Words of Wisdom

As a 16-year-old school-leaver taken on as a junior district reporter by a weekly newspaper in Spalding, my first editor quickly handed over the job of writing up the week's wedding and obituary reports. It was an office tradition, apparently, that the most recent arrival (there were only five of us) found the 'deads and weds' dumped on his or her desk on day one.
The system then, in 1951, was that you sifted through the wedding and obituary forms, typed up each one on your rattling office-issue Remington, and placed the finished article on the editor's desk. Later, pencil in hand and in your trembling presence, he would go through it line by line making copious alterations and usually suggesting you 'have another go at making it more newsy.'
It was hardly Fleet Street, but if you showed the slightest hint of frustration or boredom he would warn: 'Remember, once you get printing ink on your fingers you'll never get it off.' And he was right. I stayed in the industry for 40 years. Though not on the same newspaper.
One of his favourite grumbling asides while editing my attempts to write a wedding report was, 'All brides are beautiful. You don't have to say so.' In other words, stick to the taffeta and organza.
And his patience often snapped thus while reading a draft obituary: 'You don't pass on, pass out, or pass over. You bloody well die.'
He was right, of course.