When writing with a ballpoint was an offence

EVERY now and then history produces an inventor whose ideas change the way we live. Some of these geniuses, like Edison and Marconi, have left deep footprints on the road of history. Others, like Ebenezer Burr and William Scott, seem to have slipped off the pages.

Know who they are? I thought not. They were the inventors of the first electric torch, back in 1881.

Until they came on the scene portable lighting consisted of oil-burning lanterns or lumps of pitchsoaked cloth attached to wooden handles, set alight and held aloft à la Olympic flame.

Burr and Scott used rather a bulky wet-cell battery for their torch. It was heavy and had to be housed in a leak-proof wooden case. It was portable, but not very portable.

Their idea has remained unchanged, but batteries and bulbs have developed fast. I carry quite a powerful torch with me, as one small component of my cellphone. We accept electric torches as an essential aid to living. Many of us even have tiny torches on our key rings.

Another inventor who changed lives was the Hungarian Ladislao Biro, who developed the modern ballpoint pen.

I feel a particular closeness to his invention, as it was only widely introduced in the mid-1940s and caused a great rumpus around the time I was sent off to boarding school.

School pens, up until then, had steel nibs and we dipped them into ink pots fitted into our school desks.

The thing about a steel pen was that it could produce elegant broad and fine lines. We spent many hours copying the copperplate letters from books designed to make us write legibly and elegantly.

Ballpoint pens could only produce lines of one thickness. They were banned from the school grounds. We were allowed to use fountain pens as long as we could show they were capable of producing thick and thin lines. But none of those nasty ballpoint jobs. They were a punishable offence.

I still have an expensive fountain pen that was given to me as a special gift some years ago. Whenever I want to do some serious letter writing, however, I find the pen is dry and requires a good deal of cleaning to get it up and running.

Invariably, I put it back in its elegant case and reach for a 20c ballpoint. Mr Biro has certainly changed my writing habits. Come to think of it, the only real handwriting I do these days is on the shopping list stuck on my fridge door.

For the rest I tap a keyboard. I wonder whether ballpoint pens will one day go the way of the goose quill and the steel nib.

Last Laugh

Some years ago Britain’s Prince Charles was sent on a state visit to Iran. When he arrived, hot and tired after the long flight, he asked one of the welcoming dignitaries: “Where’s the Shah?”

The official looked slightly embarrassed and replied, “Your highness, we do not have a shah any more.”

“Well, don’t worry,” said the prince. “In that case I’ll just have a bath.”