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The 1926 Typewriter War of Dependence: A Battle Royal Between Britain, Australia and the United States

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The King of England joins the fight: The battle reaches fever pitch at the British Industries Fair at White City, Shepherd's Bush, London, in mid February 1926, when Bill Mawle (with moustache, centre) moves in on King George V (third top hat from left) and Queen Mary (third from right) to complain about the British Government's Stationery Office buying American-made typewriters in preference to British machines. The king declares it a "scandal", and suddenly 2700 American-made typewriters disappear from British Government offices, to be replaced by British machines made in Leicester, West Bromwich and Nottingham. By the end of the month, Leicester and Nottingham were expanding sales staffs to meet the new demand.
THE BACKGROUND TO WAR
When Typewriter War of Dependence broke out, in early February 1926, British typewriter manufacturers didn't like to admit it, but they had woken up to the fact that they were down on their knees. The World War I years had been devastating, and strenuous efforts in the immediate post-war era to revive the industry had fallen short of expectations. The tide in the international typewriter trade had decidedly shifted, with American manufacturers setting standards the British could not match. Indeed, British typewriters, faced with such intense competition, had disappeared from the public consciousness in their own country.
To make ends meet, British typewriter manufacturers knew they had to rely heavily on the British Government buying British-made typewriters, primarily for use in the civil service. The trouble was, the civil service had understandably developed a preference for American-made typewriters, notably Remingtons, Underwoods and Royals. To put it quite bluntly, these were superior typewriters.
The export value of American typewriters rose from $11 million in 1913 to $36 million in 1920 - of which Britain in the immediate post-war period took almost two-thirds.
Britain had never really been in the same league as the US in the production and exportation of typewriters. But the war seriously exacerbated the situation. In the three years between 1917-1919, Britain had had to import 93,093 typewriters (as Britain was at war with what had previously been one of its major trading partners, Germany, almost all of these came from the US) while it exported a mere 7411.
This crisis for the British typewriter industry deepened in the economic aftermath of the war. The degree to which Britain felt beholden to the US for decisively intervening in the war remains debatable. What is certain is that by 1921 a cardinal principle of British foreign policy was to “cultivate the closest relations with the United States”. This was in the face of growing public ill-feeling on both sides of the Atlantic, caused in large part, at least in the US, by Britain's massive war debt to America.
In 1923 Britain renegotiated its ₤978 million war debt to the US Treasury by promising regular payments of ₤34 million for 10 years then ₤40 million for 52 years. The idea was for the US to loan money to Germany, which in turn paid reparations to Britain, which in turn paid off its loans from the US.
Britain abandoned free trade for duties (as high as 15 per cent on typewriters*) and a policy of "imperial preferences". (*In Australia, the rate remained at 10 per cent, but was free for "preferentials" - that is, other countries in the "British Empire", such as Britain and Canada. Not surprisingly, there were no duties on imported typewriters in the US.)
While the British economy and the pound sterling were seriously on the slide, the US economy was booming on the back of mass production techniques and growing efficiency, and the dollar had become increasingly attractive. Britain was tied to the gold standard and its economy experienced deflation and stagnant growth. In 1925, British Chancellor the Exchequer Winston Churchill returned the British pound to its pre-war level of $US4.85. This meant British exports were overvalued,  and monetary policy had to be kept tighter than necessary. British industries struggled to make the same productivity gains as the US. Traditional British industries faced global oversupply. Wholesale prices fell by 25 per cent between 1921 and 1929, but were not matched by falling wages. Deflation discouraged consumer spending and increased the burden of debt.
Despite the weakness of the pound, it was necessary to pursue deflationary fiscal and monetary policy. Because US inflation was low, this meant Britain was effectively aiming for deflation. The attempt to keep the pound in an overvalued fixed exchange rate was a key factor in contributing to deflation and lower economic growth.
The upshot of all this was that in spite of the importation costs and 15 per cent tariffs, US-made typewriters were far better value - they were still competitively priced and were markedly higher quality machines. 
BRITISH TYPEWRITERS IN THE 1920s
In April 1926, two months after war began, a British newspaper reported that "It is common knowledge that British-made typewriters are in very few commercial offices in this country". "It is, in truth, little wonder that English business houses did not install British typewriters, for hardly anyone has ever heard of their existence ... one could have asked almost any businessman or his typists what the names of the British makes of typewriters were, and he would not have been able to give the information. If the firms find that they have no home market for their machines, they have only themselves to blame."
Imperial was still making what was fundamentally the Hidalgo Moya-designed downstroke "portable" which had first appeared in 1908 (as the Model A). Upon resuming typewriter-making at the end of the war, Imperial introduced a straight keyboard Model D, yet this didn't go into full production until 1921. A smaller, lighter version appeared in 1923, by which time downstroke typewriters were very much outmoded (the Oliver remaining an exception which didn't prove any rule). In 1926, the year the "typewriter war of dependence" broke out, Imperial decided head design engineer Arthur Bott Pateman should begin work on a conventional standard (the Model 50). This emerged in 1927, and was Britain's first (and only) real competitor for the US-made Remingtons, Underwoods and Royals. It had, however, an awful lot of ground to make up, even in Britain.
Between 1923-29 the Rimingtons' British Typewriters and Empire Typewriter companies (the latter a separate trade mark taken out in 1920) were having British Blicks (Blick-Bars), British and British Empire typewriters made by George Salter & Co in West Bromwich, and the Empire and Blick Universal by Adler in Germany.  The Salter-made machines were structurally weak, possibly from the use of inferior material to lower prices, a problem which prevented them from being competitive. Until 1923, the Salters themselves had continued to make a "Salter Visible" standard with an inclined typebasket. It wasn't a success, either. 
After building a typewriter-specific factory in Nottingham in 1919 to make Herbert Etheridge-designed "all-British" frontstroke Bar-Locks, the Richardsons saw the writing on the wall in 1925 and sold the plant to the Jardines, who continued bringing out Bar-Locks.  These, like the Rimington and Salter typewriters, were simply not good enough to compete with the American machines. The Richardsons, meanwhile, took over the American Oliver brand. Viscount Henry Lascelles, son-in-law of King George V, failed miserably to get his ₤500,000 "all-British"Conqueror project off the ground in Leeds, and the factory was sold in August 1922.
Britain had no fully home-ground portable typewriter until 1932, when Imperial produced the Good Companion. In 1930 the Jardines bought the British rights to make the German Tell as the Bar-Let. Later in the 30s the Jardines also produced a poor copycat version of the Hermes Baby, the Bar-Lock portable. In the mid-30s the Rimingtons and Salters sold their typewriter plant and brand names to Norman William Reginald Mawle to make Hermes Babys as Baby Empires.
THE WAR
The war broke out in early February 1926 and Norman William Reginald"Bill"Mawle, a World War I flying ace, was front and centre of it throughout. It started with Britain's Financial Secretary to the Treasury, MP Ronald McNeill, answering a question in the House of Commons on behalf of Stanley Baldwin's Conservative Government. McNeill said "British workmanship had not yet produced such good value in typewriters and labour saving machines as America. The typewriting machines used are still of American make, but whenever they could use a British machine which was at all equal in efficiency to the foreign one the Stationery Office would give preference to the British article."
