Pitman Shorthand 700 Common Words Exercise No. 1
The young man and the young woman looked even younger
than their years as they left offices of Country Properties, Limited, with a
few “Orders to View” in their hands. They were indeed two young people, very
much in love and recently married, and they were looking for a house. They had
been married for just six months, and when they got married on that cold
December day they had believed that they would soon find a place to let, and it
did not seem necessary to wait for that happy day before setting up home
together. So they had gone to live with his mother, having only one room of
their own and they had been very, very happy. It was an old house, however,
with no modern changes. It was in a street lined on both sides with old houses
just like it, and when April had come and the days grew longer the young
married people all at once began to long for a little house of their own, with
their own things in the rooms, with a little land at the back and in the front
where they could plant things and watch them grow. It did not seem very much to
ask, yet it was something that was being asked by thousands of other young
people. There seemed little enough hope of their being able to get such a place
because all the small houses were for sale and not to let, and they had no
capital. Will, the young man was an engineer, and May, a beautiful young person
with eyes so clear and true, had been a maid in a big boarding house at the
seaside before her marriage. Neither of them had had any opportunity to save
money, and to buy even the smallest house it was necessary to have some capital
to put down for the first payment. There had been times during that month of
April when May thought that Will had lost interest in her. He sat so often deep
in thought and without speaking. When she asked him what he was thinking about
he would answer shortly: “Work.” And then one day he told the truth. The big
engineering works were he spent his days had set a competition for their
workers. The company desired to cut its operating costs and, being a
forward-thinking undertaking, it believed that the workers themselves, who had
to do the work, might probably be able to think of ways and the means of
improving methods. The first prize was to be £500 if the best suggestion put
forward seemed worth that sum. So will had thought and thought, and had put in his
own ideas for the improvement of methods. The following day, he told May, the
employees were to learn who had won the prizes. Many put her hands in his, for
she saw that he cared very much, that he had high hopes, but she could not help
feeling that the £500 would never be theirs. She was wrong. Will won the prize,
and his suggestions were considered to be so outstanding that the directors of
the company had marked him down as a man worth watching. So on that lovely day
in June Will and May had some houses to look over, houses in the country with
rooms with a view: The first of the houses turned out to be much too large
spent on it before it would be any good at all. The second house, on the other
hand, was too small. It was a pleasing little place, very clean and well
planned, but far too small. May was beginning to have a heavy heart. Perhaps
even with the money in the bank it would still be impossible for them to get a
house to meet their requirements – and their requirements, she believed, were
some simple. They walked to the third house. It was a little way out of the
small market town, off the principal street, and the road leading to it had not
been made up. They had to walk carefully in order not to fall into the many
holes that were in the road. “Oh, dear, this is no good! Though May and then
they saw the house. Set well back from the road it was placed by itself in a
wide piece of land. It was white, and the windows and doors were covered with
clean blue paint. The windows were low and long, and the rooms inside were
clean and light. The grounds had been well cared for. Oh, what a wonderful
place! May cried, and she knew that she must live her married life in that
house and in no other. And the hearts of those two young people were light and
they seemed to walk on air as they returned to the property office to put down
some money and sign papers.
700 Common Words Exercise No. 2
“Words, words, words,” said a character in a
well-known play. So much was said, so little done. In a way, our life is made is
made up of words. It is through words that we give expression to our ideas and
through words that we can keep in touch with other people. We may write the
words for others to read or we may speak the words for others to hear, but in
either case it is through words that we have been able to pass on to others the
thoughts that are in our minds. Are words quite necessary to a highly developed
state of thought? Are they necessary for the development of man to a state of
increased knowledge and comfort? Can we, indeed, thin without words? Much has
been said and written on this last point, and some writers are quick to point
out that we can think in pictures without the use of words. Others believe that
our thoughts are dependent upon words that we do not think of the thing itself
but of the words representing the thing. Certainly, if we stop at any moment
and ask: What was I thinking of then? We find that we have been using words in
our thoughts. The use of words is one great difference that sets man apart from
other animals. It is true that most living things seem to use sounds of some
sort in their life with one another but they do not use language as man does.
So far as we can judge from historical records, man continued in a way early
state of development until he began to speak.
