The fourth estate moves into its fourth office

AS YOU’RE reading this, staff at The Chronicle are busy moving into our fourth office in a century.

When I started at The Chronicle in the mid-1970s fresh from school, I was the youngest member of staff.

Now, I’m the oldest and about to become the only member of staff to work in all four offices.

How things have changed. When I started at the old, old place which stretched from the office in Margaret Street to the press backing onto Bell Street there was no such thing as Workplace Health & Safety.

Just as well because I think the place would have been shut down.

What would WHS officers have thought of workers flicking highly flammable fuel onto the concrete floor of the comp room under an unsuspecting linotype operator and lighting it up.

Suddenly, as if working the 90-key keyboard lino wasn’t daunting enough, having flames licking at one’s legs really kept the operator on his toes.

One couldn’t go to the toilet in that old place without someone shoving a broom handle under the door causing the occupier to lift his feet or having a fire hose put through the windows behind the pedestal.

There’s nothing quite like using soaked toilet paper.

But that was all part of the apprenticeship in those days.

Of course, when we moved to the more plush settings of Ruthven Street, such pranks were frowned on, particularly lighting fuel on the floor which was by then carpeted due to the introduction of computers.

However, despite the more comfortable surroundings, the Ruthven Street office still posed its own challenges.

Not least the rats that inhabited the ceilings.

To this day I swear the stench that regularly arose in the newsroom was from dead rats in the ceiling and nothing to do with the counter lunch I’d had the night before.

Fair dinkum, I copped more accusations than your local drug dealer.

I’ll never forget the day during the morning newsroom meeting when a scream emanated from the women’s toilet.

Suddenly, a lady from advertising came running from the ladies’ loo screaming she’d looked down to see a rat swimming in the bowl.

Fortunately, the rat responded well to counselling and was none the worse for wear for the encounter but I couldn’t help but feel for it.

109 Neil Street was purpose built for a modern newspaper office and it was like a five-star hotel compared to what had housed us before but like those old places it still had its unique charm.

I’ll miss my daily walk through The Hooper Centre on my way to court, stopping off for a coffee and a chat along the way.

But, like the way newspapers are produced these days, nothing stays the same and we move on.

This time next week we will be in our new digs in the Rowes building in Russell Street.

Can’t wait to make more memories there.

Fair dinkum, I copped more accusations than your local drug dealer.