Hey listener.
This episode, we're heading into the world of late nineteen sixties rock and roll to meet a real musical icon. Expect killer outfits, face melting guitar solos, and.
Some real rock and roll bad language.
It's nineteen sixty one and June Millington is twelve years old at a strict Catholic convent school in the Philippines. She's sitting in a school hall with an open air verandah along one side. June can smell the trees and the tropical air drifting in from the outside. Mother Milagros, who's one of the nuns who teach us there, drones on and on to the class, holding a ruler in her hand, but June isn't listening.
I heard the sound coming down the hall and I literally like I was in a dream. I stood up. I followed that sound, and Mother Milagros, who was the strictest of strict I didn't seemly notice.
The sound is coming from a room a couple of doors down. June reaches the doorway and stops still.
I saw this girl on the far corner, facing the corner playing I didn't know what, but it was a guitar and I remember exactly what I thought. Every shred of DNA in my body just popped up and went, what what? What is this? You know? I need to know? And I've been spending the rest of my life answering that question.
June didn't just follow the sound of that guitar to the empty classroom, She followed it all the way to LA and into rock and roll history. June and her sister Jean started a band called Fanny. They were one of the first all female rock bands to release an album with a major record label.
They toured all over.
The world, shaken venues and blowing minds with their epic guitar riffs. David Bowie even called them one of the finest fucking rock bands of their time.
In short, they're legends.
But making it big as an all female rock band in the early nineteen seventies wasn't easy. At the time, women in the USA couldn't even open a bank account without their husband's permission. The idea of girls rocking out with electric guitars was seen as completely laughable. But June wasn't going to let that stop her. She knew this was her calling the moment she heard the first notes of the guitar back in that convent school, Fanny were
on a mission for world domination. I'm Anisinfield and from the teams at Novel.
And iHeart podcasts.
This is the Girlfriend's Spotlight, where we tell stories.
Of women winning.
Today.
June Rox America, would you be able to tell me when you first picked up an instrument?
I think I was about seven and I was at a family gathering and either a cousin or an uncle shoved a ukulele right at me and said, you know, I think you should play this. And he said, look, this is how you tuned it. My dog has fleas, which I understood immediately because I can remember that melody. And he showed me my first song, which is how much is that Doggie in the Window?
A classic?
Yes, and it is actually the basis of so many songs.
Before breaking into the devastatingly cool career of podcasting, I spent my entire life wanting to be a rock star.
I've had my taste of it.
I started gigging when I was fifteen, and I've worked as a professional blues singer. I've been invited to palaces and flown around the world to do cool things like perform on a suspended plinth in the middle of a Moroccan swimming pool. My all female jazz trio held a residency at a club in London where we played a businessman three nights a week in exchange for a few hundred quid each a glass of wine and some pasta.
I also have spent a lot of nights sleeping on floors, and I once played at a toilet manufacturer's Christmas party, which was really, really glamorous. I did what I needed to keep the dream alive, until eventually, one day I threw in the towel. But I have always wondered what could have happened if I just stuck it out. Talking to June is like talking to the woman that I always wanted to become.
I feel like I'm really topped off on a wealth of musical knowledge, both in my body and in listening to music. You know, Let's say you pick up the ukulele and you're singing, hang down your head, Tom Dooley, hang down your head and cry now you then another chord there. We understood that in our bodies it was our destiny.
Jing grew up playing Harry Belafonte songs on the ukulele with her sister Jean and all their family gatherings. They're raised in Manila with a Filipino mum and a dad in the US Navy. June was the eldest of seven kids and a tomboy who spent all the time she could climbing trees. And in nineteen sixty one, only a few weeks after that fateful day in the convent school, the family were getting ready to move to Sacramento in California.
But while her family were packing up their belongings, all June could talk about was the guitar.
Maybe two months before we moved, my mother made a last strip to the Southern Philippines. She got us small handmade mother of pro guitar, and that, oh wow, was my blessing.