With the use of words he developed more quickly, and when he learned to
write down the words his development increased at a very great rate. The
written word seems necessary for the wide development of a people. With the
written words ideas can be passed on quickly and knowledge, won by experience
and hard work, can be passed on to others who can then use the knowledge for
their own purposes. At first, the written word could be used only by a few as
it was carefully and beautifully written by hand, and one copy only existed of
each piece of writing. Now, however, thousands of copies of a book can be
turned out in a very short time, and the thoughts and ideas of one man can be
read by millions. This has its dangers, of course, as well as its advantages
for it may happen and we have seen it happen that a person with a powerful use
of words can influence millions of people in the direction he desires. For
words are powerful things: people are moved to action by words, they are moved
to action by the ideas expressed in words. We know that in political life the
man who is most successful is generally the man with the power to speak well,
to use words in a way that influences people to believe what he says. We know
that in business the best salesman is the one who can overcome his customers
with words, who can make them believe that what he has to sell is better than
what other people have to sell. The successful writer is not always the one who
tells the bet story but the one who can best use words to express his ideas and
the feelings of his characters. Nor are shorthand writers any less dependent
upon words. Shorthand writers depend upon words for their very existence as
shorthand writers, for without words there is not shorthand in the sense in
which we understand it. Even the old picture writing was a form of shorthand,
for one picture had to express quite a long story. The modern shorthand writer
is like the successful story writer, the successful salesman, the successful
man in political life: he depends for his success upon his knowledge of words,
and the use he makes of his knowledge. The successful shorthand writer must
understand be able to use a very great number of words, and he must know the
word used in a very wide field of subjects. For the shorthand writer life is
indeed a matter of “words, words, words!
700 Common Words Exercise No. 3
The woman sat by herself in the small room at the back
of the house. She could hear the voices of the people sitting together in the
large front room and at times a few notes from a well-known air would reach her
from the radio set which was always kept near the door. Generally she liked to
sit with the others in the evening, hearing them talk about the event of the
day and expressing opinions on the news given out by B.B.C. The people were
employed in such different ways and they held such widely differing opinions
that she, who knew little about the arts in any form, believed that to sit in
that room was as good as going to watch a play. That night, however, she
continued to sit by herself in the small and rather plain back room that had
been used as an office for the past thirty years. She looked down at her hands
and saw on them signs of years of hard work. Not for her were the white hands of
her boarders, few if any of whom had ever done any really hard work in their
lives. Her hands were red and covered with little back lines. For as long as
she could remember she had had to work for her living, helping her mother and
afterwards working in the boarding house. That day her boarding house had been
bought. She herself had signed the papers that meant that the house would pass
into other hands next month. Another woman would own the boarding house and
would plan the meals for the boarders and would, or so she hoped, look after
their comfort and well-being. Nor had she any right to be upset about this
because she herself had put the house up for sale with the announcement: A
business for sale in good running order. The owner is willing to consider the
sale at a reasonable price of the boarding house known as High View. It faces
the sea and has room for 25 boarders. An interesting and profitable business
for anyone willing to work. There were, it seemed, many people willing to work,
for letters had been received from interested parties all over the country, and
she had been successful in selling the boarding house to a young woman who
would, she thought, run it on the same lines as she herself had done. Again she
looked down at her red and hard worked hands. For her the days of hard work
were over, for the sale had brought her a good round sum of money on which she
could live peacefully for the rest of her days on earth without doing any work
at all. A strange end to a strange life, she thought. She was 13 years old when
her mother had died, and she had gone to live with a relation who worked as a
housekeeper in a small boarding house at the seaside. She had become a maid of
all work, running about for everyone and getting little for her trouble. After
two years the owner of the boarding house, who was very old, had died, but the
two of them she and her relation just kept on working in the same way. It
appeared that no one was particularly interested in the old woman who had died,
and they had found it possible to buy the house for such a small sum that, with
the money paid by the boarders, they were easily able to make the necessary
monthly payments. They had, as it were, fallen heir to the property. They kept
the place very, very clean, and they gave the boarders good food and enough of
it, and as the years passed they were able to buy the house next door and the
house next door to that, until in the end High View became quite an important
building. The property had become her own 15 years ago. She had never married
like other women because the boarding house had been her life. Now, she was
growing old and there was no one to whom she could leave the place. It was
better sold to a young woman who would love it as she had done and would take
good care of the boarders. The voice of the B.B.C announcer reached her. And
that, he said, is the end of the news.
