What was it about the poster that stayed with me that day? At home it was time for piano and flute practice and musicianship homework before heading off on my bicycle to fill in my afternoon with the kind of unfettered recreation today’s average Year Nine student would struggle to comprehend. As I cycled around the sleepy bushland suburb, the illusive beauty of that feather-trimmed hat and the poster’s curvaceous script floated in and out of my thoughts.

Over the next week, every time I boarded a train I searched for that poster and one day there it was. In spite of the early morning crush and the chatter of friends I could finally decipher that lovely script – Lehár’s The Merry Widow, and a name that would shortly become my Star of Bethlehem: JOAN SUTHERLAND.

The first period that day was Music Class with Mrs King: a wonderful way to begin the school week. It was understood and accepted that Mrs King’s husband, the Head of Social Sciences, was almost as knowledgeable about music as Mrs King herself. Together they would produce the biannual school musical. The year before I had made my stage début in the Penshurst Girls High School production of Lerner and Lowe’s My Fair Lady, but not as Eliza Doolittle! I was way too young. Besides, someone had to play the role of butler.

Mr King, always entertaining, was a frequent visitor during our music classes. This morning was different. ‘Today,’ announced Mrs King, sitting down at the upright piano, ‘Mr King is going to sing an aria from … The Merry Widow.’ Before I knew it, he had launched into a solo rendition of ‘Love Unspoken’ in his fine baritone voice. How exciting – was it possible the Kings knew about my obsession with that poster? The aria came to an end and we all applauded enthusiastically. Mrs King rose from the piano and raised her hand to signal silence. ‘There will be an excursion to the Sydney Opera House to see the most famous singer in the world sing in The Merry Widow’ ‘Joan Sutherland,’ rejoined Mr King enthusiastically. We have a limited number of tickets and the first ten students to return their permission slip and five dollars will be able to come with us to the opera.’

That day was one of the longest in my young life. I had to get home, had to have my form signed and obtain the money. My mother, who had never been anywhere near an opera, was sceptical at first (‘What about your tennis lesson?’), but I reassured her the opera would take place in the evening. Finally the magical phrase ‘It’s for school’ did the trick.

The following morning I arrived at school half an hour earlier than usual and stood in the space where I knew Mr and Mrs King would normally park their car. The wait was excruciating. I was so anxious to be the first to return my permission slip and excursion money that I was almost run over when I failed to hear the approach of their car. Crisis averted, I received my ticket. Row L. Seat number 23.

My epiphany came on 19 February 1979. As the house lights dimmed in the Concert Hall of the Sydney Opera House, my life was about to change forever. When Joan Sutherland – the Voice of the Century, La Stupenda herself – came floating down the magnificent Kristian Fredrikson-designed staircase as the Merry Widow, I sat enthralled, wondering how I had existed until then without opera in my life. Later that night, travelling home on the train, I looked up from my souvenir program to find the poster proclaiming the Australian Opera’s 1979 season of The Merry Widow. Tennis fixtures and singles titles would have to take second place from that time on.