At the time McNeill's comments were published in the British Press, Mawle had been general sales manager of Imperial for almost two years. Mawle and Imperial took great umbrage and rallied the Salter company to the cause. A letter was written to McNeill, Salter stating that "we are manufacturing typewriters at these works which are equal to any American machine made". An unsatisfactory reply came from the Treasury Chambers in Whitehall, saying McNeill understood 23 British Empire typewriters bought by the Stationery Office in the preceding year were made by Salter. Which was only half right, as they were made by Salter for the Rimingtons.
Mawle was determined not to let the matter rest, and again took up the cudgels. He wrote to Salter director Charles Sidney Bache on an Imperial letterhead. Mawle said American typewriter makers had been advertising machines as either "Built in Britain" or "Assembled by British Labour". This Remington ruse was a few years later used in Australia as well.
Calling the claims misleading, Mawle said British typewriter makers employed hundreds of workers in 11 different trades, working in more than 120,000 square feet of factory floor space, whereas "assembling" took only "a few dozen mechanics and boys" and "of course the profits pass out of the country". Mawle offered the use of an Imperial poster to Bache and the Rimingtons, as well as the Jardines. The poster read, "See that yours is made of British material by British labour and backed by British capital". Bache, as its secretary, accepted the offer on behalf of the British Typewriter Manufacturers' Association.
These posters were used at the British Industries Fair at the White City in Shepherd's Bush, London (where, ironically, American typewriters were in official use). This is where Mawle made his decisive move on King George V:
AUSTRALIA JOINS IN
Between 1930-34, Australians, such unthinking loyalists, were told to join the fight. The full text of this item, written by Mawle and which appeared in the Adelaide Advertiser on May 24, 1930, reads:
TYPEWRITER PREFERENCE!
BRITISH OR FOREIGN MACHINES?
In view of the protest lodged by our competitors against acceptance of the "Imperial" British Typewriter tender, we set out the following facts which will help you to appreciate the difficulties which distributors of British machines have to overcome. The following extracts are taken from a publication of the Imperial Typewriter Company Limited, Leicester, England.
Are the typewriters used in your office British made?
This question has been asked by patriotic businessmen since the visit of the King [George V] to the British Industries Fair of 1926. His Majesty's pertinent question and outspoken comments on the matter aroused their interest. They made enquiries and found that foreign-made typewriters were being used despite the fact that equally and even more efficient British-made machines were available. Their surprise at this discovery led to further enquiries. "Why," they asked, "should it be necessary to purchase a foreign typewriter? Surely British engineering and mechanical skill, combined with British inventive genius, could provide all that is wanted." One result of these enquiries has  been an overwhelming demand for the products of the IMPERIAL TYPEWRITER COMPANY, of LEICESTER.
WAR! IMPERIAL TYPEWRITER PRODUCTION CEASES
MUNITIONS MADE INSTEAD
With the declaration of war in 1914, the Government was quick to realise the value of the adaptable machinery used by manufacturers of such intricate mechanism as typewriters. The "Imperial" factory was quickly adapted to meet the Government's requirements for material for War Service.
WE WERE NEEDED NATIONALLY AND WE WILLINGLY GAVE THE SERVICE REQUIRED.
BRITISH MARKET CAPTURED.
At the close of the war, we resumed business as manufacturers of typewriters. We soon realised, however, the grave difficulties we had to face. For a number of years our American competitors had the monopoly of all our markets and had taken full advantage of the opportunity. Not only this. They had been enabled to build up a wonderful selling organisation. They had obtained control of a number of schools where the typists were educated to the use of their machines. They had installed their typewriters THROUGHOUT THE LARGEST INDUSTRIAL ORGANISATIONS. Thus, BOTH AS LEARNERS AND AS OPERATORS, TYPISTS WERE ACCUSTOMED TO  THE USE OF FOREIGN MACHINES. The name "IMPERIAL", so well known before the war through our consistent advertising  and well-organised service, had been forgotten.
The American maker had not only exploited the British market by means of high prices, but had also thoroughly "dug himself in" on the very ground we had cultivated so carefully in the past.
Extraordinary impetus was given to the progress by the gracious interest to the matter shown by the King. That interest was, of course, manifested in the industry as a whole, and had no reference to any particular British make. What His Majesty wanted to know was why foreign-made machines were being used in British Government and other offices. He could not believe, and rightly, too, that British makers were unable to supply "the goods" given the opportunity.
THE KING WAS PERFECTLY RIGHT.
The demand which arose as the result of his comments reassured the industry. The directors of the Imperial Typewriter Company were so impressed with the opening thus offered that tens of thousands of pounds have been spent in producing an entirely new model - a machine which is the very latest advance in typewriter design, and which is likely to revolutionise the whole idea of typewriter construction. [This paragraph refers to Pateman's Model 50.]
WHY YOU SHOULD BUY A BRITISH TYPEWRITER?
Experience has shown that British constructors are, broadly speaking, ahead of foreign firms both in actual design and methods of construction. The British are seldom equalled, and certainly never surpassed in engineering - and the producing of a typewriter is, after all, an engineering accomplishment.
Therefore, the first and foremost reason "why you should buy a British typewriter" is: Because the "IMPERIAL" is better—BETTER IN WORKMANSHIP. BETTER IN DESIGN, BETTER IN SERVICE. This can easily be proved by comparing the "IMPERIAL" with any foreign-made machine.
Every "IMPERIAL" purchased provides the equivalent of a month's work for a British workman, for to produce a typewriter workers from 19 different trades are employed. We are registered on the KING'S ROLL, AND 100 PER CENT OF OUR SALESMEN ARE EX-SERVICEMEN.
Competition we believe to be the LIFE OF TRADE—that is to say, FAIR COMPETITION. Some of our competitors, realising the demand for British-made typewriters, have immediately advertised their products as being "BUILT IN BRITAIN."
See that your machine is not only "Built in Britain." but MADE by BRITISH LABOUR of BRITISH MATERIAL and backed by BRITISH CAPITAL.
The IMPERIAL Factory is BY FAR THE LARGEST TYPEWRITER FACTORY IN THE BRITISH EMPIRE WITH A PLANT SECOND TO NONE FOR THE MANUFACTURE OF TYPEWRITERS AND OF TYPEWRITER STEEL TYPE.
SHOULD ENGLAND MANUFACTURE TYPEWRITERS?
Note in the following extracts, taken from a house magazine issued by a firm handling American typewriters, the fallacious reasoning used in an attempt to justify Australians in giving preference to American machines.
"It is false economy and bad business to buy goods manufactured in our Empire, if they are not, at least, the equal in quality and price of goods manufactured elsewhere, and the popular cry "BUY BRITISH GOODS" must be logically applied, or it will inevitably react against itself."
"No one nation can manufacture everything, for its natural resources will not permit of this, and if it could confine its purchases within the limit of its own people, other nations would refuse to purchase its exportable surplus, for reciprocal trade is essential to the life of a nation. There are many kinds of goods that are the legitimate product of the British Empire, and which it is our bounden duty as Britishers, and in the best interests of ourselves to purchase in preference to foreign, but there are many classes of goods which, because they are not the natural product of the Empire, cannot thus be classified.
"Take typewriters as one example. America manufactured and marketed the first commercial machine, and thereafter manufactured and exported typewriters to such an extent that today it produces about four-fifths of the world's typewriter needs."
 "To sum up the whole matter, following economic laws, the nation that is able to produce the best goods at the lowest cost is entitled to the business."
Many of the leading firms in Adelaide will testify to the superiority of the Imperial over foreign-made typewriters.
In addition to supplying "IMPERIALS" to the British Government, Australasian distributors in other States and New Zealand hold contracts for the supply of "IMPERIALS" to the following: Commonwealth Government. New South Wales Government, New South Wales Railways, Victorian Government, Victorian Railways, New Zealand Government.
Next week is EMPIRE Week. Don't be swerved from your patriotism by foreign interests. SEE THE "IMPERIAL" DEMONSTRATED and then your better judgment and appreciation of a better article will prompt you to buy an "IMPERIAL".

