It reads:
One good turn begets another, I was told as a child. My joy in the past week, at discovering just how true this can be, has been positively childlike.
Last year
a lady called Polly contacted me, saying she and her husband Tony had bought
their early teens daughter, Frances, a typewriter, and asked if I knew anyone
who could service it. Delighted to hear a young local teen wanted to use a big
old manual typewriter (it’s an Olivetti Diaspron, by the way) I offered to do
it myself. The family were delighted with the result.
A few
weeks ago, however, I learned that, through an accident, the Diaspron was no
longer working. The family bought the machine to me to see if I could fix it.
Taking it apart, I realised just how well Marcello Nizzoli had designed this model
– and why it was so successful, in its time, as an office typewriter. I sought
advice from my friend Derrick Brown, in Brisbane, who at one time was a trainer
for Olivetti technicians. He warned me, from personal experience, to be wary of
the drawband, which is made of razor-sharp steel and can tear one to bits if it
gets loose.
Anyway,
Derrick’s help, and my own knowledge of the intricate workings of a typewriter,
proved to no avail. The main pawl
mechanism had been mangled and the carriage was jammed tight on the escapement
rack. Very few things can happen to a typewriter to stop it from ever working
again, but this was one of them. There was nothing that could be done.
By sheer
coincidence, I was contacted by a lady called Dorothy, of Holt, who many years
ago had acquired a typewriter when the Kurrajong Hotel was offloading “old
technology”. Dorothy was “downsizing”, as so many Canberrans seem to be these
days, She asked if I knew where a good home could be found for her machine.
Guess what? It was a Diaspron. I got in touch with Polly again, and not long
after Frances had a “new” old typewriter to use.
Acting as
no more than the middleman in all this seemed to instantly bring me
extraordinary good fortune. In the next three days, my collection increased by
12 beautiful typewriters, seven of them given to me by Canberrans cleaning up
house or downsizing.
Often I
suspect that whenever I mention
typewriters in this column, or readers spot them in the backdrop of the
dinkus at the top of this page, they remember they have an old typewriter which
needs a good home. The email address at the bottom of the column obviously comes
in handy in that regard.
Readers
were incredibly generous to me during last week’s bountiful period, a happy
spell I referred to on my typewriter history blog as raining “typewriters from
heaven”.
First,
Richard, of Palmerston, dropped over a lovely little Lemair De Luxe 1510, a
model I hadn’t seen before. Then Nicola, of Deakin, got in touch about an
Imperial 2002 (I hadn’t previously been aware of such a model) and a Facit TP2.
It so happens that the very day Nicola messaged me, I was involved in
discussions on the “typosphere” about the virtues of the Facit TP2, as many of
us had been singing the praises of the earlier Swedish model, and wondering how
Facit could have improved on this with the later TP2. But none of us had a TP2
– that is, until Nicola by chance provided.
The next day I picked up an
Underwood Universal from Bill McKay, of Forrest. I have a particular fondness
for this typewriter, as it was the first one I ever used: my father was
upgrading his office equipment, and gave me his old Universal when I was nine,
in 1957. Bill’s belonged to his father, Canberra’s first
veterinary surgeon, Angus Conrad McKay, Angus
was appointed in 1926 by the Federal Capital Commission and made
responsible for supervising the supply of meat and milk and for providing
disease control and advice to livestock producers throughout the territory.
Bill
showed me the magnificent rolltop typewriter desk at which his father had used
the Underwood. A wooden
tray was pulled out from above the drawers on the right side of the desk, on
which to place the machine. Bill suspects the desk was made in Sydney, but I
had not so long previously been drooling over old advertisements for just such
typewriter furniture, made by the Moon Desk Company in a place
called Muskegon, Michigan.
No sooner had I got home from
Bill’s house than I received a message from Tom Roberts, of Reid. Tom had been
reading my column about the Guinea Gold
wartime newspaper, and said that as a former newsagent he knew Ted Glover, the Gold’s immediate post-war editor.
Just as importantly, reading the
column had reminded him to ask whether I would be interested in his father’s
old typewriter. It is a Tradition 3, an extremely rare export version of an
early German Olympia portable typewriter. Tom also had an Olympia Splendid that
needed a new home.
I apologise for going on about
typewriters, but I have done so as an excuse, if such a thing is needed, for
illustrating just how remarkably kind Canberrans can be. Thank you so much Dorothy, Richard, Nicola,
Bill and Tom.
*Since all this giving and sharing has started to work so well for me, I've been in a generous mood myself, giving work colleagues a Royal Quiet De Luxe, the "Pink Panther" Oliver I posted on some time ago, and this revamped Princess:
5 comments:
Yelp - That pink Princess is too princessy for my eyes - I prefer the more manly Khaki" on my machine.
Yes, I agree, Florian, it is princessy; I note there is a consensus among comments to your post about not wanting to see it in pink! Ooops, too late!
I like these colors! (For a girl.)
Yes, it is to a young female reporter to whom it has gone. I did warn her about the colours, and she did say it looked "very girlie", but she seemed to be absolutely delighted with it nonetheless. The Pink Panther Oliver also went to a young female reporter, whose desk was covered in pink things, so I thought that appropriate.
That is so very girly and sweet. I think it's nice for a girl. I would prefer a nice green or purple, myself.
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