700 Common Words Exercise No. 4
I did not know the Blacks very well as a family, but I
had run up against them in the street from time to time. They had lived in a
large old house just off the High Street. The house was too large for their
requirements, and it was difficult to keep warm in winter. The bedrooms were
too big, and when the weather was cold people trying to find comfort in the
sitting room might just as well have been in the street outside for all the
warmth they received from the coals burning in the little fireplace. But the
Blacks did not move into a smaller and newer house. It did not come into their
heads to do so. The old house had always been their home. Father and mother had
lived there from the first day of their married life, and the two children had
spent all their days there. There they were and there they were likely to be in
the years to come. Modern and new houses were short in the days that followed
the war, and Black himself found the situation of the old place very
satisfactory because he ran an office in the High Street, and he could walk to
or from his work in a matter of five minutes. This saved him time, money, and
trouble, and he thought himself a very happy man in this respect. I doubt
whether I ever would have gone into that house had I not offered to try to get
some money for a good cause in which I was at that time interested. I went from
house to house which I was at that time interested. I went from house to house
asking for money. I may add that I did not like asking other people to give up
their hard – won money, but, on the other hand, I very much desired money for
my cause, and so I was able to steel myself to go my rounds. Most people gave
willingly a little perhaps, but a large enough number of small amounts can make
a large sum, and I was always thankful for anything down to the last penny. The
door of the Black house was opened by a little maid who showed me into the
sitting-room. It was a cold afternoon, and the mother and the girl were sitting
near to the fire reading. My surprise must have shown itself on my fact. I
looked from one to the other. The mother must have married quite young, for she
was clearly under 40 while the girl was quite young, for she was clearly under
40 while the girl was about 17. What surprised me was that the two faces looked
just the same. Not a line showed on the mother’s face, and her eyes, so clear
and blue, were no less beautiful that those of the girl. The faces were small
and perfect in form. Never had I before seen such a remarkable likeness between
two people of such different age. Yet there was a difference, and what a
difference it was! Done high up on the
girl’s head, above those blue eyes, was a wonderful mass of red-gold.
Where were the modern painters, I asked myself, waiting to paint this red-gold
loveliness for future people to look at? Such a wonderful thing should be seen
by all the world. It was not enough for it to be kept here, not known, not
loved, except by her own family. How long, I asked myself, could such colour
last? It seemed to burn, and I had the feeling that it would burn itself out. I
turned my eyes back to the mother, with her perfect face. Done high up on her
head in the say way was a mass of white. I looked, and not one touch of colour
cold I see. My face must have expressed only too clearly my thoughts, for the
mother turned to me and said: Yes, it is very beautiful. I was just like that
once, and look at me now! All the women in our family are white before they are
30.
700 Common Words Exercise No. 5
It seems
to me that there are three principal ways in which we can learn to do things or
to understand things looking reading, or hearing. We can watch things done by
other people, and copy their movements and actions. This is the way in we learn when we are very
young. Babies, and all young animals, of course, are very quick to copy the
acts of their mothers, and in this way they learn a very great amount in a
remarkable short time. We continue throughout our lives to learn in this ways
and then making some attempt to carry out like acts ourselves. When we grow up,
however, we are able to make observations within much wider limits, and we are
free to learn great numbers of things simply by watching. Not only can we see
the life going on round about us, but we have also brought right into the home
the moving picture and the TV set. There is, perhaps, no more interesting and
successful method of learning about other countries than to watch moving
pictures that have been taken in those places. Most of us find it much easier
to remember what we have seen than to remember what we have read in a book or
have been told. Even a very good writer, telling us of scenes and doings in far
off lands, cannot bring to our minds so clear a picture of those countries as
can a quite short moving picture in the course of instructions in subjects as
different from one another as history and science. In such subjects mere reading
is not enough to give a complete picture of the material under consideration.
