TYPIST-IN-CHARGE, Episode 17

 Hi there

TYPIST-IN-CHARGE, Education Department Head Office, Ground Floor and 1st floor typing rooms, Government Buildings, Wellington, New Zealand, 1974-1978 

The 1st floor typing work was different to work we had completed for officers on the ground floor.  This time there was a lot of typing re overseas teachers coming to New Zealand.  My readers may remember that there were not enough teachers at Wellington East Girls' College the year I sat School Certificate so I couldn't sit the three subjects that I was good at, and I was given the choice of sitting Art, or not sitting at all.  Well, it was the same during my time in the 1st floor typing room: New Zealand teachers were thin on the ground so the department had a recruitment drive for overseas teachers, especially those from Britain. Applicants were offered free travel to NZ, and a job at most any school the govt felt like sending them to.  We typed a lot of contracts telling such teachers that if they skipped out on the job, their surety (usually mum and dad or, sometimes even grandma) would be forced by the government to pay all fees associated with the move.  Bankruptcy much, I often wondered.

above: my typewriter rubber (if you're American, it's an eraser).  In the 70s, Mrs Rowley allowed typists to use Snopake paint on some things (but still no corrections allowed on the typing of mail from the Minister of Education.

If the collation part of the department's sole Gestetner duplicating machine was out of action, or there was a queue to use it, a typing pool would get a call from an officer to help with urgent collating.  Lining both sides of every corridor in Government Buildings were white-painted cupboards about chest-high.  If an officer needed 100 copies of 15 sheets of already typed and duplicated pages, the pages were lined up in order of pages 1-15 on top of the corridor cabinets. We 'girls' would traverse down the row picking up each page in order.  At line end we would staple our 15 pages together, then go back to the beginning again and gather up another 15 pages.  And another 15.  And so on.  Well, it was a change from typing..

School Publications Division was finally ordered to move into Government Buildings, much to the distress of the School Pubs workers.   They took up residence in the annex.  Prior to their arrival , they'd been a very free-wheeling crowd, not caring much about departmental rules (see an earlier TIC blog).  They brought their own typists with them.

NZ Playwright Roger Hall worked in School Pubs.  Rumour had it that the room number of the Stores Division in his most famous comedic play "Glide Time" (about a govt dept stores division) was the same as Stores Division's room number at Govt Bldgs;  I never did get around to checking up on that.

One morning in 1977, we were all working hard in the pool.

The door was flung open.  A man stood there in a rather theatrical pose.  Think of Doc Brown in the "Back to the Future" movies and you'll have a pretty good idea who this guy looked and acted like. 

All typing stopped.  We stared open-mouthed at the entrance.

"Which one of you delightful ladies is Lorraine?"  He waved the department's most recent staff newsletter in a grandiose gesture to the front of him, as if conducting an orchestra.

"Um...  Me?"  Why was I indecisive about my own name?

It turned out that he was the senior editor of the New Zealand School Journal, working out of School Publications.

He tapped at the newsletter.  "You write plays?   It says here that you wrote a 6-part radio sitcom series for Radio New Zealand?"

I nodded.

"Well, I want you to write for us.  Read some School Journals, familiarise yourself with the style of writing and here's my card - send me something.  It's good pay."

And  ... he left the room in a swirl, and a slam of the door.

We typists just sat there, staring at each other.

"What - What just happened...?"  I couldn't get my head around this guy and his request for me to write for something as great as the School Journal.  The School Journal went to every child at every school, in every class, in the whole country.  Each Journal contained stories, plays, non-fiction, and poems.  There were many journals per year, catering for different age groups.

No-nonsense Maureen said, "You'll take up the offer of course...."

"Well, I will have to try and write something.  And study the market.  And -  And -"

Newbie Helen squealed.  Oooh, you can do it!"  She sounded positive.  I wished I were as positive.

But...  Somehow I did write something.  That night, actually.  In 25 minutes .  And my first play for The New Zealand School Journal, "Elephant in the Garden", saw print in 1977.

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above:  "Elephant in the Garden" (open above) was my first printed work for the School Journal. It was published in 1977.  And my last SJ writing - "Nothing Ever Happens", a poem printed in 2013 - is on the right.  You can see from the pile of School Journals that, wow, after "Elephant in the Garden" I had many Journal acceptances.  I was so blessed.

Shop Assistants. Again. And what I should have said....