Yes, by the time the family boar was the USS President Cleveland. Eight weeks later, Jean has a guitar too, and they're hooks. The sisters then spend the entire journey playing songs for the other passengers.
We stopped in Yokohama, Kobe, and Hawaii. And I'll tell you when that ship approached the Golden Gate Bridge, it was just after dawn morning light that Golden gate Bridge was shining in the sun. It really affected me, It really meant something to me. It was really awesome.
The change between the Philippines and Sacramento. That must have felt massive for you, and that age of Teenagehod is tough as well.
Uh huh, yeah, yeah. Well there are a lot of brown people in Sacramento. There are you know, Latinos, there's Japanese, they're Chinese and so on. But nobody, not one single one of our classmates knew where the Philippines was. They never even heard of it. They didn't know that it had been bombed essentially the same day as Pearl Harbor. They hardly knew that we were in World War Two.
We'd come from the Philippines hearing all those terrible stories about the war, you know, that's what we came in with. And the kids at our junior high had no clue. So we just shut up about it and we just what do we do? We transferred our attention to songs that were on the radio.
June and Jean practiced hour after hour perfecting each song and arrangement.
What is that one note you can add to that one chord that's gonna give it that zing, you know, that's going to give it that color. Maybe only just stay there for a second and maybe just a few people notice it, But hey, I love it and it felt great. You know.
June can't get enough of that feeling. She and Jean take that gars everywhere. They even bring them to jam when they go swimming at the YWCA. And it's there that the singing sisters attract the attention of a local women's group.
You could not get more girlfriends than this.
They hoard us and went, oh my god, these girls are great. And they had this sewing club where they would sew every week, get together every week, and then they would donate whatever they sold. The prophets they were donated to a worthy cause, and they decided that me and Jean were the worthy cause, so they would book gigs for us.
I love the idea of this sewing club becoming their band manager, and they put them gigs in all kinds of places.
We became just kind of fearless about playing anywhere. I mean, we played a mental institution. So I was thirteen, Jeene was twelve. Wow, we played a mental institution. We played parties, We played political parties actually where we'd just be singing for these folks in the living room. We were raising money for the state senator or whatever. We just were thrown into all these circumstances and listen, we didn't say a word. We were so shy.
Jane and Jeane are outside as in Sacramento. But the more they play together, the more that confidence grows.
We enjoyed it so much, and then we realized other people were enjoying it, and they were talking to us. All the kids who just weren't even looking at us. All of a sudden they would stop me in the hall and say, hey, I really like that song and just walk on. And that changed my life. Jeans as well, because now we realized that we were human beings to these kids, we were people, and that just meant so much.
And was that your kind of ticket to having friends? Therefore, is that.
You're in exactly exactly that was our ticket, and that was our connection to humanity. That was the thing, man. We just wanted to have a connection. We wanted to make a friend.
By the time June seventeen, she and her sister have graduated onto gigs at bowling alleys and youth centers. They've teamed up with two other girls and started singing motown songs together. One day when June is at home, the phone rings.
Gene and I were in the kitchen because all of us were painting the kitchen, so our brothers were up on ladders and it was, you know, all this bustle.
June answers the phone. It's a girl from another local high school.
She said, hey, I heard you play, and I heard you good. I'm a drummer. Do you want to start a band? And I looked at Gene and I said, I mouthed it, you know, you want to start a band? And about a second and a half later she yeah, She kind of nodded, yeah, kind of, you know, nonchalantly. Well, that was the start of it.
They called any band the Spelts and they start rehearsing in their friends living room.
We had to teach ourselves the mechanics, because there are mechanics and together in a band, you know, you have to give each other signals. You have to play on the same beat, you have to try to sing in tune, you have to learn the songs. We did motown and certain rock tunes, you know, so anything that was popular on the radio. We did it and that was our training.
Yeah.
Oh, there's no better training than letting some of the best songs of all time, right.
