Being Typist in Charge of seven typists in the ground floor typing room at Government Buildings brought home to me that being in that exalted position was not all a cake-walk. I realised, even more so than when I was at Health Regional Office, that the typists I was supervisor of could sadly never be my close friends. I was the boss and there would always be a divide. I would be partly responsible (with top supervising typist, Mrs Rowley) for writing up their annual reports, partly responsible (with Mrs Rowley) for working out problems, and wholly responsible for making sure that the work got out on time. Mrs Rowley did all the interviews for vacant positions and I was glad for this. I could never ever visualise myself as an interviewer; the thought scared the pants off me.
There was a typist that had joined our little bunch a few months before: Annette. She was in her late thirties, dressed gypsy-like, with raven-black curls hanging past her shoulders. She was a vibrant, smiley, talkative soul, with the kindest of hearts and she loved the world.
On 4th of July morning she came rushing into the typing room screaming at the top of her voice. "It's Independence day! Freedom! Freedom! I'm free! Free!"
Annette's divorce had come through. She had been married to a not-very-nice man. There was a boyfriend in the wings who, for months had been waiting patiently for Annette's freedom day. He came rushing into the room behind Annette, and they danced around together. This young man was in his mid-twenties. The love and pride for Annette shone from his eyes whenever he looked at her.
We typists crowded around the pair. We were so happy for them. "You're invited to our wedding," said Annette. "You have to come."
And we did go to that wedding. Annette was in two-toned blue, a beautiful long evening dress with flounces and ribbons, and she wore flowers in her hair. Flowers were everywhere around The White Heron Lodge in Kilbirnie where the two were married. Because Annette had been dieting furiously to fit into her dress, the meal at the White Heron was diet-orientated too.
While they were on honeymoon, work carried on in the typing pool. We closed ranks and took on the extra work that Annette would have done. And this was the great thing about typing pools: ranks close when a typist is away. If a boss's secretary was sick, everything in that area stopped. Or it was brought to a pool for us to add to our already heavy work-pile.
Whether a typist was in Room 305 or Room 206 pools, or the ground floor pool like I was, it didn't matter when ministerials were given to us; they were top priority. Any letter signed by the Minister of Education was to be treated as gold.
"So much red tape," sniffed Maureen.
"Nope." Megan smled wryly. "It's green tape now, remember?"
"I can't say 'so much green tape'," Maureen argued. "It doesn't make sense. The underlying meaning of Red tape means there's so much piffle to get through. Green tapes means .... green tape!"
above: a sheet of A4 ministerial letterhead. And some green tape. A4 sheets took the place of the longer foolscap-sized sheets that had previously been used in govt departments. Not so much was tied up with any tape by this stage, except perhaps big files in Records Division.
After a time, we typists in the ground floor room were shifted to the 1st floor, a back room that looked out upon the annex behind the building.
One morning, Annette was deep in thought as she looked out the window. "We're in Government Buildings, right-?"
" -Not to be confused with Government House, " I contributed helpfully. Government House was where the Governor-General lived. He ruled New Zealand's dominion as the queen's representative.
"Its the largest wooden building in the southern hemisphere, right??'
" So? "
"So-". She loosely gestured toward the annex. "the fire escapes are made of wood. They'll pretty much be the first to burn."
It was a subject to think about.
Many years back the annex had been erected as a sort of fill-in temporary place, not meant to be a forever structure. When I had first arrived at Education, way back in the early sixties, there was a canteen on the ground floor of the annex. It was for the workers of Government Buildings. Within a very short time, the annex served as the place where the Golden Kiwi Lottery winning numbers were drawn from a large barrel, and with the aid of a long ladle to scoop out numbers. Mrs Rowley allowed new typists to go and watch.
She also allowed interested typists to race outside to the narrow (land) island in front of our building whenever gardeners were pulling out last season's flower plants - roots and all - and giving them out to passers-by.
Annette, lover and protector of all things earth-grown, would return to the typing pool covered in dirt, and triumphantly clutching three waste-paper bins crammed-full of half-dead blooms.
"Do you have a big garden?" asked Helen, our teen newbie.
Megan laughed. " Annette and her hubby - '. Annette giggled. "They don't have a garden to their flat."
" I give the plants to anyone in my street who wants them, " Annette said. My last end-of-spring rescues bloomed wonderfully this year. "
After the excitement of Flower Garden Time and other such exciting Education Department activities, we 'girls' would - between the typing of annoying ministerials and all that form-filling for Stores Division - go back to contemplating the annex, the only view from our windows. Drat, having to give up our large and sunny ground floor room with a view, just so as one or two higher-up officers could be accommodated in style.
The annex was temporarily used for official enquiries. Now, my memory isn't that great but I can recall there was an enquiry over several months relating to either the Erebus Air New Zealand flight that downed over the South Pole...or .... the sinking of the Wahine inter-island ferry in Wellington Harbour. My memory isn't too spectacular in my old(er) age....
There was another annex to the south side of Government Buildings. It was known far and wide as The Tomato House. There were lots of windows and in the summer, as you can no doubt figure out by the name Tomato House, the heat was unbelievable.
During my time, both The Tomato House and the back annex were bull-dozed down. The narrow-ish road between Government Buildings and the law courts was widened.
In the 1st floor pool we often typed results onto School Certificates. School Certificates were considered all but essential when a young person left school. A pupil had to pass in four subjects but was allowed to sit five, just as a sort of security blanket. In my last school year, there weren't enough teachers in New Zealand. Our headmistress had asked over assembly if anyone knew a secretary who could take over the shorthand, typing and commercial practice classes which shows how desperate schools were in those days. Neither could Wellington East Girls College get a geography teacher So, bingo, there was me not able to sit typing, Geography, or Office Practice. Readers of this blog will know I have a problem with numbers so Maths was out.
"You can sit Art as a fourth subject," said my teacher.
"Huh?' I could hardly draw a straight line which I proved when I was all but forced to sit that dreaded School Cert Art. I got something like 17 marks out of a hundred, even though I'd smuggled in a copy of the design on my bedroom mattress of a duck flying through some reeds. If the design had been good enough for mattress manufacturers it should have been agreeable for the markers of School Cert Art 1960, the pattern challenge.
Anyway... back to the typing pool, mid nineteen-seventies, and the typing of School Certificates -
We typed results onto the actual certificates if there had been a recount. Blank School Certificates were given to our pool.
Seeing those certificates was too much not to play around with for our junior typist Helen -
She waved a certificate in the air. "I've made one out for my boyfriend," she said. "He gets 150% for his rugby knowledge, 100% for kissing, 50% for helping his mum, and 10% for his ability to whisper sweet nothings in my ear..." *
end
*Singer, Brenda Lee, has a lot to answer for.
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