We can, then, use of eyes when we want to learn, using our powers of seeing and
observation. We must also, however, use of powers of hearing. To most of us
this is a difficult way of learning, and we have often to work quite hard
to master the art of learning through
hearing. An exception is, of course, the subject of languages, for clearly
there is no better way to learn a language than to hear other people speaking
it. Mere book knowledge of a language is a poor thing, for a language does not
really live until it is used. When, however, we are dealing with ideas learning
through hearing becomes more difficult. We have to learn first to pay
attention. How often does a teacher say: Pay attention, please!” And how
necessary are the words. If no notes are being taken the words once said have
gone forever. If they live at all it must be in the memories of those who have
heard the words. When we first go to school we think we are learning to write
and to read and to do little sums, but in fact we are also learning something of even more
importance: we are learning to pay attention, to hear what the teacher says,
and to hold it is our memories. The person who is able to pay attention is a
much better learner than the person whose mind is always going off into other
fields of thought, even though the two people may have equally good minds in
other respects. Many people who attend public meetings find that their
attention is not always given to the person speaking, and it is indeed a good
man or woman who can hold our complete attention for half an hour or more. It
is probably true that most people learn most things most easily through
reading. They can read the material they wish to learn, and can read it again
many, many times if they do desire. They can memorize the written word with a
reasonable degree of ease, and can usually master a far larger amount of
material in this way in a given time than would be possible by another method.
Seeing, reading, and hearing all pay their part in our complete development as
we grow into men and women.
700 Common Words Exercise No. 6
May walked with long and quick steps as she went down
the short road that led to the sea. Ever since she had spent a week with some
relations who lived by the sea in the lovely summer month of June she had lived
for the day when she could return. How she had loved the little fishing town
and the beautiful blue sea during that week in June! How peaceful it had seemed
to her after the cares of city life! The sea to the limits of the eye had been
deep blue, and the water met the land with such a peaceful touch that one
hardly heard its sound. The ships at rest a little way out seemed not to move,
and the white sails of the little ones nearer to the land were still. And that
was her memory of it all. Stillness and peace, blue and white. May remembered
also the houses of the people who lived there. They were little houses so near
together that they seemed in places almost to touch one another. Surely, a hand
held out from one of those small upper windows could meet the hand held out
from the window on the other side of that little road. Although it was not
really a road, she thought. A road should be reasonably wide, and the houses
should be set well back, and there should be room for motor-cars to pass along
it. There should be room for people to pass each other without moving to one
side or the other. No, she could not really call it a road, but it was
certainly a place where people lived. Some of them, like her relations, had
lived there all their lives. Some of them, like her relations, had lived there
all their lives. Never had they heard the call of the cities of their own
country, and still less had the voice of other countries overseas called to
them. No, for them life had to end where it had begun, and throughout the years
they lived in those little, very little houses, lived as people were no longer
thought to live in this wonderful land of ours, with its wide streets and
modern houses and health services and picture-houses. May had seen the little
fishing town and had loved it. The call of the sea must be in my heart, she
thought as she walked once again on the hard city streets where she worked. Of
course, she told her friend all about it. Her friend worked in the same office
and until then they had generally seen eye-to-eye about the details of life.
That had been before May went to her relations at the sea for a week. She had
returned quite changed. From then on her one thought had been to save enough
money to take another week with them in the little house in the little fishing
town by the sea. Of course, the place was about as far away as it could be from
where she live, and it meant going without quite a few other things if May was
to get the money together. But she had done it, and now in the depth of winter
she walked down the road that led to the sea. She found that the blue sea of
summer had changed, and the water was now almost without colour. No ships were
at rest out there, and that was just as threw itself with fearful force upon
the stones and headlands, and the sound of its breaking would have over-powered
any other sound had there been any. But there were no other sounds, for the
town itself was resting. Men could not fish in such weather as this, when the
water threw itself up into the air as if trying to overcome the little town
that made so much use of it, a town indeed that lived wholly upon what it took
from those great waters. OH! May cried, as she held her body hard against the
forces of Nature. Oh, how wonderful! How truly wonderful! Gone was the
water-colour painting of the peaceful blue sea and the sweet little town, and
in its place was this great oil painting, this masterpiece of the forces of water
and land. She was watching the everlasting war between earth and water, that
everlasting attempt of one to the master of the other, an attempt that she
hoped would never meet with success. And she loved the sea and the land and the
little town more than ever, and she would willingly have spent the rest of her
life there, by the fearful and the peaceful sea.
