Tears will flow with the beers next Saturday when the Bellambi Hotel's beloved - and perhaps unlikely - bartender Gloria Kent calls it a day after a career of 38 years.
For Gloria Kent, it started, like so many things do, with an argument at a bar.
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The boss at the Bellambi Hotel was trying to convince a drinker that you're either born to be a barmaid or you'll never cut it. The drinker, for his part, proffered the idea that he could find a complete cleanskin, an ingenue, and they could be taught how to do this vital job well.
Gloria wasn't there for this conversation - at the time she worked at a building products firm nearby, and anyway she had no need for pubs - but she was quickly dragged in.
The drinker approached Gloria, who he knew, and after a while he managed to convince her to give it a go. But Gloria was delicate, didn't drink, gentle, behaved herself - everything that the front bar at Bellambi was not.
"It didn't work out - I ended up really sad," Gloria recalled.
"The guys are swearing, it's a bit rough, I thought 'oh my God, this is not the environment for me'.
"But the boss said 'just get out there and ignore them - serve the beer and have a good time'. So I did, and by the end of the week I thought 'I like this!'
"One end of the bar you had all the different kind of people, the jerks. At the other end of the bar was nice: the husbands, the fathers and grandfathers - the caring people.
"So I worked the other end of the bar with the nice people, who would say hello, who would wait for a beer if you were a bit slow ... the other end, they were onto you, get me beer now. It was wicked. They were shocking.
A good beer's poured in three. Halfway up the glass with the glass tilted, then the next quarter, tilted, then the next quarter straightening up, don't let the froth spill over. Beer's poured in three, and I get steamed up when they pour it in less.
"I worked at the nice end. And as time goes by, you ignore them and their rudeness, and actually a long time later you become friends with them. The man who was the most obnoxious, ended up building my house for me - he's one of our best friends."
And sure enough, among those at "the other end" was the man who would become her husband - eight years after Gloria started at Bellambi.
She couldn't remember their first meeting with any precision. It just happened.
"He was just at the other end of the bar. I used to work one end of the bar, and he'd drink at the other end. I kinda knew him for a while before I knew him. One of the drinkers was going back to Ireland and we all went down to his place for a party, I got a lift home with him, and that was the end of that!"
Now, after 38 years of absolutely loving her job, Gloria - still herself, and still a teetotaler - is looking forward to hitting the road with her dear husband and their soon-to-be new caravan.
"He was a truckie," Gloria said. "He hurt his arm, can't drive trucks any more, so he's sitting at home saying 'we could go on this trip, that trip ... I'm retired and you're still working'. I thought, too many things happen, so it's time. While we can.
"We'll pop up to Mt Isa ... we're going to be grey nomads. That's my dream. We're really looking forward to getting away together - and you can take the cat and dog with you."
If you thought half a lifetime behind bars, amid the smoke, the swearing, and the smells, would wear a gentle lady down, you've got the wrong gal. Gloria - "G" to her friends - still has her manners, is easy to smile, and is still dry - save for one night a year, when the rest of her "pub family" at the staff Christmas party have convinced her to let loose. She has one Midori. That's it.
Gloria, however, gives you a sense she's barely changed - she's the immovable object, the calm in the eye of the storm.
Born in Coledale, lived in Scarborough all her life ("five generations"). She's influenced many who come into her orbit simply by remaining so completely decent. And she now helps out young people by training them in bar work, on the job, for free.
She's seen major changes in the drinking culture - from the excesses and the "bloodhouse" of the pre-RBT days, to today, when the hotel is a family venue, with toys for kids in the beer garden.
Has she tamed the wild drinkers?
"No, they've tamed themselves. They've grown up a bit and had children - so they come down and bring their families with them.
"We don't have a great deal of drunks and if they're starting to get that was we say OK, home time. That way we all keep it nice and happy. A lot of blokes used to come in, and if they had a lot of hassles, they used to drink a lot. Now they limit it. The only time a lot of the blokes get drunk - or try to get drunk - is if they're trying to be silly.
"I think they're all growing up a little."
"Thirty years ago it was pretty wild. Pretty wild. There was always fighting, always. We once had a bloke throw a pokie - a card machine - out the front doors because he lost on it. We used to have a lot of bikies out the back, and the was ... yeah. But one new manager said to one of the bikies, 'it gets a bit rough out here, does one of you guys want to be a bouncer?' So all of a sudden it was calm as anything out there."
Ask Gloria what she'll miss and it's the people, of course - the drinkers and the staff, who are like a family.
"I've spent 38 years of my life with them - I've seen them from little kids, to adults.
"We take care of each other. Drastically we do. If they're out the front when we finish of a night, we'll even take them home, make sure they get home. Mate, it's such a family thing, it really is. The drinkers are great, the staff is fantastic, management is good. We all cover each other's shifts when we need it. It's been a great place. They all care for you."
So come Saturday, June 8, the Bellambi Hotel will lose something from its family - and all are invited to the sendoff party. The pub, which is marking its 130th year, will go on, but ask anyone and they'll tell you, they won't find another one like Gloria.