The best songs of all time? Absolutely, Oh my goodness. I was serious about music, you know. I didn't want to make any mistakes, and so I have this reputation of being hard on the band.
Any band, you gotta be a bit hard.
They say, those dirty looks you would give me when I missed a chord. I didn't realize I did that, but.
I used to be in a band and the guys always said whenever I turned around with the tambourine and gave them the stink ki, they need that done something wrong.
Exact the tambourine. Wow, that's a position of power.
It's sure. It tasts a lot to be accepted in the music world.
I mean it did for me in the noughties and the twenty tens, so I can't imagine what it was like for June.
Of course, she got a reputation for being a bit hard.
I spent nine years in a band of mostly blokes, but I always did our sound I got them to sound check in time, I got them to stop playing those annoying riffs when we were figuring out the beat. Hell, I even collected our money. They'd jokingly referred to me as the boss. Because June's right, if you're serious about music, there is no room for flowering up the walls. And the Spelts were serious. They started experimenting with electric guitars
and bass and playing at local clubs. June could feel that they were getting better and she knew they were doing something different. The local scene didn't have any all female bands like them. But being a pioneer isn't always easy. You were an all girl band that you were playing guitar. I mean, how are people reacting to you? I'm thinking not.
Very well, not very well at all. I mean, the whole world was against us. I might as well have said we're gonna walk on the moon as say we're starting a band. I mean, was that ridiculous? You know? And every single audience when we walked on stage with simper and sneer at us, you know, and we knew it. We knew it. So what did we do? We just got better and better and we'rein hitting it. They just
couldn't believe that we were good. They were just would be gobsmacked, and they would rush up after the set and say, not bad for chicks. That was the best they could do. Four years.
One time, Jane and the Spouts are playing a set at teen Center down by San Jose. The audience is bouncing and swaying, and June is shredding on the guitar. She's in the zone, but then something catches her eye.
We were on a raised stage, so this boy was standing looking up my skirt and I didn't say anything to him, but I moved sideways right. He invited his friends over to look up my skirt as well, and finally, after a few minutes, I just kicked him in the face with my heels and I had think heels on and I had a guitar. Okay, a deadly combination. He had that Oh absolutely, you have to have your pride. I mean, we took a lot of terrible comments, a lot of them, but after a while we were in
our own orbit. We didn't listen to them. We were a proud band. We never apologized for ourselves. Don't sneer at us, don't laugh at us. We knew we were good motherfuckers.
I love that confidence.
I mean, it takes a lot of strength to really back yourself when the rest of the world and believe in you. And I think June and her bandmates got it from each other. They were a proper team. They looked out for each other and did their makeup together on the way to gigs in this old converted school bus that June and Jean's dad had fixed up.
It was blue on the outside and yellow, yellow and orange on the inside, really psychedelic.
They'd play shows to soldiers recently back from Vietnam at the local army base or at clubs that they were still too young to go into officially. Each night, after their set, they'd load the bus back up with their gear ready for the next time.
It was dark and we were parked in the alley. I'm sure the only reason that we didn't get savagely attacked by some weirdo is that it was we were always hanging out together. We were doing it all together. So you're not going to attack four girls filled with estrogen. You're just not going to do it, you know. So we were also saved by circumstances.
Yeah, and pissy the man who tries to attack you. Yeah.
Yeah.
Most of the other bands on the circuit were all men, so June had to make female friends in other places.
We had go go girl cages on either side of the stage. Every gig, every club had those cages that were hanging from the ceiling and.
The girls in it.
Oh yes, absolutely yeah, And it was normal and we like them and they liked us. I never met a mien go go girl never. They were always really nice and they could really dance. They could shame Shammy Bop, Oh my gosh.
June also got to know the waitresses when they played gigs at the local casino.