700 Common Words Exercise No. 7
It was
not often that Mr. Wells left his house for every many hours with no one in it.
During the day Miss Black was there for most of the time. Miss Black could not
be called his housekeeper, as he himself kept watch on the stores and on the
money spent. In fact, he bought most of the food, cleaning materials, and so
on, on his way some from the office, and merely passed them to Miss Black to
put away. No, Miss Black could not be given the high-sounding name of
housekeeper, but neither could she be called the woman who did for him. She
fell somewhere between these two high and low points. She was a daily help of
the most valuable kind, and she looked after the house of Mr. Wells with as
much care as she would have looked after her own, and in the evening she went
off, and even Mr. Wells did not know where she went or what she did. During the
day, therefore, his house was in good hands. In the evening there was himself
and there was his brother. Generally they were both at home, for neither of
them was much given to going out. They did not like parties and they did not
like the pictures. They did not care to pay high prices to see plays which, in
their opinion, were generally not worth the money that had to be spent in
getting up to town and paying for a reasonable place. Neither of the men had
married, and neither had a regular girl friend. Their evenings were, therefore,
generally spent in the house, and it was the house that they both loved more
than any other thing in the world. It was certainly a lovely little house, for
enough away from the City to be almost in the country. It was peaceful and
there were good views from the windows. From the outside it looked in most ways
much like the home of anyone with a reasonably well-paid position in the City.
Few people ever stepped inside but those who did were greatly surprised, for
certainly the inside of the house was not in any way like the common run of
houses. It was full of the most valuable things, all carefully placed and
marked. What had been two living rooms had been made into one every large room
in the form of the letter L. The room was white and as clean as if it had been
in the hands of the painter that very day. Everything in the room was clearly a
show-piece, something bought at a sale and for which a high price had had to be
paid. The pictures were Old Masters and the books were beautiful covered .The
table and all other pieces had been carefully bought one by one, as opportunity
and money made such buying possible. It was such a room as one might expect to
find in one of the great houses built in a past age, but no one could possibly
except to see anything of the kind in such a place. The room was priceless, for
many of the objects could not be found for a second time. And so the brothers
spent their evenings and week-ends among their much-loved objects of art, and
tried to make still more perfect that which was already perfection. It was not
often, as we have said, that Mr. Wells left his house with neither his brother
nor Miss Black in it. But on that night he had done so. Work had kept him late
in the City, and his brother had not been well and had gone away to have a
small but necessary operation. Miss Black had left at 5.30 as usual. Mr. Wells
red his paper while waiting for the 8.45 train home, but the train was late in
starting as there was some mist in places along the line, and it stopped
several times before reaching his station. He got out and walked towards his
home. The mist in the air seemed to have a red touch, he thought, as he walked
on. Then he had a feeling of fear, of cold fear, for without doubt something
was on fire, something was burning. He broke into a run, and then he stopped.
After all, it was not his house that was on fire, his own most beautiful and
loved house. It was the house immediately behind his. But at the moment of his
fear he saw his life clearly for the first time. He saw that he had spent his
years loving cold and lifeless objects. He saw that he loved no living being
and that no living being loved him or cared that he was late home that night
that he was cold and had known fear.
700 Common Words Exercise No. 8
After the coldness of the winter months the lovely
days of April, May, and June call to us and ask us to go out and see the
beautiful countryside. During the long winter of the countryside has been
resting and waiting for the warmth of summer to make it colourful once more.
Some people feel that the countryside is more beautiful in the cold days of
winter than it is in the heat of summer. When the leaves have fallen the view
is wider, details show up more clearly, and the rivers are full. These are
plain facts, of course, but the truth is that most of us like the countryside
of the summer more than that of the winter. We like the warmth more than the
cold, and we like to see the fields full of the colour that summer brings. And
so we go out. We leave behind our TV and our books, and off we go. We are light
of heart and happy, and the open country is before us. Is it possible in these
days, however, to get right into the heart of the country not only to see it
but to hear it and to understand it in the way that the writer of The Story of
My Heart, Life of the Fields, and The Open Air did? It does not seem very
likely that it is possible, because there are so many people in so many
motor-cars all trying to find the happiness of the countryside at the same
time. It is plain enough that if masses of people all go to the same place at
the same time to find the peaceful life of the country they will not find it.
