My favourite job…

“Hullo, Dubbo, I have your New York number.”

“Thank you, Sydney.”

I already had my local caller on the line and I connected them to New York. The New York voice came through as clear as a bell and the had a nine minute telephone call.

How I loved my job at the Country Telephone Exchange. I enjoyed the jangles and the clatters and the voices of the other telephonists around me. I also enjoyed the tiny voices of the subscribers at the other end of the lines. This was in the fifties, long before the days of automatic telephone connection.

The telephone switchboards were marvels of communication. Each switchboard had two hundred little shutters on the top half and two hundred little holes in the bottom half. Dubbo Telephone Exchange had ten of these switchboards; five for local calls and five for trunk line (long distance) calls. When a caller rang, a little shutter would fall, revealing the phone number. The telephonist would plug into that number and say, “Number please?”

Our training was thorough. We were taught how to speak to the public and exactly what words to say. There were strict rules, one of which was “No free calls.” Our supervisor, a patient man named Mr Douglas, (he had to be patient, he was in charge of twenty five lively young girls) sat at an end table and he could listen in whenever he chose. As a supervisor he was checking to see that all was going smoothly. He was strict but fair. He would turn a blind eye, or perhaps ear, if a girl made a local call to her mother to inform her of a changed shift, or if she would be late home.

Late at night telephonists could chat with girls at other exchanges, such as Sydney, but free trunk calls of a personal nature were strictly not allowed. The penalty could be instant dismissal. Of course rules are made to be broken, and occasionally someone would dare to make a private long distance call. One night I decided to make such a call. It was risky; although Mr Douglas had gone home, supervisors at other exchanges listened to all calls.

I decided to ring my aunt in Sydney and connect her to my father for a chat. My father and Aunty Gwen were very close and kept in touch with weekly letters. Trunk line calls were expensive and most people only rang long distance with important news. Dad and Aunty Gwen would be delighted with a phone call.

I decided to take the risk, and I dialled my aunt in Marrickville. When she answered, I cheerfully said, “Hullo, Aunty Gwen, I’ll put Dad on.” I duly made the connection and they were both surprised. They exchanged greetings and shared some family news. After a couple of minutes, Aunty Gwen, oblivious of the risks I had taken, said, “Isn’t it wonderful that Winsome works at the Telephone Exchange? She can put free calls through! We won’t have to pay for this.”

I managed to stammer, “T-time’s up, Aunt Gwen; time to say goodbye.” With a trembling hand, I disconnected the call.

What was one of your favourite jobs? What funny stories can you share with us?