They were so nice to us, and they would give us these tips, like, you know your old stockings that have runs in them, don't throw those away. Stuff those in your bras and believe me, it'll make a difference. Let me tell you, we did it, and it really made us more popular. They taught us how to use makeup and mascara and false eyelashes. I remember one game one evening where we were playing, I couldn't see my guitar becas my fake eyelashes were so thick, you know,
so I had to brain it in. But they taught us how to be not just girls, but young women. You know, there's a certain thing that you got to go through. Yeah, Fortunately we had these great women to just sort of show us the ropes.
I love the sound of the sisterhood between the band and the go go dancers and the waitresses sharing tips and tricks in the dressing room. But I can also really relate to the feeling of being under pressure to look a certain way on stage. You may not know what I look like, but let's just say you'd sooner catch me in a clown suit than a spring dress. But for nine years, multiple times a week, I'd slick my fringe into some cinnamon swell, and I'd powder my
face into the vision of Betty Boop. And occasionally, I'll be honest, it was really fun. It was liberating even to don that costume. I'd bat my eyelashes for a free drink kind of tip. But other times it made me feel used. I'd get annoyed that the guys just would roll off the van straight to the stage, and frustrated that people would think I'd let myself go if I did the exact same as them. It just goes to show that although a lot has changed obviously since
the days when June first started playing gigs. Some things haven't, but Fanny weren't about to let double standards stop them from making it.
And when did you get your big break?
Well that happened in early fall of sixty eight. We went down to Los Angeles and we did open hoot Night at the Troube Door. That's the place where Elton John by the way, broke himself in.
Yeah, hoot Night was the place to be if you were an unsigned artist in Hollywood at the time. It was an open mic night, so anyone could sign up to play and you could rub elbows with all kinds of music industry suits in the audience. Producers, promoters, talent scouts all there to schmooze and look for new artists. But when June and the band arrived to set up, the welcome is less than warm.
The guy who around the club he was steering at us. He did not want us to play, but we were signed up and he said, well, you only got I forget like ten minutes. You can only play for ten minutes, okay, So we played for ten minutes and the audience started clapping. They went crazy. They went more and more and more. Not only that, but they all jumped down to their tables and stamped their feet, were clapping and yelling more and more and more. It was complete pandemonium. I can
barely describe it to you. It was unbelievable. I was a rhythm guitar player at the time, and I remember looking at Eddie, who was a lead guitar player. We just looked at each other and it's like, yeah, right, they got it.
That moment must have been so satisfying, especially after all the heckling and shit talk their faced over the years. But that standing ovation wasn't the end of it. Two days later, June and the band are getting ready to head out on the road again. They've already loaded all their gear into the school bus and they're about to set off.
The phone rang and I picked it up and it was a woman on the other line. She said, what are you doing? And I said, well, we're getting ready to leave, and she said, no, no, no, no, don't do that. I'll call you right back, you know. So about five minutes later she called back and she told us to go to a small recording studio in Hollywood, close to the Capitol Building, and we were going to audition for her boss.
The women had seen them play at the Troupe Door. She was there scouting out unsigned bands for hot shot record producer Richard Perry. He's the guy who produced hits like I'm So Excited or You're So Vain, both excellent karaoke tracks.
By the way, Basically, he's a big fucking deal.
We went to that studio, we set up our gear and we played for Richard Berry and he was so blown away they signed us.
No more gigs at Bowling Alley's or sewing clubs. June, Jean and the band have just signed a record deal with Reprise Records at Warner Brothers, one of the biggest record labels in the world. They're on the same label as artists like Fleetwood, Mac, Jimi Hendrix, and The Beach Boys.
It's life changing.
In May of nineteen sixty nine, they leave sleepy Sacramento behind to move into a house in La just off Sunset Boulevard.
Of course, we drove down there in our bus. Are dead drove it. He dropped us off and rock and roll his story began.
Next up, June takes on La.
By the time June and the band move into that new rock and roll sorority, house in La. The lineup has undergone a few changes and they've got a brand new name, Fanny.
And why Fanny? I'm sure you're asked this all the time.