Days of Oz and Roses

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The Oz masthead and at least one rose (or is it an Oliver carnation?)
One thing all Australian media commentators were agreed upon on the TV news tonight: "Rupert doesn't take 'No' for an answer". They were talking about US media giant Time Warner's rejection of an initial $80 billion takeover bid by Rupert Murdoch's 21st Century Fox.
Rupert Murdoch checks page proofs with his editors on "The Stone" of The Australian in Canberra in July 1964.
The first time I ever encountered Murdoch was in the sports newsroom of The Australian, Australia's national daily newspaper, on Holt Street in Surry Hills, Sydney, in late 1969. He didn't take "No" for an answer then, either.
Murdoch unexpectedly walked into the room, apparently rather agitated about something or other. As he headed through our area to the editor's office, he passed a group of six young journalists sitting around an old Bakelite radio, listening to a broadcast of the Canterbury horse race meeting. Murdoch momentarily hesitated, leaned over, switched off the radio, and said, "You blokes have got work to do."
 News Ltd on Holt Street, Surry Hills, Sydney, today. Below, the modern, typewriterless newsroom.
One of the group, a tyro from the adjourning section who obviously didn't know Rupert Murdoch from Ronnie Biggs, instantly turned the radio back on, saying, "It's OK, mate, I'm from finance.""You were from finance," said "Uncle Rupe". The finance reporter was sacked on the spot.
Murdoch had a reputation for this sort of thing.  One knew to sit up and take notice of his every command. When the launch of The Australian was being planned in Canberra in 1964, Murdoch turned up, again unexpectedly, and called a heads-of-sections meeting. "If we decide to bring the launch date forward, and go to press with this thing tonight," said Murdoch, "I want to know that you're ready. What have you got?"
The Australian's first headquarters, on Mort Street in Canberra in 1964.
Duly the various editors went through their news lists, suggesting possible lead articles and layouts. But when it came to sports editor Morrie Carr, Morrie held up a blank sheet. "What's the meaning of this?" asked Murdoch. "Well, Rupert, sports happens of an afternoon. I won't know what I've got until about 5.30." Morrie was sacked, too. He didn't even make it to the first edition.
The Australian was actually launched a short time later, on July 15, 1964, which means it has been celebrating its 50th anniversarythis week. When it started, it was based on Mort Street in Canberra, quite close to The Canberra Times (the inner city area is now known as "Times Square").
Establishing a national daily in a country as vast as Australia set Murdoch some enormous challenges. Canberra's winter weather - blanketing the city then as it does right now, in a foggy covering so dense it would make any "black-out" obsolete - didn't help Murdoch's cause. He recalled this week standing on the tarmac at Canberra airport in his pyjamas at a freezing 3am, trying to persuade pilots to ignore the fog and fly his page plates to his presses in Sydney to be printed. In 1967 he moved The Australian's headquarters to Sydney, where it remains.
Murdoch checking a broadsheet newspaper hot off the presses.
The year before, 1966, Murdoch was able to achieve the technology breakthrough that made The Australian a true national morning daily on a continent 2500 miles wide. Pages were made up in the traditional hot metal form (in formes), but then a high-quality page proof was pulled on bromide paper and the proof was transmitted as a facsimile over Telecom lines to print sites in Melbourne, Sydney and Brisbane. This was later widened to include Adelaide and Perth. Thirty years before the onset of modern remote-site printing through digital processes,  Murdoch had the most sophisticated satellite printing system in the world.
I first heard about Rupert Murdoch and his ambitions in 1967, when I was working for The New Zealand Herald in Auckland. Two years later, I was working the man who had come to be known in England as "The Dirty Digger":
The Australian's first editor had been the irascible Maxwell Newton, who was succeeded within a year by Walter Kommer. By the time I arrived, Adrian Deamer was well ensconced. He was a good editor, but became rather embittered after his sacking. During Deamer's absences, it was a far greater pleasure to work under his deputy, Alan Ramsey. But when Deamer went, Ramsey wasn't elevated. Instead, under Deamer's  replacement, Bruce Rothwell, the paper slid backwards. Then came that unforgettable larrikin, Owen Thomson, one of the best editors I have ever worked with. It was a memorable experience, too, to work with such great journalists as war correspondent Pat Burgess, Phil Cornford and George Williams.
 Walter Kommer
 Adrian Deamer
 Owen Thomson
Alan Ramsey
 Pat Burgess
Phil Cornford
In the background of the photo above of Kommer at work in Canberra in 1965 can be seen the model of typewriter we all used at News Ltd in Sydney during my time there, the Remington International:
I became a sports columnist at The Australian and these were among the happiest, and most productive, days of my 47-year journalism career. When Murdoch wasn't running interference with what Deamer was doing, it was a damned good newspaper, too. I remember the time most fondly for my work on the anti-Apartheid demonstrations during the 1971 South African rugby union tour, getting to know such charming gentlemen as my golf heroes Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus, working with tennis champion John Newcombe and watching the arrival of a very young Evonne Goolagong, and covering my first Grand Slam tennis and Ashes cricket series. 
 A happy chappie, me in early 1972.
 From Political Football, by the London Times correspondent in Australia, the late Stewart Harris.
Getting the scoop:
The Australian then:
The far right-wing rag it is now:

The Original 1935 £3000 Contract Between Paillard and Bill Mawle (British Typewriters)

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British Typewriters founder Norman William Reginald "Bill" Mawle

Not a baby, a Baby Empire! Happy Christmas in July, Typospherians

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Christmas in July, Midwinter Christmas or Christmas in Winterrefers to Christmas-themed celebrations held in winter (usually mid to late July) in the Southern Hemisphere. In countries such as Australia, New Zealand andSouth Africa, Christmas in July or Midwinter Christmas events are undertaken in order to have Christmas with a winter feel in common with the Northern Hemisphere. 
It was to these very countries that in 1939 Baby Empire portable typewriters began to arrive. Here is that company's 1938 Christmas (in December) card:

80 Days in the Wilderness with a Soggy Corona 3 Portable Typewriter

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On Wednesday, May 7, 1919, George Ely Russell - less than three months after being honourably discharged as a US Army First Lieutenant from the American Expeditionary Force at Fort Dix, New Jersey - set off from Seattle in an 18-foot long, canvas-covered Peterborough canoe to paddle 1000 miles to Junea, Alaska. Russell was a fortnight shy of his 26th birthday. 
Apart from an oar, Russell was armed with the Corona 3 folding portable typewriter (serial number 84165) he had used on the battlefronts of France in World War I.
About one third of the way into his epic voyage, while approaching the Heiltsuk First Nation Reserve village of Bella Bella on the east coast of Campbell Island in British Columbia, 98 nautical miles north of Port Hardy on Vancouver Island, Russell dropped his Corona 3 into seven feet of salt water.
Unable to fetch the Corona 3 off the bay floor with a salmon hook, Russell stripped off naked, dived in and rescued the typewriter from its salty grave. He wiped it off with an old rag, dried it in front of his night fire ... and went on to write one quarter of a million words with it!
To celebrate reaching 1.2 million page views of this typewriter history blog, I salute George Ely Russell and the Corona 3 portable typewriter.
Many of the 250,000 words written by Russell on his once water-laden Corona 3 were incorporated into a book about his canoeing expedition, called Eighty Days in the Wilderness: Seattle to Alaska by Canoe in 1919. The book was republished in 2009 by Russell's son, George Ely Russell Jr, a well-known American genealogist who passed away in Maryland last year.
The late George Ely Russell Jr (1927-2013)
Russell's book describes the odyssey of a nature lover and philosopher as he visits Nanaimo, Quathiaski Cove, Blunden Harbour, "Kynumpt" Harbour on Seaforth Channel, Prince Rupert, Telegraph Creek and the Indian villages of Bella Bella, Klemtu, Tahl-tan and Yaculta.
George Ely Russell Sr was born in Milwaukee on May 24, 1893. He died, aged 48, in a plane crash at about 10.30 on the night of October 30, 1941, at Thompson Howe's farm at Lawrence Station, near Shedden, Ontario. All 17 passengers, mostly US businessmen flying from Buffalo to Detroit, and three crewmen were killed when the American Airlines DC3 transport ploughed into the earth 14 miles west of St Thomas and burst into such fierce flames that no attempt at rescue could be made. It was at the time the worst air disaster in Canadian history. Russell was the Niagara Falls-based sales promotion and advertising manager of the Gilman Fanfold Company.

Typewriters For Sale - Bargain Prices

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These typewriters will not be offered on eBay. Contact me directly if you are interested in any of them. Serious inquiries only. Unfortunately I no longer use PayPal either, so payment will have to be made by direct bank deposit or cash on pick-up.
 New Yost. $650. Display only. Works but ink pad around bottom of typebasket is dry.
Royal 10. $125. Crinkle paint finish.
 USB Underwood 4. $650. Use as a normal typewriter and/or computer keyboard.
 Stoewer Elite. $450. Works. Wooden base board but no cover.
 Klein-Adler 2. $150. QWERTZ keyboard. Works.
 Diamant. $450. Works.
 Oliver 5. $250. Works.
 Bing No 2. $300. Has metal base and cover.
 Bijou (Erika) 1 Folding. $450. Has leather case. 
Perkeo folding. $225.
All 10 $3500.

