Write For My Supper

It was the early 1960s. The era of The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Flower Power, Teddy Boys and beehive hairstyles. A time long before the advent of computers and mobile phones, when the local newspaper office resounded to the clattering din of reporters tapping furiously away on large Imperial typewriters. A time when the men reporters would roar off on their motorbikes to cover stories. For newspaper journalism was still largely a man’s world. From an early age I had nurtured a longing to become a reporter, and with my dreams to keep me going, a stroke of luck and much hard work, I was lucky enough to achieve my ambition. This is a mainly light hearted account of how, as a young, fresh faced girl, not long out of school, I entered this male dominated terrain.