I heard of the band called Daisy Chain, so I heard that name, and I said to the girls, while we were thinking of names, I said, why don't we try to think of a girl's name. Wouldn't that be nice?
You know?
They could just call us Betty or we came up with Fanny as one of the names. We just thought it was a funny double and and people would remember us, which they did. And we named our house Fanny Hill, and we were really proud of it, and we practiced night and day. Everyone wanted to go to this house and see these chicks who could play. You know, we were like the fable. We had the colored pebbles that led to the house. We were like the fairy tale.
Other rock stars on the Rise would come to Fanny Hill to hang out and jam with the band, But Jean tried not to get too caught up in the Hollywood lifestyle.
We played, practiced and wrote night and day. That's what we did. We did not party. We knew about drugs before we went down to La. We didn't do that. I mean, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. We got stoned, sure, but we didn't stay stoned for that long. We're Philippine glasses, me and Jean. We know how to work. We were taught how to work, how to study in the Philippines, and that's largely the secret to our success and to the success of the band.
Fanny spent long days in the studio working on that first album.
When you're a band that's going to go on on the road, you have to develop a larger sound. And how we did that was we practice that Warner Brothers movie sound lots, which red huge stages and high ceilings.
Their first big gig is opening up for the Kinks. When the stage lights come up, Fanny just go for it. June's sister, Jean is on the base and center stage, with long dark hair parted at the center.
When we played, she was definitely the center of the action.
Alice, the drummer, is at the back. She drives them forward with a pounding rhythm. Nikki is stage right, wearing a short, spiky mullet and bouncing between two different keyboards.
She would kind of fling herself around the keyboard she'd loved attention. And I, because I'm deaf in one ear, I always had to be on left hand side of the stage, so everyone was on my right, so not only see but feel them. I'd be in this vortex
of sound. I would hear the wham bam and Jeane and I would be you know, there were no thing and you know when you got to that place where you knew you were killing it, you had it was hot, it was on fire, you know, and you were doing it and nobody else could do it.
Before long, Fanny are touring all over the world living the dream. They play with legendary rock bands like Slade and Jeff Rotel, and they're not phased by any of the sizeable egos that they encounter along the way.
They didn't scare us at all. I knew what they were doing. You know, they're doing that guy thing and doing it well.
Fanny are rocking on their own terms. They can win over any audience at a live show, but becoming a mainstream household name, well that was something else.
The guys that we did gigs with loved us, They loved us, but we just couldn't get it past the bigger crowd.
It's such a shame, Like, you know, there's nothing cooler than being a musician's band, but it also, I guess doesn't pay.
And to tell you the truth, I think it was a misogyny.
When Fanny start releasing albums, it's like those early days back in the Spelts. Once again, the girls with guitars I met with sneers and condescension.
The reviews would always start with like, kind of a nice statement, but then would come all these you know, kind of snide little oh but you know, I it's kind of hard for me to see girls dressed up and playing in a band just these snide kind of put downs. They just couldn't say they're amazing, they're gonna make it. We didn't get that from the reviews. Now, we got that from our audiences, but it wasn't enough.
And after a while, even though we were selling I think sixty or seventy thousand units per album, it wasn't enough of the record company. The record company wasn't believing in us, and they made us a new where, new outfits. They gave us each a designer. I just hated that because not only was the world not seeing us for who we were, but the record company was trying to change so that even I didn't recognize who I was while I was playing. And that just wrecked me. That
just wrecked me. I know it might seem like a small thing, but to me it was not.
I think it's a really big thing.
And a lot of times I would get on a plane, I didn't even know where it was going. I didn't care, and so they would pour us into the car and we'd go to the airport and I didn't know where we were going. I just fall asleep.
Was there a point when it just started to take too much of a toll?