Fly Me to the Moon, Let Me Type Among the Stars

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To mark the 45th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing, July 20, 1969 ... my column from The Canberra Times on this day in 2009:
I've mislaid the original coloured ticket. Not that Pan Am is around any longer to honour it.
The queue was so long I had lost sight of the fact that I was even a part of it. The check-in counter was far from view and my interest in the destination was fast waning. I was booking my Pan Am flight to the moon, way back in 1969, thinking it was the fun thing to do in the year of the first lunar landing.
Then it all came back. On the 40th anniversary of ''one giant leap for mankind'', a letter to the editor of The Canberra Times appeared. It came from Christopher Davis, of Carwoola in New South Wales, and he asked about an article the Times had published in 1968, concerning a Canberra family which had booked flights to the moon through Pan Am. Had the family ever thought about it again? Davis wondered in print. Did Pan Am, before its demise in late 1991, ''ever correspond upon the matter?''''The fact that we were to see man walk upon the moon, just a year later, probably gave them some hope of this incredible prospect coming true,'' wrote the Carwoola correspondent.
I was in awe of a memory that could recall such lightweight material. And given my own experience with lunar flight bookings, I determined to help answer at least some of these questions.
Somewhere, among my mountain of souvenirs, is a card from Pan Am registering my place in the queue to board a moon flight, and letters from representatives of both the travel agent, Nancarrow and Co, and from Pan Am itself, expressing thanks for my interest in taking part in the unworldly trip. The letters were worded with a tongue firmly in cheek, in keeping with the spirit of the ticket application, yet the whole package had been put together with a carefully constructed air of authenticity. But what precisely had Pan Am and the travel agent offered me in 1969? Was there any hint of a promise to which, all these years later, they might have been held if Pan Am had itself been held together? What was the exact wording on the flight booking card? What was my actual waiting list number? Something well above 25,000, if memory serves me right.
And so I went looking for my moon flight ticket and letters among the clutter of papers housed in my large yet overflowing shed. I was expecting to unearth the sort of fine detail I believed had served me well these past 50-odd years. But my lunar travel documents were nowhere to be found.
My friend Elizabeth expressed due sympathy for this plight, in hunting through the shed for something I knew was there but could not turn up. She may well have inwardly welcomed the sad news, since she has been gently trying to wean me off my dependence on detail for some time now. More of the germane, she has been clearly indicating, and much less risk of ennui among my readers.
There are reasons why, for the time being, I have been having difficulty laying hands on the things I go looking for. Suffice to say here that said shed is a jumble stacked to the beams with books, journals, magazines of many hues, newspaper clippings, photograph albums, typewriters, typewriter bits and pieces, typewriter cases, CDs, DVDs, videos, vinyl albums and sundry other reminders of a life littered with compulsions and obsessions. Oh, not to mention battery-powered clocks, scaled model sports cars and soft toy lions. (If anyone knows of a worthy destination for a wince-making number of toy lions, please let me know.)
Things aren't quite as bad as the 1500 gnomes left ownerless and homeless in Cootamundra this week, or the shopaholic found dead and buried under an avalanche of bric-a-brac in England, but they're getting there.
Condemned to continuing this column without the obligatory detail, I sat down to sulk - another lifelong habit - and read the Literary Review. And lo, what should I find there but a review by David Profumo of a book called Collections of Nothing, by William Davies King.
Profumo opened by confessing to ''vague concerns about my multifarious collecting habits ... I have accumulated many hundreds of stuffed kittens, sections of barbed wire, tobacco pipes, items of bondieuserie, fishing floats, wine corks and shaving-foam tins. Entire regions of the house have been made over to assemblages of wrapped soap or cigarette packets dating from the 1973-81 period when I was still smoking for England.
"Now, it seems, my various obsessions are but a foothill compared with the K2 summit that is the lifetime's achievement of Professor King. "However recherché your chosen specialism, there are always other collectors out there, harmless eccentrics devoted to everything from teddy bears (arctophily) to Camembert cheese labels (tyrosemiophily).''
Profumo says King came to realise ''that this habit was an attempt to lend the illusion of permanence to a domestic world where nothing was otherwise reassuring''.
No doubt I have been inflicted by any number of ''philies'' over the years, notably "grafomichaniphily" (typewriter collecting), but Profumo's review made me suddenly start to feel an awful lot better. It struck me that as my life continued to seek an illusion of permanence, I should rely less on the fine detail so integral to compulsive collecting. I began to feel as if, indeed, armed with this knowledge, I could fly to the moon and, yes, type among the stars.  

Mrs Muir's Scheidegger Portable Hasn't Given Up the Ghost Yet

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Gifted
I can fully appreciate why Richard Polt likes using his Scheidegger Princess-Matic so much. It's certainly a lovely machine to type with.
Gone
Godawful

Nico Backhaus in Cologne, the gentlemen selling this item (I won't say where because I don't want to eSwear), contacted me last year with some information on the Scheidegger Typomat. My post on it is here.
Willy Scheidegger






Remington Typewriters Back at the Front

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France invited World War I re-enactment groups from across the world to attend the 2014 Bastille Day celebrations, as Paris marked the 100th anniversary of the Great War.
Parisians and tourists alike were greeted with the surprising sight of "soldiers" in vintage army uniforms from Czarist Russia, Imperial Germany, Austria-Hungary, Italy, France and the US roaming around the capital on France’s national day.
The base camp for these World War I re-enactors? The capital’s popular Tuileries Garden (le Jardin des Tuileries), next to the world-famous Louvre Museum.
“We are here to honour and remember the soldiers who fought in World War I”, says Bastien Lepine, who travelled to Paris from the southern French town of Albi with the re-enactment association Histoire et Passions.
“We put on our uniforms as soon as we arrived last night to get into the spirit. I even slept here”, says Lepine, pointing to a large white tent 25 yards away from the German encampment. “We heard them celebrating their World Cup victory” he added with a laugh, referring to the German soccer triumph in Brazil.
Michael Pfahlar, a member of German re-enactment association Alte DSM, from Karlsruhe, said he was honoured to have been invited by the French. “It’s important to have contacts with French groups who share our interest in history,” said Pfahler. “We also met people from Romania and Italy … But last night we ended up talking more about football than World War I!”

A visit to Typewriter repairman Bernd Mose at the Arndt Hans Joachim Büromaschinen store in Berlin

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Excitement over news stories about the German National Security Agency's Investigation Committee considering the use of manual typewriters because of data leak concerns reached fever pitch in Berlin this week.
"Sales of typewriters are on the rise" one newspaper declared, inspiring a visit to typewriter repairman Bernd Mose at the Arndt Hans Joachim Büromaschinen office supply store at Gneisenaustr 91, 10961 in Berlin.
The images on this post are all from this store.
Olympia said the company expects to sell more typewriters this year than at any time in the past two decades. It said sales may double in 2014 over those of the previous year. Olympia spokesperson Andreas Fostiropoulis said, "We will certainly cross the 10,000 threshold." He added that he has had some orders from Russian partners.
German typewriter maker Bandermann also cited climbing sales. "We sell about 10,000 [typewriters] every year," Bandermann manager Rolf Bonnen said. "We’ve seen an increase because Brother left the market [in 2012],” he added. The company's sales have jumped by one-third over last year. Triumph-Adler, which is part of Bandermann, began advertising its typewriters as "Bug proof. NSA proof” last year.
German defence contractor Diehl switched from computers to typewriters last year."The Diehl Group relies on traditional typewriters for sensitive affairs," spokesman Michael Prymelski said.

