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I sat down to take my ‘O’ levels while Germaine Greer was writing ‘The Female Eunuch‘, ‘bra-burning’ had not yet occurred to anyone and the word ‘equality’ was only heard in maths lessons. Now if you don’t know what an ‘O’ level is, you’ve never heard of Greer or bra-burning then you may as well move on down now and learn about the disgusting object Aldi supermarkets pass off as London Cheesecakes.
Actually, the story starts earlier at that moment when you have to select what ‘O’ levels you are going to take. That is when things went wrong. Despite an abiding interest in science – well physics anyway – this stuff goes straight through me like a bad curry. I can sit glued and totally absorbed in a ‘Horizon’ or some such program and while watching will totally understand what I am being told. Ten minutes after it finishes – it’s gone, zapped from my brain like a lobotomy. As biology and chemistry disappear into the ether much the same, I saw no point in sitting any science subjects. What I chose to do instead – and it fitted in perfectly with the school timetable – was shorthand and typing. Useful skills, I thought, for someone who at the age of twelve had wanted to be a journalist. I even had my own typewriter!
The school however, had other ideas. The notion of a boy learning to type and take shorthand was considered preposterous. They probably thought I was gay except in those days, of course, the word meant happy and carefree and I was certainly not feeling gay about their refusal. They even pointed out that I would be the only boy in the class which sounded bloody good to me but to them meant a ‘disruptive influence’.
So – I sat three science subjects and flunked them all. I vaguely recall not understanding any of the questions. And I never did learn to type. It was, of course, a massive disservice; when I later spent a great part of my working life as a computer programmer, fast and accurate typing became very important skills to have. And I didn’t have them.
So to this day I still type with about four fingers and have to watch the keyboard to see where my fingers land instead of watching the screen. And as I get older I find myself making more and more typos. if I had a glass of wine for every sentence I type error free then I would be teetotal! I spend more time correcting mistakes than I do getting my thoughts down – ir writing accurate program code.
And that;s why I am thankful for the spellchecjer. Not, of course, because I can;t spell but because it ellaows me to finf all those instances of misplaced apostropjies and errant characters appearinh in my worms.
And I b et bloody germaine Greer elarnt to type properlu.
Sexist imbeciles those curriculum planners back then.
Although I wasn’t allowed to take the ’secretarial skills’ course because I achieved too higher level in other subjects and thus was forced to do only subjects that were considered academic. The fact that my only real interests were English and Art and I wanted to be a writer or a costume designer meant nothing so I wasn’t able to do both Art AND Needlework either. I was useless at languages and yet forced to take both French and German, both of which I failed miserably at. My commiserations about the typing. I peck away at the keyboard like a performing seal on a piano too. It’s taken me twice as long to adjust the mistakes in this piece as it did to type it.
@Jeni: said: ‘Sexist imbeciles those curriculum planners back then.’
Even the women as I recall. Although I had my doubts about a few of them.
LOL . Yes my P.E. teacher Miss Trench in her wrap-round gym skirt still never convinced me she was female.
I have been blogging for only ten months now, so I am a babe in the woods, as it were, in cyberspace. And I don’t know whether real (by real I mean longtime) bloggers would consider my blogging to be blogging, but, hey, I do what I do and they can do what they do, and no one will get hurt. This is my American brashness coming to the fore.
I’m 67, male, and a first-time visitor to your blog. I completely identify with this particular post. Several boys had taken typing class before me at my school (Warning! Warning! Boasting Ahead: I can type 125 words per minute) but I was the first boy in the history of the school to take shorthand class. I was immediately suspected by the football players of wearing pink satin panties (which, by the way, was untrue). The year was 1957 and we studied something called Gregg Diamond Jubilee. In 1958 I was named the valedictorian of my class. That year Tommy Curb was the second boy in the history of our school to learn shorthand, and in 1959 he was named valedictorian of his class. Do I detect a pattern here? Mais oui, mon ami! Shorthand came in very handy at university in the days before cassette tape recorders.
I too became a computer programmer but later had a career as a technical writer. I like very much what I’ve read so far on your blog. I plan to return frequently.
I live near Atlanta, Georgia, by the way, in case you were wondering.
Bob Bragues last blog post..Lest we forget
@Bob Brague: See! Could have been me! I was very angry at the time and, to be honest, still am. I don’t know what it’s like in Georgia – or what it was like back then – but over here you were supposed to have a choice! Ggggrrhhhh!