Yes, yes, definitely. I remember our last tour in England, but I just was not happy. I just I'd lost something. I'd wandered from the center. All these disappointments, you know, had caused me to just start wandering around. It was like a bad acid trip, because what was is that we were walking through. We had ashes in our mouths, it didn't taste good. We had just the next gig and the next gig and the next gig, and we weren't having the record company give us a hug and
say you're doing great. You know, if they just would have given us that hug. It would have helped so much. But we were out there on our own, in the middle of the universe. We didn't have that hug. I got to tell you, that's that's really big.
When I go back and I plot myself backstage at your gigs and give you a hug.
This oh, I know, I know. I wish I could have given my.
Cel phone one easy intervention.
I had to leave Fanny. My mom was begging me to eat and sleep. She was just begging me. I couldn't sit still. I was just so agitated and I knew I couldn't survive that.
One day, when the band are in Liverpool, June Pool's assist Jane aside.
I don't know if Geane and I were sharing a room or I asked her to come over to my room and I said to her, I have to leave, I can. She totally could see it. She didn't. She didn't try to talk me out of it. That's one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my life, because we had that dream since we were teenagers, and we'd worked so hard. I really feel that in misogyny was that impenetrable wall that I just couldn't figure out.
After the break, June starts over.
Got You, I've got you, got You, I've got you.
What I did when I left was I went to a house by the sea on Long Island. It was a summer home that I rented in winter, and I listened to Stevie Wonder and I walked by the beach and I calmed my nerves down.
June began to study Buddhism and reflect on her experiences in this new light.
I was going into New York to Jam. I had no money, so I gosh. I remember being in Manhattan one time and the wind was blowing down the avenues. I don't even think I had a coat, and I had maybe three or five dollars, and I had to decide whether or not I could buy a cup of coffee or take a cab to wherever I was going. And I remember thinking myself, June, you can never let this happen to yourself again, because you know, when I
was in Fanny, there was always a road manager. They always had everything planned out, and you'd get in the car, you'd go. I wasn't used to being on my own in the world anymore. I hadn't actually learned how to be a person. That's why, that's why I quit the band.
In Port June hangs out in clubs playing the guitar. She doesn't have to fit her style into some box dictated by record label anymore, so she starts experimenting with new sounds.
You know, what was happening in New York at the time was disco and reggae, And in all these jams, I learned a lot of that, you know, I learned how you could get into these crews. And I also tried to find as any other women to play with it as I could. So I found other women who were in Brooklyn and where these enclaves were, where they were rehearsing and forming their bands.
Fanny broke down the door for women in rock, and now other like minded women were following in their footsteps. One day, June got a call from a singer songwriter called Chris Williamson. She wanted June to play on her new album and come on tour. And if you don't know who Chris is, she's another musical legend. She was part of this radical feminist group in Washington, DC and a couple of years earlier that had this really cool idea.
They had gathered some money and they wanted to start something that would not rely on men at all. That was at the heart of feminism, Like they didn't want the help of men at all, and so they were maybe going to start a you know, a restaurant or a bowling alley or whatever. And Chris, because she had done gigs for them, she said, well, why don't you start a women's record company music combined with feminist rhetoric literature.
The group called themselves Olivia Records, after a novel from nineteen forty nine about a young woman who falls in love with the headmistress of her French finishing school, Oula La. The idea was to provide a platform for lesbian artists. It was the start of what's now called the women's music movement, a genre of music written for and by women.
You'd think that'd be right up June Street. But at first, when Chris called in nineteen seventy five to ask her to get involved with her album, June wasn't sure this was for her.
Sure she'd stuck it.
To the man all her life, but she hadn't called that feminism at the time, June was just focused on the music, but after another project fell through, she had a bit of time.
On her hands.
So finally I said it, Chris, Okay, I'll go with you. I thought it was going to be the most warring thing in the world, and I would just be marking time until the next thing that came up, you know. But I mean we played the first gig in Salt Lake City, and I mean it was like the whole hall was on fire.
The venue is packed to the rafters with women. June looks out at the up turned faces in the crowd and tries to process what she's saying.
