When was your first email?

We’re all doing it these days as though it had always been a part of our lives, but how long is it since you sent your first email?

One company I worked for had an internal email network, very similar to the Internet, as early as 1993,  but I can beat that by forty years. I sent my first email in 1953. I was working at Gladesville Post Office, in Sydney’s inner west, and sent it using Morse code.

That was my first job and, like most telegraphists, I enjoyed the work. Using landlines rather than radio we didn’t have an oscillator sending long dashes and short dots as you hear on old movies; rather we had a sounder (pictured) which clicked and clattered. We read the space between the clicks.

Morse had allowed the world to communicate for just over a century—the first message was transmitted in 1844—but it could not survive in the modern world. It was too labour-intensive and too slow. Although many of us boasted of our prowess it was a fact that we had to work at the speed of the distant operator and if he was out of practice then we snail-paced along, often at less than twenty words a minute.

As a result we stopped using Morse in Australia about 1959, although the last telegram was sent, ceremonially, in 1962.  Morse code was replaced by teletypes, TELEX (the public teleprinter exchange), and finally by computerised networks which eventually became the Internet.

Telegrams were sent for all manner of reasons. Some were business, some were personal—including hatches, matches and dispatches—some advised of pending family visits while others confirmed their arrival. There were seasonal  greetings of all kinds, from birthdays, to Christmas.

Christmas Eve was so busy that we worked long hours to try to clear the work before Santa came a-calling, and delivery staff worked late to get the telegrams out on time. We often abbreviated such messages to speed the transmission and a telegram reading, “Merry Christmas and a happy new year” would be sent as “M X and H N Y”.  The person receiving it would be left to scramble along behind the distant operator, replacing the missing words, but typing was much faster.

Morse signals were as individual as hand-writing and, while expert operators were easy to read, others made very poor signals. I remember one Christmas Eve working with a man who started drinking about lunch time. As the afternoon wore on his signals became worse and worse until I was almost in the position of receiving no dots and dashes, but typing it down anyway.

I don’t dwell on the “good old days”. Those are an illusion. But if I had a chance to experience just one part of my life again it would be the years I worked with Morse.

Nudity: a fun way to go

The extended DVD version of the Lord of the Rings trilogy should delight all movie fans. So much more of the story, which had been edited out due to time restrictions, has been included. The boxed set also contains a total of six additional DVDs which left me in awe of director Peter Jackson and the extraordinary team he put together to create these masterpieces. They virtually comprised a workshop on making a movie and I recommend them to everybody.

Of course, all that has nothing to do with nudity, the title of this piece, and yet it does. The costumes worn by the actors in their various roles were so complex that it took several hours each morning for a team of costumers and make-up artists to prepare them for the day’s filming. Most of the stunt men were New Zealanders and the majority looked like Maoris. All of them had a black belt in one martial art or another and one was an Olympic wrestler. They were fit and, if their personalities off camera were anything like those shown on screen, they were a very friendly, cheerful group—but then, most of the Maoris I’ve met have been like that.

But there was a woman working with them, equally fit, equally capable and, with a big smile, she said, “For sixteen months I thought I had the best job in the world, getting naked every morning with the twenty-five best-looking guys in New Zealand.” 

Her face showed so much delight that we found ourselves smiling along with her.

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Many years ago, when the world was younger, Lynne and I took our dog walking along the Nepean River, in Sydney's far west. It was mid-April and not particularly warm so we hadn’t considered swimming but as soon as we arrived at the river the dog dived in.

We were well away from any houses and it was mid-week, so we thought the chances of being caught were pretty remote. So we stripped off and joined her in the water.

Well, you’ve probably heard that old adage that if you take your clothes off, every man and his dog will turn up?  That’s exactly what happened. A guy came along in a canoe, heading down the river to camp for a few days, and his dog was sitting in the prow.