Presidential Typewriter Quiz

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1. One hundred and eighty-five years ago this week (July 23, 1829), which US President signed the letters patent for William Austin Burt's Typographer?
2. Which US President worked as a 23-year-old mine engineer among what he called the "black flies, red dust and white heat" of the goldfields of Western Australia in 1897? Employed by London-based gold mining company Bewick, Moreing & Co, he worked at gold mines in Big Bell, Cue, Leonora, Menzies and Coolgardie in rangelands on the edge of the Great Victoria Desert, and expanded the Sons of Gwalia gold mine.
An L.C.Smith typewriter left in Kalgoorlie after the West Australian goldrush.
The young mining engineer photographed in Perth, Western Australia, in 1898.
3. Which US vice-president won the Nobel Peace Prize and wrote the music for the pop standard It's All in the Game, which in 1958 went to No 1 on the US Billboard charts and the British Hit Parade?
4. Which future US President rode his horse Texas to lead the Rough Riders in charges in the Battle of San Juan Hill in Cuba during the Spanish-American War of 1898?
The man and his Remington No 6 typewriter.
5. Which US presidents were born with the names Hiram, Leslie Lynch King Jr and William Jefferson Blythe III?
6. Which future US president was the son of a one-time Confederate Army chaplain, could vividly recall standing next to Robert E. Lee, and to compensate for his dyslexia taught himself the Graham shorthand system?
His typewriter.
7. Which future US president was a 16-year-old page at the 1900 Democratic National Convention in Kansas City and later worked as a timekeeper on the Santa Fe Railroad and in the mailroom of the Kansas City Star?
 The Press Car on his train.
8. Who was the US President when the first patents were granted, in 1868, for what would become the Sholes & Glidden typewriter?
9. Who was the first US President to install a typewriter in the White House, in February 1880?
10. Who was the first serving US President to visit Australia?
Not all the way with ...
Who employed this typist at LCRA Corp...
And who read this speech ...
Answers in comments

An Intrepid Pioneer and Her Baby Empire Portable Typewriter

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Marie Byles typing on her Baby Empire at a bungalow in Sadon, Burma (now Myanmar), on August 12, 1938. This was on New Zealand's first mountaineering expedition overseas, and the party was on its way to the Yulan Shan and the 19,700-foot high Mount Sansato in western China.
Marie Byles' cat with her Baby Empire typewriter. Byles wrote her many manuscripts sitting crossed legged at this low table, in her lounge.
Marie Beuzeville Byles was a pioneering Australian conservationist, feminist and lawyer. She was also a prolific writer, on subjects from women's rights to Buddhism, an intrepid mountaineer and an explorer. And she used a Baby Empire portable to type her many books, as well as taking it on her extensive travels.
At Croydon
Byles was born on April 8, 1900, at Ashton-upon-Mersey, Cheshire, England, to Unitarian, Fabian socialist and pacifist parents. In March 1912 the family arrived in Sydney. They settled near bush land at Beecroft, a northern Sydney suburb, and had a holiday retreat on Sunrise Hill at Palm Beach, a northern beachside suburb. Marie attended Presbyterian Ladies' colleges at Croydon and Pymble.

At Pymble
She graduated from the University of Sydney (BA, 1921; LLB, 1924). Byles was admitted as a solicitor in 1924, becoming the first female solicitor in New South Wales, and was the first woman to establish her own legal practice, in 1929. She studied economics at night and wrote about the inherent instability and injustices in capitalism.
June Ayres working in Byles' law office, 1947
As a student, Byles had earned pocket-money by journalism. She wrote on political issues, legal subjects, bushwalking and mountaineering. She later argued the case for equal guardianship, and for a married woman's rights to retain her nationality and to have a separate domicile. She was also active in the equal-pay campaign.
In 1927 Byles used money saved from working as a law clerk to take off on a Norwegian cargo boat, beginning a journey around the world. This included climbing mountains in Britain, Norway and Canada and resulted in her first book. 
She built a tiny house called Ahimsa (after the term used by Gandhi meaning "harmlessness") on a sandstone ridge in open forest at the Sydney suburb of Cheltenham, where she lived austerely, growing her own vegetables and sleeping on the balcony. Although only 5ft 2in tall and not physically robust, she had great endurance.
On Crystal Peak, New Zealand, 1935
Photo taken during Byles' unsuccessful assault on Mount Sansato, 1938.
Byles loved the grandeur of mountains and climbed Mount Cook (Aoraki) in New Zealand in 1928. She was elected a fellow of the Royal Geographical Society, London, in 1939. Travelling in 1938 through Burma, Tibet, China and Vietnam, she had encountered Buddhism and on her return began reading the Bhagavad Gita. Byles was an original member of the Buddhist Society of New South Wales in 1951; she lived as a hermit on the lower Himalayas, journeyed to Gandhi's ashram, visited Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) and built an ashram.
In 1966 an unknown assailant battered her about the head as she slept alone at Ahimsa. Byles never completely recovered. She died on November 21, 1979, at her Cheltenham home. Her ashes were scattered at Ahimsa, which she left to the State branch of the National Trust of Australia.
At Ahimsa.

This Kid Could Type!

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"A child can use it - fast!!!"
This Royal Bar-Lock 15 is in the Te Papa Museum in Wellington
Throughout 1905 and 1906, the New Zealand Free Lance ran this display advertisement for the Royal Bar-Lock typewriter. The eight-year-old subject was Ernest Edwin LeGrove, son of the New Zealand agent for W.J.Richardson's Royal Bar-Lock and New Zealand's fastest typist at the turn of the century.
1903
The father, Edwin James LeGrove, was born on March 27, 1851, in Bethnall Green, London, and immigrated to Dunedin in New Zealand in 1874. It was in Dunedin that he entered the printing trade.
Edwin LeGrove travelled to the United States Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia in 1876, saw the Sholes & Glidden typewriter exhibited there, and returned to New Zeaand convinced that the typewriter held his future.
1906
He moved to Wellington in 1883, joined the New Zealand Times as a proof reader and became a stenographer and shorthand typist. LeGrove later gained a New Zealand Government appointment at £150 a year as an official parliamentary committee reporter. He won speed typing competitions, averaging 130 words a minute over 12 minutes.
1903
He subsequently became a typewriter importer. He committed suicide, shooting himself with a revolver, aged 62, in July 1913.


His son, Ernest, born in 1897, could type at 94 words a minute on a Royal Bar-Lock in 1905, aged eight. He went on to become a public servant and company director. He died in 1966, aged 69.

New Zealanders and their Typewriters

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A young Māori woman photographed at a Remington typewriter in Christchurch in 1906 by Steffano Francis Paulovitch Webb (1880-1967). 
Politician Sir Ethelbert Alfred Ransom (1868-1943) with his Royal Bar-Lock typewriter in 1938. A former sheep farmer and saddler, he was an officer in the Ruahine Mounted Rifles in the Second Boer War.  In politics, he was twice acting Prime Minister. 
Politician George Robert Sykes (1867-1957) at his Empire Aristocrat portable typewriter in 1956. He was a Member of Parliament for 24 years, from 1911 to 1935. 
Writer, poet and educator Sylvia Constance Ashton-Warner (1908-1984) in 1968. She spent many years teaching Māori children, using stimulating and often pioneering techniques which she wrote about in her 1963 treatise Teacher and in the various volumes of her autobiography. Her success derived from a commitment to "releasing the native imagery and using it for working material" and her belief that communication must produce a mutual response in order to affect a lasting change. Her novel Spinster (1958) was made into the 1961 film Two Loves (also known as The Spinster) starring Shirley MacLaine. Her life story was adapted for the 1985 biographical film Sylvia, based on her work and writings. The Ashton School in the Dominican Republic was founded in 1998 and was named in her honour. She said, "You must be true to yourself. Strong enough to be true to yourself. Brave enough to be strong enough to be true to yourself. Wise enough to be brave enough to be strong enough to shape yourself from what you actually are."
Politician Hubert Maxwell Christie (1889-1982) in 1938. He was a former shearer in New Zealand and Australia.
Doris Clifton Gordon (1890-1956) at a first model Imperial Good Companion typewriter in 1938. She was a doctor, university lecturer, obstetrician and women's health reformer. Gordon was born in Melbourne, Australia.
George Eric Oakes Ramsden (1898-1962), seen here in 1942, was a journalist, writer and art critic. He is an Underwood Noiseless portable typewriter.
War correspondent Graham Evenson Beamish (1906-1975) at a Royal portable typewriter in the Libyan desert during World War II in 1941.
The shipping news writer. The Wellington Evening Post's Sydney David Waters (appropriate name!) at an Imperial Good Companion portable typewriter in 1958.
"'It was a dark and stormy night'. What comes next?" Adele Jansen at her Imperial 65 typewriter in 1959.
John Bryan Clayton of Whites Aviation at a Royal 10 typewriter in 1946. Whites was a company which flew around New Zealand taking aerial photographs of towns and cities and publishing them in very fine books.
 Journalist Thomas Wilson Ewart worked for Whites in 1946.
Miss Cullen worked for Whites and for Qantas in New Zealand in 1948.
Unidentified female journalist at a Corona portable typewriter, Evening Post, Wellington, 1956.
Stenographers at the Court of Arbitration in Wellington in 1959. The typewriter is an Imperial 65. 
A student working on an Underwood electric typewriter at the Kimi Ora School for children with special needs in Thorndon, Wellington, in 1958.
John Thompson of Gisborne works on an Imperial 50 at the New Zealand Divisional Field Workshops on the Italian Front in 1944.
The typewriter repair section of the New Zealand Electrical and Mechanical Engineers workshop at the Maadi Camp in Egypt in 1943.
 A typist in 1947.
Four New Zealand soldiers who have lost limbs in World War I learn new skills on typewriters at Oatlands Park in Surrey, England. At this time, Oatlands Park, a hotel, was being used as a hospital by the New Zealand Expeditionary Force for medical and tuberculosis cases and limbless men (informally known as 'limbies'). Oatlands Park was a few miles south-west of No 2 New Zealand General Hospital at Walton-on-Thames. It was also near the Queen Mary Convalescent Hospital at Roehampton where the amputees could be fitted with artificial limbs.

