It is the signal that the necessary arrangements are in place for their annual convening. They all know it's coming up; the date had been set at the previous year's event and is on the calendar. They are now given a location and a time, and away they go.

They call themselves "The Pickettes" and they are the wives of the Maitland footballers of yesteryear - the "Pumpkin Pickers".

Rhonda Cousins, wife of Kevin Cousins (204 games for Maitland), kicked it off a few years ago when she decided that it'd be great for this group of friends to have a social catch-up once in a while that wasn't at a funeral, which is what was becoming the norm.

And so once a year, in November, this wonderful group of ladies meet for lunch. The location is not fixed: they reportedly "share themselves around the hotels of Maitland".

This year's was at the Windsor Castle; last year was Tenambit Tavern. From what I can gather there are only two rules: everybody wears black and white; and no men.

I should point out here, I suppose, that everything I know about this event has been gathered second-hand. For all I know it could be a booze-fueled, dancing-on-the-tables, entertainment-by-the-Chippendales type of affair. My wife assures me otherwise.

"It's a classy event," she reckons. "We're responsible women. We're not there for the drink, we're there for the companionship." It's best I take her word for it...

RELATED CONTENT

The day is a worthy reminder as to how good things were and how lucky we all were to have lived in that time and in that place; to have been a part of the Maitland football fraternity.

By the time I joined it properly, in the mid sixties, it was already a thing. From the Fred Brown era of the later fifties, when Maitland won three premierships on the trot, the tradition was already in place.

You'd play on Saturdays, and once a month we'd all go somewhere on the Sunday - the Allyn River a lot of the time - with the players from all three grades and their families; barbecues, swimming, kids everywhere ... it was a real community.

The girls back then would drive the family car into the ground on Saturday. The kids would go play - often sliding down hills on cardboard.

Some of the mothers would then occupy themselves with vocally informing the referee as to his shortcomings, others would have the same misgivings but be a little less prominent with their opinions; nappies hung in the car windows were an indicator that you were breast-feeding and not to be pestered by the doubles sellers. What a time...

"It's a real bond," my wife (Peg) told me. "We were all, mostly, local, and so mostly knew each other before somehow, and then the football, kids; it became an extended family. And now, getting older, the bond, in some ways, has become even stronger."

These ladies, collectively, have watched thousands of games of football.

So, as you'd expect, there is very little talk of football at their annual luncheon. I've been told that the conversation is not predominantly focused on "man-bashing"; that their focus is on their lives these days, which, for many of them, has been about travel.

They have become the "grey nomads". They talk of their current adventures.

Still, without naming names, my wife has, since the event, alluded to an ex-player who drove the caravan into the side of his house; another one whose wife has relegated him to the passenger seat when reversing is required; I've heard about a plethora of camping mishaps - no water, no gas - the blame for which laid exclusively at the feet of male negligence of duty. I suspect, contrary to Peg's protestations, that the descriptor "useless" is fair bandied about ...

"Husband-bashing" is occurring here for sure.

And, it turns out, the biggest arguments are still, eternally, to do with navigation; maps and getting lost. Such a strange thing, you'd think, to have such intense disagreements about in the era of "sat-nav". "I can't work it," seems to be the refrain.

Next year's 'Pickettes' gathering is scheduled for November 17. Any lady who has been "out-of-the-loop" is encouraged to get in touch and attend.