From Squiggles To Pearls Of Wisdom ...: A Lifelong Love Affair With Pitman Shorthand

By Pamela Smit

This is a book about life as a Stenographer in the 1970's private enterprise and Commonwealth Public Service. It is about my experiences working in Adelaide, Canberra and Darwin before moving to Tasmania. I mention the various businesses which my husband and I operated as well as my time working as a Stringer for The Advocate newspaper whilst living in Circular Head. I have attempted to highlight a moving history of when everything was done manually to the modern era where computers and information technology have become commonplace. It is not all serious - the journey through my public and private life is peppered with funny anecdotes along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483545059

Book preview

9781483545059

Chapter 1 - The Cat’s Out Of The Bag …

Perhaps I had gone too far this time. The Councillor was not happy and told me so in no uncertain terms over the phone. What made you print that information about the cars? he managed to squeeze out between gasps that sounded more like a goldfish struggling to breathe out of water. Why wouldn’t I? I thought the local ratepayers had a right to know how their rates were being used I retorted. Top of the range cars only for councillors’ exclusive use whilst Council employees, dependent upon their vehicles and undoubtedly spending the majority of their working day in them, had to make do with base models. Nothing wrong with letting this particular cat out of the bag, I thought. Apparently, my thoughts were not reciprocated at Council whose meeting I had covered the night before and where they had attempted to justify their purchasing decisions with some very rubbery arguments that would hold little water in the electorate at large.

Eventually though, I chalked this one up to experience, but what else did they expect? My ability to take 130 words per minute shorthand at these meetings meant that I could take down most comments verbatim. My knowledge and skill in using Pitman shorthand meant that it was easy. The job of a good Stenographer is to capture every word uttered, not think through the niceties or political ramifications of what has been said.

No problems for me in this regard. My trusted use of Pitman shorthand meant that everything was on the table, nothing in camera. Quoting verbatim and including as much relevant information as possible, translated into a factual article. It seemed the Councillors were not used to this form of storytelling when it came down to recording and reporting on the perks of their jobs. I, on the other hand, had no compunction in recounting a few home truths, because after all, not only was I employed by a regional daily newspaper, whose readership covered the whole of the north-west coast, I was also one of the Council’s ratepayers. Anyway, it was all there in my shorthand notes and could hardly be denied! Unfortunately, Smithton’s own local newspaper had a strict policy of allowing the Council to vet and veto stories that involved it, (don’t you just love democracy in action at the grass roots level?) so it never did get the publicity it deserved. However, what an asset to have. Pitman shorthand recording in depth, factual information for posterity.

Chapter 2 – The Hard Slog Begins …

It all started when I was a pig-tailed school girl at Henley High School, South Australia. I had chosen to study a Commercial course, because of my curiosity to learn shorthand. Besides my maths skills were not brilliant, a definite handicap if I had opted for the General course. Let’s be honest, at that age I would have done anything to avoid maths!

Although I had enjoyed History and Geography, my maths skills had always let me down. Equations and tables were not a problem for me, but problem solving and more intricate mathematical concepts posed challenges for my mathematically bereft brain. My willingness to study shorthand at that age, therefore, took precedence in my choice of courses.

Mrs. Sugg was my elderly shorthand teacher who hammered repetitively, the rules of shorthand into us for the first year. The second year was dominated by practicing shorthand at speed, which involved continuous pieces of dictation spoken to the class whilst the teacher used her stop watch to record our times. I recall visions of her like it was only yesterday. A tall slim woman, with grey permed hair holding her stop watch throughout the lesson, all the while precisely and articulately stating each word and phrase in a deliberate and methodical manner.

Thinking about her age, she was obviously dragged out of retirement, and shackled once more to the educational system, probably because there was no-one else available to teach this specialised subject. My memories of her were pleasant. Her shaky voice would quaver from time to time, but she taught well, was clearly spoken and I admired her for re-entering the workforce in her twilight years. Insolent girls would be subject to regular finger pointing and threats of staying behind after school or lunch time if their behaviour continued to deteriorate. Looking back now, she really did put up with quite a lot of bad behaviour, but she persevered and taught well.

Some students would ridicule her behind her back, probably because of her advancing years, but I liked her. The Deputy Principal at that time was not happy about the large amount of girls in this class and so instituted a rule that students who did not achieve 70% minimum in the first term exam were not permitted to continue with the course. Those who failed were destined for the Art course. The Deputy Principal was adamant about this decision, and had the audacity to single out a considerable amount of students whom she thought would not perform highly enough in this subject. I was one of those students, in her eyes, who would not be good enough. This type of stance would be unheard of in today’s educational system, however, such was the discrimination used back then. Judgemental decision-making was commonplace in the sixties and seventies, within the Education Department. How times have changed!

I remember my Mother was horrified at hearing this latest pronouncement and went in to bat for me with the Deputy Principal. Mum spoke at length about the unfairness of this decision and reiterated to her that I would be more than capable of making the grade. Subsequently, Mum supported me with regular testing and imbued in me a determination to succeed. Mum proved to be right; I could master this strange language and was rewarded with gaining 96% in the exam and topping my class! Not an utterance came forth from the Deputy Principal, and I wonder to this day