The ease with which it is now possible to reach the country places has made
them less worth reaching. There is, I think, nothing that we can do about it.
Motor cars are with us and are likely to be, and while we have them we shall
without doubt use them. There are, however, still places which are away from
the wide roads and great motorways. There are lovely little places in the
byways of the countryside which, because of the quality of the roads, are seen
by few. The best way to see such a place is to walk. Feet are certainly not
used as much as they used to be: we like to move more quickly than our feet
will take us. Our feet are still, however, quite the best means of seeing the
countryside in the lovely months of early summer. When I was a child my father
had a number of little books which set out walks of many kinds. There were
short walks and long walks, walks for the hour or for the day. These walks set
out almost every step of the way, and they kept the walker away from the roads
as for as possible. The landmarks were country buildings and farms and fields.
A motor-car cannot go across farmland, stopping while those in it watch the
animals or look at the growing plants: but the walker can, provided he keeps to
certain parts and is careful. It is still possible to walk in the countryside
for a whole day without going on to a wide motoring road. The motor-car is a remarkably
good way to get from one part of the country to another but it is not the best
way to see the details of the countryside: for the details we must walk. The
motorcar offers us the general view, and walking offers us the little things.
In the motor-car, too, we cannot hear the sounds of the countryside but the
walker hears and knows them all. Of course, not everyone likes the peace of the
countryside. I knew a young woman who lived all her young life right in the
heart of the country’s capital. She had never been away, and knew nothing
whatever about either the seaside or the countryside. After a year or two in an
office, however, she found that she had some money in hand and she heard the
other office workers talking about where they were going for their leave in the
summer. This caused her to make up her mind to go away somewhere, and she went
with a friend to a little seaside place well-known for its peacefulness and the
beautiful countryside round about it. She had booked a room for two weeks, but
after half a week she was back in town. I thought you were away at the seaside.
I said, when I met her in the street. Oh, I could not stand it for another day!
She said. There was just nothing to do!
700 Common Words Exercise No. 9
It was a lovely river. It was wide and full of water
in both summer and winter. In summer the water was usually blue, and its
never-ending movement towards the sea was so peaceful that it could not be seen
except by the most care observation. In winter the water often ran more quickly
and the colour became blacker, but even so it continued to be a good river. It
kept well within its high banks, it was clean, and it did not have places that
were dangerous for the little sailing ships that used it as play-ground. Not
all rivers are so kind to those who live near them. People used to live near or
right on the banks of rivers because they required clean water for the many
purposes of life. Today water can be brought to people over considerable
distances, and it is not necessary to live near a river to exist. In these days
people like to live near rivers because they like to look at them or to sail on
them. There are very few of us who do not find happiness in sitting and
watching a large body of water. Houses that have good views of a river or of
the sea or of any other mass of water can usually be sold at a high price.
There is always a demand for houses in such pleasing situation. High point was
such a house. It was one of a small number of large house built on a piece of
land some 200 or 300 feet above river and the little town through which it
passed. A young woman sat at a wide window of high Point, reading a book. The
evening light played on her golden colouring, and she was beautiful. She put
down the book and looked out over the well-kept grounds of the house and down
to the river. How lovely and peaceful it is here, she thought. There is still
enough light for me to have an hour on the river in Flying Sails before the day
quite dies. We have so few of these lovely days that we may as well make the
best of them when we have the opportunity. Perhaps she did not use just those
words but her thoughts were along those lines as she got up and moved away from
the window and towards the open door. Penny! She cried. Penny Yes? Came a
distant answer. What about an hour’s sail on the river before we go to bed? It
is such a waste to go early to bed on a night like this. As she was speaking
she had run up to her friend’s bedroom. Usually Penny would have come running
out of her room very quickly at the thought of going on the river, for she
dearly loved sailing, particularly in the evening or early morning when the
lights on the water gave her wonderful ideas for her water-colour paintings.