Farjeon first Writer-Journalist to 'Master' Typewriter?

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Benjamin Leopold Farjeon
In the early northern autumn of 1874, Mark Twain (Samuel Langhorne Clemens) joined an exclusive club - becoming a member of that dissipate, impulsive group of 400 people who forked out $125 to purchase a Sholes & Glidden typewriter between July (when it was launched on the market) and December of that year. Twain bought his in Boston and on December 9 of that year used it in Hartford, Connecticut, to write a letter to his brother, Orion Clemens, in Keokuk, Iowa. From all reports, Twain didn't get much, if any, personal use out of it beyond that time.
Like Twain, British journalist and author Benjamin Leopold Farjeon was exuberant, impetuous, extravagant and generous. Like Twain, he also had an extensive background in the printing industry, notably in New Zealand and Australia. According to newspaper reports from London reaching New Zealand in January 1878, this was the main reason why Farjeon had become the first writer, at least in Britain, to "master" the typewriter. That he had mastered the machine presumably put him one step ahead of Twain, in this regard alone, on the other side of the Atlantic.
The evidence very much suggests Farjeon was indeed the master of the typewriter. Literary historians have noted his massive output (almost 60 novels) in the 35 years after he returned to England from New Zealand in 1868, saying he wrote with "unceasing toil". But they fail to attribute this to his use of the typewriter, which unquestionably allowed him to write - without the aid of transcribers - more legible typescripts, and more often, than his contemporaries. 
Given the timing of the early 1878 London reports, following a dinner given by journalists for the war correspondent Archibald Forbes in mid-December 1877, we might assume the typewriter which Farjeon had mastered was the Sholes & Glidden Model 2, introduced at the end of 1875. Farjeon's copy was typed all in capital letters, and the Remington No 2, which introduced the shift device and lower case letters, didn't appear until later in 1878. 
From early 1876, the updated Sholes & Glidden model was being sold in Britain through the Remington Sewing Machine Company on Queen Victoria Street in London, later to become the home of the (British) Type Writer Company, through which William Richardson sold the Royal Bar-Lock. (In 1877, E.Remington & Sons was losing money from its sewing machines and farm implements production, and concentrating more on guns and typewriter sales.)
From the British Trade Journal, 1876
Farjeon was born on May 12, 1838, in London. He was raised in Whitechapel and educated at a private Jewish school until he was 14. His first job was as a printer's devil on the Nonconformist, a Christian newspaper, where he became a skilled compositor. After a breach with his father over religious matters, an uncle bought him a steerage passage and he left England in 1854, aged 16, for the goldfields of Victoria, Australia, arriving practically penniless in Melbourne on the Ocean WaveFarjeon spent a month working as an accountant in Melbourne, then set out for the goldfields, moving from camp to camp and starting newspapers at each one.
In 1861, anxious to reach the new goldfields of Otago in New Zealand, Farjeon approached the editor of the Melbourne Argus and sought a position as the paper's New Zealand correspondent. Arriving in Dunedin, he joined the staff of the weekly newspaper the Colonist but soon transferred to the newly established Otago Daily Times, New Zealand's first daily newspaper, where Julius Vogel was editor and joint proprietor with William Cutten. (On Vogel, see also here, here and here.)
Julius Vogel
Farjeon was appointed the Times's business manager and also acted as sub-editor, contributor and frequently compositor. In November 1864 Cutten terminated his partnership with Vogel, who took on Farjeon as his partner instead. In March 1866 Farjeon and Vogel sold the Times on condition they were kept on as manager and editor respectively.
Farjeon's literary career flourished in Dunedin and among his early works was one of his best known, Grif: A Story of Colonial Life (1866) - 17 editions to 1898 - which was set on the Australia goldfields. It was originally simultaneously composed and set up in type by Farjeon in the Times office. 
Julia Matthews
He also wrote plays and burlesques, in which the leading parts were taken by London-born actress and singer Julia Matthews (1842-76), who subsequently won a reputation back in her native country and in the US (she died in St Louis). (See here and here.) Farjeon was not alone in being infatuated by her. Explorer Robert O'Hara Burke proposed to her, and she was played in movies about Burke and Wills by Greta Scacchi and Nicole Kidman.
Farjeon left New Zealand for England in December 1867. He had dedicated a novel, Shadows on the Snow, to Charles Dickens and sent Dickens a copy in the vain hope Dickens would publish it in his weekly periodical, All the Year Round. On the basis of Dickens's mildly encouraging reply, Farjeon threw up a burgeoning career in Dunedin and returned to London through New York, where he declined the offer by Gordon Bennett of an engagement on the Herald. Farjeon adopted a literary lifestyle with enthusiasm, living in the Adelphi Theatre, buying himself a Sholes & Glidden and becoming widely known as a prolific and popular author.
Farjeon's father-in-law, American actor Joseph Jefferson (1829-1905)
In June 1877, Farjeon married Margaret Jane "Maggie" Jefferson, daughter of American actor Joseph Jefferson. The couple's four children all enjoyed considerable success in the arts: super prolific writer, journalist and playwright Joseph Jefferson Farjeon (1883-1955), author of children's stories and plays, poetry, biography, history and satire Eleanor Farjeon (1881-1965), Herbert Farjeon (1887-1945), a major figure in the British theatre from 1910, and New Jersey-born composer Harry Farjeon (1878-1948).
Farjeon's daughter Eleanor.
Farjeon died at his house in Belsize Park, Hampstead, on July 23, 1903, aged 65.
Apart from war correspondent Archibald Forbes (1838-1900), the other British journalists mentioned in the clipping above - the ones who couldn't "master" a typewriter - were Sir Henry William Lucy (1842-1924) and Edmund Hodgson Yates (1831-1894).
 Forbes
 Yates
Lucy

