This object is a link to my boyhood, both my parents, and a reminder that had it not been for the Second World War, I would not be here - at least in this precise form. My parents met when they were stationed in the Middle East and it was there that my mother gave this state-of-the art piece of technology as a present to my father round about 1942. She was a nurse; he was in the RAF. After the war, in 1946 to be precise, they were married and settled in my father's native north east Scotland. A year later there was me. Later still, my father became the headmaster or "dominie" of a small rural school in Banffshire and although it is a ton weight and was superseded by lighter and quieter and I'm sure more efficient models, he used this typewriter to conduct the business of all his three schools until his untimely death in harness in 1969 aged only 59. As a boy, when I was not outside roaming the woods playing "Cowboys and Indians"or indulging in other healthy outdoor pursuits, I was allowed to use it to type up my stories. I liked this because it gave them, to my mind, a satisfyingly "professional"appearance despite all the over-typing. Errors were notoriously difficult to erase!
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