Walking back from my grocery shop at Sainsbury’s on Saturday lunchtime put me in a contemplative mood. How life is as impermanent as Autumn leaves piled up on the ground, ready to be blown out of our consciousness by a stiff breeze. I thought I could write a poem about it.
And I’ve also been bitten by the idea of owning a manual typewriter. They’re portable, don’t need a power lead—are noisy—but can be dragged into any room, and so long as you’ve got paper and a working ink ribbon, you’re away. Completely away from the internet and social media.
After the idea to purchase one took root I was transported back in time, reminded of my youth, when we had one in the family home, and I used it to bash out some of my English homework, Star Wars fanfiction, and what I hoped would be the next Superman movie sequel (following on from the wonderful Superman ll).
I began to search the internet for the most suitable typewriters for writers. I even came across some useful YouTube videos from typewriter enthusiasts. All very helpful.
Armed with a little more knowledge I set out to find something that would work for me. Memories of my previous experiences on a typewriter already clued me into a couple things I knew I didn’t want: No models from the 1980s and no electronic typewriters. I thought I wanted an Underwood No 5 or 6 (I blame the Frank Underwood character from House of Cards), but they are rare in the UK and out of my possible spending budget anyway. The US made Royal KMM was cute but bulky, and I didn’t want a machine with cursive fonts, so they were ditched from the frame too. Eventually I settled on a shortlist of manual, portable typewriters manufactured from the 1940s through to the 1960s for their portability, aesthetic qualities and potential cost: Smith Coronas—the Sterling and the Skyriter; the Hermes Rocket; the French made Beaucourt Script (I drool thinking about this beauty); the Olympia SM3 and SM4 models (Bakelite keys make these drool worthy too), and the Olivetti Lettera models 22 and 32.
Now that I’d narrowed my choices to models I thought were realistic I began my hunt, not just for sales, but for reconditioning and servicing in the UK too.
I spent hours (days) glued to my lap top gazing at one typewriter model after another, noting what could be affordable for its condition, and what might I be prepared to spend to restore on another. Were the delivery costs prohibitive? Was what I just saw on E-bay or Etsy worth the risk or completely overpriced? And constantly I’d have to remind myself what the YouTube and net typewriter enthusiasts and historians were saying about particular models in action.
Select a model, find a review or history of the make, note the highlights and possible issues then go again, and repeat. And repeat. And Again.
If I was the kind of person who did patience I would have also hit a few charity and antique shops and car boot sales for a few weeks to see if I got lucky. But I’m not. I’m bold, fearless—possibly an idiot—as I’ve decided to take the plunge and go for an affordable Olivetti Lettera 22 I found on E-bay for less than £50. I think it’s a risk worth taking. I’d seen the same model elsewhere on sale for £188, and as far as I could see the only difference between the two was the more expensive model came with its case lined in tartan. A nice touch, but come on!
So, I purchased it, dear reader, and now eagerly await its arrival. There’s no guidance manual included, but I was able to download an excellent copy of one from the internet.
The product is advertised as ready to use straight out of the box. I certainly hope so, but I haven’t stopped dreaming about getting my digits on a Beaucourt Script or an Olympia SM3/4 either.
Perhaps I’m turning into a collector and this is where it all starts.
Anne Mushington - She Blogs 