Four Funerals and a Wedding

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The funeral of South Australian writer Max Fatchen. His typewriter was called Ivan the Imperial.
DEATH IS ALL AROUND
I've often been told that the older I get, the more I should become accustomed to having friends, family and childhood heroes fall off the perch. Still, whenever it happens, it gives one a serious jolt, and a heightened sense of one's own mortality.
There was a time, not so long ago, when I considered myself unfortunate enough to attend a friend or family member's funeral once in every three or four years. Now it seems it's four funerals every two months. 
In the past months, four very close friends have died: a good and constant mate in Federal Capital Press head printer Barrie Murphy, historians Max Howell and University of Canberra emeritus professor Bill Mandle, and The Canberra Times' dearly beloved editorial assistant Julie Watt, a former member of Bob Hawke's staff when Hawke was Prime Minister.
Barrie Murphy
I will, of course, treasure fond memories of each of them. Barrie was born in Northern Ireland but came to Canberra from Christchurch in New Zealand. It was at The Canberra Times that Barrie lost the fingers on his left hand, after coming off second best in a tussle with a printing press. He continued played rugby and one day he and I were in a front row together playing against a team with an Australian Test prop called "The Iron Duke".  At halftime the referee approached me and said the Duke had complained about eye gouging by our hooker. I turned to Barrie and said, "Murp, hold up your hand." Barrie did and the referee saw he had no fingers. Case dismissed, your honour! I still laugh when I think about that.
 Max Howell
Max Howell also played rugby for Australia, as an immediate post-war centre. I can happily recall the time we spent together and the fun we had putting together a Sports Hall of Fame in Townsville many years ago. 
Bill Mandle
Bill Mandle was another fellow sports historian and a fellow Canberra Times columnist. I admired him greatly for his pioneering and inspirational work in the field of sports history, but he went up considerably in my estimation soon after I joined the Times in 1997. He wrote in his column:
(Geoff Pryor is a nationally recognised political cartoonist)
Julie Watt
As our former editor Jack Waterford said in his eulogy at her funeral, Julie Watt always went to extraordinary lengths to help people. When I was putting together an exhibition of the models of typewriters used by famous authors for a Literary Festival at the National Library, I badly wanted a Hermes Baby and a red IBM Selectric. I had seen the Baby on the cover of a book of John Steinbeck writings, and the image of Johnny Depp, playing the part of Hunter S.Thompson, carrying the big red IBM.
By chance I found the Baby in a most unexpected place (a recycling centre) the day the show started. Earlier, I had told Julie of my plight and she said, "I think we're got a red Selectric stored away somewhere." Many days later she announced, "Found it!" It was on the ground in a large stationery room, completely hidden under laden shelves. She dragged it out for me. I was proud to own it.
The loss of these dear friends came amidst a flurry of departures of people I greatly admired as a young man, sporting heroes and rock musicians - many of whom I got to know well in later life. One does expect those musos who survived the age of 27 (which Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse failed to do) to eventually succumb to the ravages of their calling at some still premature point.
Doc Neeson of The Angels and Jim Keays of Masters' Apprentices put in major fights to hang on, as did Julie Watt (eight years with throat cancer; I was one of the first she told about it, and I feared she'd last but a few months). Yet each died far too soon. Barrie Murphy and Julie had both had just reached 60, Jim and Doc were 67. It's my age bracket.
 Friday on my mind. Not his song, but Jim Keays died on Black Friday. I met him on a Friday and got to know him during this, the unforgettable Long Way to the Top tour.
Doc: Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again? A absolute classic. Basement blues.
Tommy died, just when I thought there were no members left of the greatest rock band ever.
Actress Wendy Hughes: ''I did but see her passing by. And yet I love her till I die.'' 
Perhaps we're a little more stunned by the early death of sports heroes, whom one always assumes to have led, in the main, somewhat healthier lifestyles.
Either way, being able to so vividly remember watching these people play (both sportsmen and musos) has the effect of suggesting: Your time is coming, and perhaps sooner than you think.
The late Jack Brabham. Luckily, I did get the chance to meet him. A true gentleman. But gee, I can't tell you how much I yearned for Bruce McLaren to edge ahead of his teammate. I reckon McLaren ranks up there with Stirling Moss as the greatest Formula One driver never to win a world championship.
The late Reg Gasnier. Played for St George, the "Dragons", and was called "Puff" because he was the "magic Dragon". In 1965 I stood face on to him, only a matter of yards away, as with a subtle change of pace he ghosted through the defence for Australia. One of the very best. A nice bloke, too. Not all that many sports greats are.
Gary 'Gus' Gilmour, the wonderful all-rounder from Waratah, best remembered by me as a century-scoring left-hander, also for his bowling in the first World Cup final, in 1975.
I even had a kind thought for a politician who shuffled off this mortal coil. Neville Wran was a decent New South Wales premier, and one who also believed typewriters (even if electric ones) should be kept for posterity. The mallet was for other things.
Don't get me wrong. I don't really fear death all that much. It may seem silly, but does keep me awake at night is the worry about the task I would leave behind, of friends and family trying to match typewriters with their cases and disposing, somehow or other, of the lot. I have seen the mammoth tasks left to Tilman Elster's son and Emeric Somlo's widow, and I do not envy them one little bit.
Anyway, before it's my turn, I'm planning to reverse Four Weddings and a Funeral and leave it, at least for the time being, at four funerals and a wedding. My son Danny and his partner Emily are getting married on November 1. Let's hope I make it that far! Then the vultures can hover!

Why Is This Man Smiling?

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This very happy man is Anthony Maras, a well-to-do South Australian film director.
No wonder he is smiling. He has received three very nice typewriters from me. Plus, just for doing that, he has been given a $225 bonus by PayPal.
PayPal thinks it is going to get this $225 from me. It is very much mistaken.
Perhaps if I got back my three typewriters - two Underwood portables and an Olivetti Valentine - I might consider paying PayPal the $225 it has given Maras.
But PayPal won't get one red cent from me until then. My bank has given me a water-tight guarantee that any attempt by PayPal to illegally prize the money from my account will be quickly stamped upon. It's called fraud, the bank assures me. I trust my bank. I don't trust PayPal. Who does? A necessary evil? Well, maybe not so necessary.
Seven months ago I was bombarded with text messages from Maras, pushing hard to buy typewriters from me.
I had a bad feeling about it. I didn't sell him any.
Then a month or so ago I listed 11 typewriters on eBay. I received eight very warm responses from buyers, delighted with their typewriters.
All 11 typewriters were serviced and tested the same way, packed the same way and sent the same way. 
These sales brought my eBay feedback record to 590 positives. In 4 1/2 years, not one negative, not one neutral. 590 positives.
The latest feedbacks are: "Honest and reliable eBayer. Highly recommended. 5 Stars.""Very nice typewriter.""Perfect, thank you.""Brilliant machine, this seller is the best. Thank you!!!""Wonderful item, excellent friendly service. The best!!!""Very hard to find quality product and service like this."
Then came Maras.
Little did I know at the time of them selling, of course, but three of my typewriters went to this person - buying as "anthousefilms".
As soon as I realised who this was, I sensed trouble. My gut feeling was soon proved right.
First Maras emailed me, making spurious claims about the Underwoods and wanting to return the three typewriters and to receive a refund. As I mulled this over, he called.
He said there was a problem with one of the Underwoods typing and that he'd spoken to a repairmen, who wanted to be paid just to look at it.
I offered to pay for that to happen, and Maras replied, "Ah, so you're admitting there is a problem."
At that point the penny finally dropped. I'd called his bluff. But I'd already been well and truly set up. An elaborate, well-planned and well-executed sting. A get-square.
There was nothing wrong with any of the typewriters. But if I had paid for a repairmen to look at them, I would find that out. And Maras didn't want that to happen.
This was one of the points I made to PayPal when Maras opened a dispute. He claimed $225. PayPal arbitrarily helped itself to $350 from my account. Or so it said. I have long since known to keep $0.00 in my PayPal account. PayPal has a long, sorry record of not being trustworthy with other people's money, so I don't allow it the opportunity to get anywhere near any of mine.
I knew I was on a hiding to nothing arguing the point with PayPal. Sure enough, I was told last night I'd lost. Surprise, surprise!
Imagine this in 100 pieces
Some time ago, I received a badly wrapped resin figurine typewriter smashed to bits. It was only $40, but I opened a dispute. PayPal insisted I re-wrap the bits and pieces and send them back to the seller. I did. That cost me $15. Then I got my $40 back. I was still $15 out of pocket. All because a seller couldn't properly package a resin figurine typewriter.
So I'm left wondering: How come Maras gets to keep my three typewriters plus gets a $225 bonus, allegedly from me?
So I send him three typewriters, plus $225? Tell me how that works, PayPal.
And while you're at it, I'd really love to know exactly what was the "careful consideration" you gave this dispute. Did you look at my eBay feedback record? Did you see the three typewriters in question? Did you test them? No? So it's his word against mine? OK. So on what grounds did you decide to believe him and not me? I'd dearly like to know. 
Anyway, enough of all that. No more selling on eBay and no more using PayPal for me. It'll make my life difficult, but I'll have to find a way around it.
Selling typewriters is the only way I can supplement my pension. I get $900 a fortnight pension and pay $600 rent. That leaves $300 to live on each fortnight. Nowhere near enough. Until now, I've managed to get by through selling typewriters.
PayPal and Maras want to put an end to that. I wonder how proud of themselves they must feel?
Footnote: There is a cruel twist to all this. Some may recall I had recommended a repairmen to Ray Nickson to get his Underwood Noiseless 77 fixed, and the Underwood was wrecked by the repairman. It was Ray who met Maras in Adelaide last year and told Maras about my typewriters. Don't worry, Ray and I remain on the very best of terms.
Footnote 2: I guess you could call this the revenge of the Australian filmmakers. Late last year I won $120,000 damages in a defamation case against a Melbourne filmmaker, who wrote that I was a member of the Klu Klux Klan. Of course, I never saw a cent of the money. But I wonder ... do filmmakers in this country collaborate?