Young as she was, she was quite an expert in this art. She loved to spend a
week or two at High Point, not only because she liked the company of her gold
friend, whom she thought was the most beautiful girl she had ever seen, but
also because there were wonderful ideas for her water-colour paintings. Young
as she was, she was quite an expert in this art. She loved to spend a week or
two at High Point, not only because there were wonderful views from the house
on all sides. To the south there were the grounds failing away to the river,
from the north were miles and miles of English countryside at its best. To east
and west were large houses in beautiful grounds which, with little changes here
and there, made good subjects for her pictures. Yes, she liked spending time at
High Point with the weeks family. That evening, however, Penny did not come
running from her room. She sat at the table looking with no pleasure at all at
one of her paintings. What is the matter, Penny? Have you got the colours all
wrong? Oh no, the paintings is good enough. It will do. This remark greatly
surprised her friend because with Penny paintings did not just do. They had to
be good, very good. no, she said again, the painting will do. But I am not
coming out. She looked so different from her usual happy self that her friend
went across the room to her. What is it? She asked. Penny put her head down and
cried. It is your brother, she said. He is so wonderful, so much like you and
he did not even speak to me or look at me before he went away this morning. And
she cried again.
700 Common Words Exercise No. 10
It is regrettable that we so often hear it said that
young people get themselves into situations of trouble and difficulty simply
because they do not know how to spend their time usefully and happily. This is
a very poor state of things when we consider for a moment how many useful and
pleasurable things there are for us to do today. There are many happy ways of
passing the time, both at home and out of doors: there are things we can do to
help ourselves and, equally important or even more important, there are many
things we can do to help others. When I was growing up there was no TV but we
had a radio set and, of course, we had records. These were the old kind of
record now known as 78, and one side of a record played for about two and a
half minutes. My mother liked all of the family to be at home on Sunday
evenings; she did not like us to go out but we were free to ask to the house
any of our friend. The number of young people who sat down at table for the
evening meal was sometimes 20 and was always more than 12, so we were a large
and happy party. It became our custom, when the meal was at an end, to continue
to sit round the table for an hour or two while records were played. The
machine was not of the electric save-you trouble kind that we now use but had a
motor that required attention at the end of each side of a record, and, of
course, it played only one record at a time. This meant that one of our number
had to take on the responsibility of keeping the machine going and putting on
the records. My father used to bring home a new record most weekends, so that
we had a good many. People used to all out for a record they desired to hear,
and no one seemed to want to talk while the record was playing as is done so
often now. Therefore, we were able to hear the records in peace, and we go to
know every detail of them. We all loved this hour or two of record-playing very
much, and I know that it lives in the memories of all who were present on those
evenings. We had every good time at very little cost, and no one had the
smallest desire to go out and make life difficult for some other person. On the
Saturday evenings we generally had a party also, but they were much more free
and easy; and were certainly not planned with the idea of having a peaceful
time. We always asked the people next door to come to the parties so that they
would not be upset by the sounds that without doubt issued from our house. What
a good time we used to have! And it was a good time in which the whole family
and any of their friends who wished to played a part. I except my mother had to
work hard on Fridays, but we all did something to help, and there is no doubt
that everyone seemed to like those weekends. Then came Monday morning, and I am
sure that no one got out of bed a moment sooner than was really necessary particularly when it was cold! A week of hard
work was before us. Day school and home work, office and evening school, took
up our time, and there was almost no time at all for play. Life was serious,
and we really worked hard. Our life at that time was made up of working hard
throughout the week and playing hard at the weekend. And it was a good enough
way of growing up. Never for one moment did any of us ask ourselves what on
earth we could do next. There was always something waiting to be done, even if
it was only ironing a dress or making a new one. I grew up with the radio but
no TV, the motor-car but few planes. My mother grew up without TV, the radio,
the moving picture, or the motor-car. People walked long distances in her days,
but those who had enough money could keep horses. People had to make their own
pleasures because very few readymade pleasures existed. What we can be quite
sure of is that in my mother’s day young people did not take up wrong doing as
a way of passing the time because they could not think of anything good worth
doing. Wrong-doing was at that time thought of an connexion with people living
in very poor or bad conditions and without much hope in life. Living conditions
are better today, and endless opportunities for a happy and successful life
present themselves to young people who are willing to be good and to work hard.
I hope that my readers are not numbered among those who can think of nothing
worthwhile to do in their free time.
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