 Hi there

Years ago, I walked into a posh boutique in the T&G Building on Lambton Quay, here in Wellington.  I was the only customer in this somewhat small establishment.   The woman who I later learnt was the manager was talking to an obviously new member of staff.  As she spoke, she looked right at me. Me, in my I've-just-come-here-straight-from-the-gym-outfit of lycra and hoodie.

"Oh ..." she said to her colleague, but with her eyes boring straight into mine (I was only a few metres away from her), "You must always be on the look-out for shoplifters-" 

Whaaat!!  Was this manager getting at me?  Obviously.

So what did I do?  Well....  I turned around and walked out.  I didn't have a smart and witty comeback.  I'm not a quick thinker.  But I did come up with a few retorts the following day (but only in my mind. I was too scared of the dragon to go back into that particular den) ..

"Goodness, you don't have anything in this store that my fence would be interested in buying."

"Fool, I don't get out of bed to steal anything that's worth less than $10."

"Psst, wanna buy the Hope Diamond?"

"Ive just come from Michael Hill Jeweller. Their stock is so much more stealable.."

"Well-spotted.  Yes I do belong to Shoplifters Anonymous".

"Can I try on this Trelise Cooper designer dress?  Oh, and is that the back door that leads right into the outside alley?  Yes the door that's right beside the changing room?"

"

"

' I 

New Zealand Predators, the animal type

 Hi there

Predators in the New Zealand animal world?  Predators against humans....?  Nope, nada, none, nil!

We have no mountain lions, foxes, hyenas, wolves, kangaroos, bear, alligators, crocodiles, snakes, vultures, dingoes.  Also, no racoons, moles, otters, yeti, saquatch, Nessie...

There are sharks of course, but they're native to the sea.  Oh, but I mustn't forget our one poisonous creature:  the Katipo spider.  They're actually on the close-to-extinction list so you'll not come across many of them.  If you get bitten, there is an antidote.

above:  Katipo Spider.  Found in beachy areas.

When I was overseas I so desperately wanted to see squirrels as we don't have them here.  I came across some guy feeding them in a park in York, England.  Passersby were treating the scene like we do in NZ when we see people feeding seagulls or sparrows.  We just walk on by.

But to me, those squirrels were the most wonderful creatures.  Thank goodness, they're not predators and I mean not the sort of predator that impinges on Beatrix Potter's garden but the kind that could attack me.  Oh wait, not knowing all that much about squirrels maybe they do attack?  Naw, I refuse to believe that.  I want to kiss and cuddle them (oh goodness, don't tell me there's a movie "When Squirrels Run Rampant", I just wouldnt believe you.  I'm forcing my ears closed, la-lal-la-LAH....)

Foxes, too, are obviously adorable.  I won't pay attention to my friend in England when she tells me that they raid her rubbish bin and she runs after them, angrily waving a broom.

I read a lot of autobiographies by hikers who've trekked the Appalachian Trail in the United States.  Wouldn't that be great?  Up to 6 months of hiking, living rough, ooh-ing and aahhing over a mother bear and her frolicking cubs?  Getting real close to the cubs to take a photo....?

I dont think we kiwis really understand all that much about animal predators (we understand fully about two-legged human ones).   When I was on a hike just out of Sydney a few years ago, I sat on the grass beside a stream to eat my tomato sandwiches.  Sydney-siders looked on me in horror when I happily recounted my day out.  They screamed at me about snakes and red-backed spiders (slightly akin to the Katipo) and, really, did I figure I had a charmed life?

Well, yes, I did actually.  Dumb kiwi, eh?

Its only a head cold....

 Hi there

This is my second day with a cold.  People aren't sympathetic when I say I have a cold.  I should have said it was a virus or the flu.  

"You'll be okay in a day or two,' said a friend in an email. She then went straight on to mention water rates which Wellington doesn't have at the moment, but give it a few more months and we'll be paying for every glass of water (dramatic much?).

My friend wasn't overly interested when I told her that for all of last night I hadn't got a wink of sleep; I was too busy blowing my nose.  i went through a box and a half of tissues (100 tissues per box).

"Well, it's not covid," she email-answered me. As if anything less than covid was a mere trifle.  I should never have told her I'd tested negative for covid, she might have been more sympathetic.

The bright side?  I didn't eat yesterday.  Maybe I've lost so much weight I'll have a model''s figure by tomorrow? Well, a girl (snigger, snigger) can dream.

And I can't talk, my throat is shot.  I tried saying 'hello ' to my neighbour but couldn't get past the first vowel.

I think I'll keep on feeling real sorry for myself for another day or two, snuggle down in a nest of blankets with a box of tissues at my side, and just forget that the world outside of my house even exists.