Hats Off to Gianni Mura and his Olivetti Lettera 32 Portable Typewriter

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A Reuters story by Julien Pretot on 68-year-old Italian writer Gianni Mura using a 1976 Olivetti Lettera 32 portable typewriter while covering the just-completed Tour de France cycle race was run far and wide last week, including in the sports pages of the Chicago Tribune. The story was headed "Old geezer writes Tour de France stories on typewriter", as if that wasn't still the right and proper thing to do.
Mura writes for La Republica, a 750,000 daily circulation newspaper in Rome. He was born in Milan on October 9, 1945, and is by now a tour veteran. He first covered the Giro d'Italia in 1965 and the Tour de France two years later. His weekly column on Italian soccer's Serie A had the wonderful title, "Seven days of bad thoughts". Mura's novel based on the Tour de France, Yellow on Yellow, won the Premio Grinzane-Cesare Pavese for fiction in 2007.
Mura said he doesn't like computers - "their silence bothers me" - but he has been known to use such things. Where one story on Mura and his typewriter (not Pretot's article, I hasten to add) got a bit carried away was to suggest, "When Mura first started reporting and using a typewriter, he was technologically advanced. Most reporters 40 years ago wrote their articles by hand." That's complete nonsense. There were as few reporters writing by hand in 1974 as there are reporters using typewriters today.
Where Mura was spot-on was to say that the sound of the typewriter is good for concentration. He also likes to smoke while he types - no longer allowed in Tour De France press rooms. So on fine days he sits outside typing at his own little table (in this case, beside a police van!). He uses a mobile phone to dictate copy back to his newspaper.
Mura's 2007 tour book was followed four years later by the autobiography of Scottish Tour de France cyclist David Millar, Racing Through the Dark: The Fall and Rise of David Millar.
Millar's work was described by Richard Williams in The Guardian as "one of the great first-person accounts of sporting experience". It was called "a rarity",  "a brutally honest insight into the life of a young pro with the world at his feet, charting the Scot’s demise into doping and his subsequent revival as one of the most respected riders in the peloton". The book was shortlisted for the prestigious William Hill Sports Book of the Year award.
Millar wrote the book on an Olympia portable typewriter:

Three Adler Portable Typewriters on their way to a G O O D buyer

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These three Adler portable typewriters - a Modell 32, a Klein-Adler 2 and a Favorit - will be flying like eagles to the home of a Melbourne typewriter collector, a wonderful young lady called Diane. One of them, the Klein-Adler 2, is a gift from me, in appreciation for Diane's past purchases, her courteous communications and her fulsome praise for the service she receives. Goodness, if only all typewriters buyers were like this!
Nathan in Brisbane, take a bow, you are in the same boat.
Where Diane and Nathan differ is that they know about typewriters and know about value for money. They appreciate good typewriters and have the nous to understand that these weren't made last month, they have been used for many years, and that when we say "perfect working condition", what we quite obviously mean is that a typewriter of this vintage works perfectly well for its age.  Which is pretty good, all things considered.
So Diane, I know these three Adlers have found a good new home. Thank you.

It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Small, Small, Small Typewriter World

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This is the image, sent from Vienna, that greeted me at 7am today, as I rose foggy headed on a foggy morning and checked my emails. It's my great friend and fellow Typospherian Georg Sommeregger, who presumably is getting his head around the prospect of coming Down Under.
I say my 'great friend' in spite of the fact that we've never met, at least not in person. The closest we've come to meeting was a Skype conversation when Georg organised a Type-In for Canberra Typospherian Jasper Lindell to attend while Jasper was on a student exchange trip to Germany.
All of which - Georg letting the blood go to his head over thoughts of visiting Australia, going to the trouble to make Jasper fell at home among Typospherians in Europe, and planning a surprise for Jasper by arranging a Skype link-up with me - reinforces yet again what great people Typospherians are and what a great place the Typosphere is.
Blogging on typewriters is amazing in the way it puts people from all parts of the globe in touch with one another, invariably in a friendly and helpful way.
Georg is writing a book on the Hermes Baby, and in the past few weeks he and I have been allowed access to mountains of previously untapped information about the deal that was struck between Paillard in Yverdon, Switzerland, and Bill Mawle in England to make the Hermes model as the Baby Empire in West Bromwich. It came about through me making contact with two of Mawles' grandchildren, Guy Mawle in Wales and Vanessa Goldie-Scot in Sydney, Australia. Vanessa found me through this blog. Both grandchildren have been exceedingly generous in digging out Bill Mawle documents, scanning them and sending them on for all Typospherians to share.
When I posted these images of a piece of paper in the platen of an Empire lightweight typewriter, after a visit to see Matthew Connell, curator of the typewriter collection at the Powerhouse Museum in Sydney, the very last thing I expected was to be contacted by the person to whom the message was typed. Yet out of the blue came a message from Antony Bons in the Netherlands, whose father, Hendrikes Johannes Bons, had donated the typewriter to the Powerhouse.
Antony wrote, "Actually I was present as a child when my father typed that note and he typed it to me. It was his sense of humour."
Matthew Connell with some of the Powerhouse's typewriters.
Some time back I was contacted by former Fleet Street journalist Christopher Long, now living in Normandy, France. Christopher was getting a bit nostalgic about typewriters and wanted to identify the model he used in London. It was an Imperial 66, and Christopher was quickly able to find one in pristine condition, for sale online in England.
Christopher's Imperial 66 happily ensconced in France.
His interest in typewriter re-ignited, Christopher decided to find someone close who could so some work on his grandfather's 1931 Royal portable.
Now this is so incredible it's almost spooky. Who did Christopher find but a neighbour of his, a former typewriter mechanic called Yves Lenchon. And what did Yves say? "Oh, oui, je sais Robert Messenger."
Yves is the guy who, through Peter Muckermann in Germany as an intermediary, last year found me two very fine Rooys:
Christopher wrote, "When you warned me about the dangers of TYPRITISIS (a trivial complaint, I assumed) I had no idea that it can lead to a serious case of TYPRITOMANIA (which I hope to avoid). A healthy relationship with a typewriter should, I think, be PLATTENONIC."
Christopher's collection is steadily growing.
This renewed interest "provoked" Christopher into starting a largish article on The Written Word ("exploring how the tools man uses for writing might directly affect how we write as well as influencing what we write about and why"). In his lifetime it has been "a voyage from pencils and fountain pens to biros, typewriters, word-processors, direct input, personal computers and now tablets. On the subject of typewriters I’ve just been writing: 'When there wasn't room for me on the [Evening Standard’s] Diary desk, I jealously guarded my slim hold on a desk in an unfashionable area of the newsroom among the crime and court reporters. In this nether-world I used a 1950s American-made Royal HH. If the Imperial 66 had had the raw panache of a Triumph Bonneville, my HH throbbed like a Harley-Davidson.'"
After spending a happy afternoon looking through Yves' impressive collection, Christopher commented. "I don’t think I’ve contracted the disease myself yet but I have to say that I would give a lot for a very nice folding Corona or Erika in excellent condition - and I still think that the Royal Model O and the Royal Deluxe just have to be the epitome of what a typewriter ought to look and feel like and either would satisfy my needs for ever more! It was fascinating to handle these things at last."
If Christopher needs any advice at this advanced stage of developing TYPRITOMANIA, I could offer him the words sent to me last week by Piotr Trumpiel in London: "One thing I've learned so far in my journey as a beginner in the typewriter collecting world (coming to my first anniversary) is that it is a game of patience and persistence. At the beginning I didn't think I will ever have a chance to own some machines that I already own, so what I need to do is to pace myself, keep my eyes open, wait for the right opportunity and learn along the way." Well said, Piotr!
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