I was born in the sixties, 1966 to be exact. We lived in a dusty farmhouse in a valley in the KwaZulu Natal Midlands. The
main form of communications was an old black Bakerlite telephone, that
operated on a party line which meant the whole neighbourhood could hear
your conversation. The telephone lines used to hum, and flocks of birds
used to use them to perch. The exchange in town was manual and was
operated by Miss Bentfinger, so named as she always dialled the last
digit incorrectly.
Read the article on LinkedIn
here.
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