Fordyce Maxwell: ‘How many would sit bolt upright and spill their tea?’

ALTHOUGH hearing your own voice for the first time is a shock, it’s one I got over a long time ago and have learned to live with. But I couldn’t help wondering about its effect on new listeners after making my talking newspaper debut last week.

For several dozen visually impaired listeners settling down, as they thought, to Liz’s clear but low and soothing voice on their tape, what would be the effect of my marginally louder and less soothing one? How many would sit bolt upright and spill their tea? How many would clutch the hand of the friend or carer in charge of the tape? How many would cry: “Turn if off!”

Liz has been taking her turn every few weeks for years on the talking newspaper, a voluntary service run by the local Rotary club. Last week for the first time, as getting a doctor’s appointment edges ever closer to the same chance as a small lottery win, she had to call off, and volunteered my services. Luckily, as often happens, I was thinking the same.

As I went up the steps to the portable cabin where stalwart Rotary recordist Ken was battling with a recalcitrant microphone and sound levels while co-volunteer reader Elizabeth was starting to select stories, I bore Liz’s parting words in mind:

“Don’t bawl into the microphone.”

“I know, I know. I’ve recorded before, remember. I’ll talk normally.”

“That,” she sighed, “is what I mean.”

It was a challenge not only to record, but to select, because for those with good vision any local paper is perused more closely and thoroughly front to back than any national, for the simple reason that the reader can relate to far more stories either directly, by proxy or “kent his faither”.

Obituaries have more relevance, particularly for most talking newspaper listeners. When you reach a certain age, although genuinely sorry and without malice, death of a contemporary puts a spring in your step.

Sports results, flower shows, council meetings, a letter to the editor about blocked gutters in the high street, “Family saved from tide”, who’s in court and why, hotel for sale twice in six months, exam successes, lifeboat fête, all were recorded. Not forgetting two of last week’s big stories – a crematorium for the Borders at last, and a new bin collection rota.

My biggest problem was recording someone else’s story. All previous experience has been reading my own scripts. Reading someone else’s, there was a temptation to edit on the move.

When we finished a surprisingly tiring hour and a half, Ken still had to prepare copies of the master tape for distribution, an unsung service that I hope is appreciated.

“How did you get on?” Liz asked.

“OK, ” I whispered.

“All right,” she said, “no need to shout.”