulars, dropping by for a good feed of carbohydrates before a game. The menu was simple, but it was loved. 

A New Home as the business grew, we moved closer to the shop. 

Our new home was a modern three-bedroom town house, spread across three levels, with city views, an integrated garage, and a master bedroom with an En Suite. 

By this stage, Paul and Kathryn were at university, while Julia and Phillip had headed overseas. Phillip had recently completed his engineering degree, leaving just Sheila, Carolyn, and me at home.

Life felt good. 

Business was steady, and from where I stood, everything seemed in its right place. 

One evening, quite unexpectedly, Sheila asked,

"Have you ever thought about living in Australia?"

I looked at her in surprise.

"A holiday?" I replied.

"No," she said.

"Living there."

 I was caught off guard. I’d often talked about taking a holiday overseas, but moving? That was something else entirely. “Where in Australia are you thinking?” I asked. “Brisbane,” she said. That surprised me even more. “Brisbane?

 But you’ve never been there. “I knew Brisbane in the early 70s. It was hot, humid, and far from modern. 

It wasn’t Sydney or Melbourne. 

Not only that, but it was still growing into a city. 

But once the idea was spoken aloud, it couldn’t be ignored. And to my surprise—Carolyn was on Sheila’s side. 

Looking back now, I sometimes wonder what I was really searching for.

Was it success?

Adventure?

Or simply another challenge?

Whatever the answer, Sheila's simple question changed the direction of our lives.

Once again, we found ourselves standing at the beginning of another journey.

This time...

across the Tasman Sea.

Australia was waiting.