Former Bangalow Post Mistress Joan Leeds swaps cheeky customer service banter for cranky comedy gold, writes Sally Schofield.
Joan Leeds may have only operated the Bangalow Post Office for a short time, but she left her mark on the village. Known for her risqué banter, quick wit and easy friendliness, she was never one for bland small talk across the counter. Customers queueing to collect packages – large and small – were just as likely to receive a cheeky aside as efficient service.
Now Joan has taken that natural comic instinct and put it to the test, recently completing Mandy Nolan’s Cranky Women comedy course – a workshop designed to help women of a certain age find their voice, shape their stories and say the things they have been ruminating on and raging about for years.
Joan saw a Facebook post looking for “cranky women” interested in comedy. “I wrote back, ‘I’m 69. I’ve got bloody lots to say.’”
And with that, she was in.
The first workshop took place at the Drill Hall Theatre in Mullumbimby. More than a dozen women arrived, most of them strangers, from different backgrounds and different decades of life experience. But they shared a sense that something inside them was ready to be voiced.
“It turned into comedy therapy, to be really honest,” Joan says.
Before anyone worked on punchlines, Mandy’s comedy students were invited to loosen up physically. “We had to do silly dances,” she says. “I have no rhythm at all so you can imagine how well that worked for me.” The laughter began there, awkward and freeing.
Then the mood shifted.
Each woman was asked to stand before the group and speak about the one thing that was truly upsetting or worrying her. That was when the hearts began to crack open and the emotions seeped out. Or in some cases, flooded.
What followed was raw and confronting. Some women spoke about grief, others about illness, family strain or isolation. One confessed she was afraid she would not be able to stop crying – and then proceeded to bawl her eyes out.
“The courage of those women was just incredible. There were so many hugs,” says Joan.
For Joan, who has never been shy of conversation, the exercise was unexpectedly powerful. “It wasn’t what I thought I was signing myself up for,” she says. “But once you make yourself vulnerable like that, you’ve got nothing to lose.”
Only after that emotional clearing, and the shaking off of the rusted-on armour of survival, broken hearts and broken dreams, could the laughter begin.
In smaller groups, each participant shared an embarrassing story, a mortifying anecdote or cringe-worthy gaff. Later, someone else in the group had to retell it on stage – embellishment and poetic licence essential.
“It was hilarious,” Joan says. “The way people could take your story and make it sound like it happened to them. Make something that was already awkward even more unbearable and hysterical.” On stage, humiliation transformed into shared laughter.
Joan’s own story involved a sudden and unfortunate gastrointestinal incident in the freezer aisle of a supermarket. Her improvised escape strategy – involving a reusable shopping bag and a swift exit – became, in the retelling, comedy gold.
Yet the course was not only about confession. It was about craft.
“I didn’t know how to write comedy,” says the naturally funny Joan. “I usually just feed off what’s in front of me. That’s just me. But Mandy taught us about the structure, the set-up. It’s a skill.”
Participants were coached in microphone technique, projection, where to stand and how to use their hands. They learned how to look at an audience without staring down a single person in terror. They workshopped their material one-on-one, refining wording and sharpening jokes.
Joan’s final routine drew heavily on her time at the Post Office, particularly her frustration with customers glued to their smartphones.
“I used to say, ‘I don’t need another app!’ but you bloody do,” she says. “If you want to know where your parcel is, you need the app.”
A cheeky reference to actor Liam Hemsworth and an imagined “big package” at the counter – polished with Nolan’s guidance – added another layer of bawdy humour, very much in keeping with the wit locals remember.
On the night of the final performance, Mandy MCed, warming the room and stepping in between performers to keep the flow of the evening.
“It was a high,” Joan says. “I’m up there doing my thing and people are laughing. I’m like, this is great.”
What moved her most, however, was watching the transformation of the other women.
“There were women with absolutely zero confidence,” she says. “From ‘I can’t stop crying’ to standing up there and making ceiling mould funny. Every one of them landed well. It was bloody brilliant.”
For Joan, the course was cathartic in ways she did not anticipate. It was not just about being cranky. It was about being heard.
At 69, she is not winding down. She is cranking things up. Whether she returns to the stage remains to be seen. Life, as always, is moving – in more ways than one.
Cranky that you missed it?
The next Cranky Women’s Comedy course runs on Sunday 17 May, 9am-3pm at Coorabell Hall with a performance at the hall on Friday 22 May.
The course cost is $150 for the full day, and funds raised at the Comedy Show performance will help support the SHIFT project.
Header image Cranky Women’s Comedy’s first graduates Photo Lyn McCarthy – Niche Pictures