I realize, oh, this is so much bigger than me. I'm just going to try to understand it and try to hold onto the coattails. You know. Was the wind was big. It was moving so fast and growing so fast. It was out of my control. I could barely keep up with it.
You know.
That's how I got introduced to feminism. It was a live It wasn't a theory. It was alive and it was consuming me as well.
The album June played on with Chris is Cool, The Change and the Changed appropriate right. It became one of the biggest selling independent records of.
All time being on the road. City after city, living room after living a house after house that I stayed at, and we talked to the women who were living in the house or the apartment, the count or whatever. They started telling us stories. I remember that first tour we stayed at a house an apartment in Ohio where one of the women there was fighting for custody of her children and was going to the Supreme Court. And she was fighting for custody because just because she was a woman,
they took away custody of her kids. Her husband was automatically going to get the kids just because she was a woman, and the fact that she was a lesbian was even worse, you know.
The women's music movement also crossed over with black feminism. June became friends with activists like Angela Davis and a poet Lord.
They brought the civil rights into it, so now we were understanding civil rights along with women's rights, and we realized it's all the wise they were being told about women in the past and in real time, you know, and we were upset about that. Feminism is something that we need right now. It's not of the past, and it's not a story. Feminism is you right now, it's you trying to figure out, well, I got some rights here, why why aren't they being given to me? Or why
are they being taken away? It's us, you know. So I never see it as being separate from anything, and I see it as being a huge contributing factor in my life. And I will be forever grateful that Chris asked me to play on that album.
Since nineteen eighty six, June and her partner An Hackler have run a nonprofit called the Institute for the Musical Arts, supporting the next generation of women in music.
We do a lot of events here. We have shows and workshops, and we have our Rock and Roll Girls Camp. So it's twenty five acres, a house and two barns with a lot of events. And now we're growing old together. We said when we were what what was I? I think I was thirty four or thirty six and she was twenty eight. When we got together, we said, let's grow old together. I never thought that was gonna happen. I'm turning seventy seven this year.
You know what, Like guys in a flash, doesn't that.
It really does. But I feel lucky because I've been able to learn all these lessons, and I've you know, the latest lesson I've learned is how to be so close to death and how to deal with it because I'm dealing with cancer part two. Oh wow, Yeah, and now it becomes life, it becomes real life in some of my friends have begun to die and so dealing with grief, you know, and realizing okay, yeah, I really am at the last part and what am I going to do with it? Well, part of it is talking
with you and telling the absolute truth. I'm not gonna lie to you. I'm not gonna lie to you.
I wanted to just touch on something you just said about kind of being in a new stage of your life where you're processing being closer to death than the beginning of your life. It's such a profound point of life to be at. Do you have any sort of words of wisdom to share to other people who are always struggling.
With that chapter?
Yeah? Well, I'm not afraid of death anymore in any sense of the word. I mean, I don't want to have pain, but you know, if that happens, it happens. But my words of wisdom would be to just say be in your moment, be authentic in your moment, and further forgive yourself. That is a big one. You have to try to help as much as you can because helping it it ripples out, you know, ripples out to other people. So you can always smile at someone, touch someone's hand.
Give that girl a hug, Give that hug.
Yeah, life here is so hard. It's just a hug, just a little, that's all. Yeah.
I had no idea that this episode was going to become just like us trying to prove to everyone that hugs already great.
Give them the universe. God. Yeah. Absolutely.
Well, I guess, like you know, part of this reflective period where you're kind of thinking about the life that's come before what potentially is to come, you must look back at your time in Fanny and be really proud of everything that you did.
And seriously bra that we worked so hard. We were not laggards. You know, we knew the importance of what we were doing. We admitted it to each other that we were doing this for the girls in the future, so that was nice. I think we did a great job. We made a lot of mistakes, but who cares, you know, we had a good time. Yeah, we had a really good time.