He was no trouble.  He stayed to chat for a while -- well, why wouldn’t he? -- and went on his way. We saw nobody else then until the Nepean Belle, a paddle-wheeler loaded with tourists , came around the curve. At least this time we managed to get dressed before she arrived. H

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One of my friends, a young woman, and her husband went on a weekend trip to the mountains with a group of regular campers. On Sunday morning all the men went skinny dipping but she's not shy so she stripped off and went with them.

The water was icy and as they climbed out of the stream she looked down at the guys and said, "So that's the difference. We get bigger and you get smaller."

All I can add to that is, Vive la difference.

Shirtless in Sydney

The big problem with competing in triathlon is the amount of time needed to train effectively.  I used to shoe-horn some in by riding to work a couple of days a week. I live 60 km (40 miles) from the office, so the round trip made it very worthwhile.

Of course, cycling that far, even during the winter, meant that I was going to arrive sweating and dirty so I always left a change of clothes under my desk and showered before starting work. It was a good system but one morning, when I had collected my fresh clothes, showered, and begun to dress, I realised that I had forgotten to include a shirt.

I put on my trousers and shoes and zipped a track-suit top over my bare chest before heading across the street to one of the more exclusive menswear stores. No, I’m not big-noting myself, I normally shopped at less expensive places, but time was of the essence and they were close-by.

I was attended by an enthusiastic, fresh-faced young sales assistant who quickly sold me a shirt and started to bag it for me. I said, “Don’t worry about wrapping it. I’ll wear it.”

“You’ll wear it?”

I unzipped my top and showed him my bare chest.  “I forgot to put on a shirt this morning,” I said.

“You forgot?” He was beginning to sound like an echo.

“Sure,” I said. “Haven’t you ever done that?”

“No!” loudly and vehemently, shaking his head in denial.

When I left I had the impression he thought I was insane.

Language or Babble?

One of the best known legends of the Hebrew people is the attempt to build the Tower of Babel.  It happened this way.

Our earliest grandparents were unceremoniously ejected from the Garden of Eden for discovering a recreation that we, living in a more enlightened age, consider perfectly wholesome and healthy.  It was recorded that Eve took an apple from the Tree of Knowledge and gave it to Adam but surely their transgression was only described in such a vague manner to protect the innocence of the young. What she really gave him was a cherry … so to speak.

In consequence they became fruitful and multiplied, thus initiating the population explosion. This they accomplished in spite of the fact that one of their offspring proceeded to off their other offspring.

It was not until centuries later when the offspring's offspring began to build the Tower of Babel which, they hoped, would “reach unto Heaven” that they again brought down Divine retribution upon themselves.

Earth-maker, alarmed lest he be pestered by too many unwelcome guests, couldn’t allow that to happen and said to himself, “Let us go down there and confound their language that they may not understand one another’s speech.”  And so he did.

Yet, from the time when Adam and Eve shared the Garden harmoniously with Earth-maker and Reptile until that ill-fated attempt to gate-crash Heaven, everybody had spoken the same language.

It was a universal language.

Esperanto.

The Road to Success

From time to time somebody asks whether hard work is the only way to achieve success. Perhaps not, but it's definitely the most practical way.

The alternatives are
1. Gambling—an  almost certain way to the poor house,
2. Crime—an almost certain way to the big house.
3. Marriage—an almost certain way to the dog house.

Apart from those, we who missed the opportunity to be born into a wealthy family, stumble onto a new gold mine, or create a new computer program, had better stick to work.

Of course, financial achievement is only one form of success. There are many others. Those of us who have spent their working lives doing menial office or manual work need to look elsewhere for our personal fulfilment and find our success in areas that others would call an avocation rather than a profession or job.

Australian artist/writer/sculptor Norman Lindsay was once asked how he achieved so much in a single lifetime. He said it was simple. He cut each day into three equal parts allowing eight hours each for work, recreation, and sleep. Then he did away with recreation and cut down on sleep.

So the formula for achieving success in your hobby, sport or recreation? You’ve guessed it. We’re back to hard work again.

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My apologies for abandoning the blog for a while. I took time out to write a novel. I’ll tell you about it soon.