I was engulfed by a wave of nostalgia when I heard that the
last British typewriter
has been made in the Brother factory in North Wales.
I remember, as a teenager, attending an evening class in
typewriting because my mother was convinced a typing qualification would
guarantee me a good job when I left school.
I remember the teacher playing a record of marching music on
a gramophone (another piece of ancient technology), and slapping her hand on
the desk as she called out the letters while we trainee typists tried to –
press – the – right – keys – to – the – rhythm – of – a – brass – band
I remember struggling through a timed typing test as part of
a job interview, and the relief I felt when I was told it was only a formality
as the job mostly involved writing by hand.
I remember the sinking feeling I had when I read in the
Writers & Artists Yearbook that magazine
editors and publishers would no longer consider handwritten manuscripts. I had given up
paid work on the birth of my first baby and even a second-hand typewriter
seemed an unaffordable luxury.
I remember the thrill, after months of scrimping and saving,
when I became the proud owner of the cheapest portable typewriter I could find.
I remember the frustration of spending hours carefully
typing out a short story only to discover I’d made a mistake!
I remember how modern I felt when I swapped the manual
typewriter for an electric word processor, and then how nonchalantly I gave them
both away when I progressed to a personal computer!
I wouldn’t want to go back to the old days of carbon paper,
stuck keys, and the messy business of changing ribbons, but discovering that
the last British typewriter has been donated to London's Science Museum has
made me wish I’d kept my little bit of history.