Thanks so much to June Millington for sharing what it's like to be a literal rock star. To check out what Fanny are up to, you can find them on Spotify or their website, which is Fannyrocks dot com. But actually, I think the best way to learn about what they're doing is through their videos on YouTube. The guitars, the flares, the hair.
It's all chef's kiss.
And if you've got a budding girl rocket in your family and you want to learn more about June and A's workshops and events, check out the Institute for the Musical Arts.
There's links in the show notes.
Oh and hey, listener, just a quick one, go give someone a hug. Coming up next on the Girlfriend's Spotlight, Rosev's at least eighty six cold cases.
And I'm telling you, I've never had this feeling before in my life. They're here on the back of my neck. Was starting to see now because this.
Was the guy.
I mean, it was unbelievable.
Hey, it's Anna, you've reached the girlfriend's hotline. Leave your story after the tone. Okay, gotta go love you.
The girlfriend I want to celebrate is someone I've known since I was twenty one. She was at our wedding, she's got mother to our eldest child, and she's always been there for all the important times in our lives since then. But as we hit our early thirties, my life and hers hit the bumpers. Our second son died suddenly and unexpectedly when he had an unstoppable asthma attack
at just under eighteen months old. At the same time, her marriage was breaking down, and we spent many days and evenings together over the months that followed trying to work out why, how, and struggling to bear any of it, and gradually learning how to live with what had happened to us. As the months moved on, quite naturally, we were receiving less attention. At the beginning, I confided one
of my fears to her. I told her that if anything happened to my husband, then nobody would remember the birth day of our son and the anniversary of his death, and that would be a sorrow I would have to bear on my own. She listened, and she told me that she would always remember. In those first couple of years, friends and family did remember. We were also lucky to go on and have two daughters, and understandably the focus love and support we received turned towards our surviving children.
But for over thirty years, our special friend has sent us flowers on the anniversary of our son's death. A couple of years ago, I suggested it was incredibly kind of her to send us flowers every year, but we were okay, and she shouldn't feel she needed you anymore. I know her wealth, and she looked at me very directly and told me she couldn't stop sending them. I promised you I would always remember. Bless you, dear girlfriend. Your lifelong friendship and commitment means the world to me.
If you have your own story like the one you just heard, and you'd like the whole girlfriend's going to hear it, then please send it to us. You can record it as a voice memo under ninety seconds. Please and email it straight to the girlfriends at novel dot org. Please don't include your name. We're keeping things a little anon.
We want stories like, say that one time you faked an emergency on an awful date and your bestie bailed you out with a phone call we love her, Or that time when all of your girls showed up on your doorstep with five pizzas, two tups of ice cream, and three bottles of Savenure Blanc because the man of your dreams just dumped you. I want stories that are meaningful or silly. I want big, I want small. I'm desperate to hear them, so send them over. This season,
The Girlfriend's Spotlight is supporting the charity Womankind Worldwide. They do amazing work to help women's rights organizations and movements to strengthen and grow. If you'd like to find out more or donate to help them secure equal rights for women and girls across the globe, you can go to Womankind dot org dot UK. The Girlfriend's Spotlight is produced by Novel for iHeart Podcasts. For more from Novel, visit novel dot Audio. This episode was written and produced by
Caroline Thornham. Our assistant producer is Lucy Carr. Our researcher is Seyana Yusuf. The editor is Hannah Marshall. Max O'Brien and Craig Strachan are our executive producers. Production management from Joe Savage, Srie Houston and Charlotte Wolfe. Sound design, mixing and scoring by Nicholas Alexander and Daniel Kempson. Music supervision by Jako Taivich, Nicholas Alexander and Anna Sinfield. Original music
composed by Louisa Gerstein and Jemma Freeman. The series artwork was designed by Christina lemcol Willard Foxton is creative Director of Development and Special thanks to Trina Norvelle, Carrie Lieberman, and Will Pearson at iHeart Podcasts, as well as Carl Frankel and the whole team at w M E.