AHRC Leadership Fellows Award

Today marks theWires Are Crossed start my 20-month project Crossed Wires: Literature and Telephony funded by an AHRC Leadership Fellows award, in partnership with the BT Archives and the Science Museum.

Huge thanks to the AHRC, to the BT Archives, to the Science Museum, and to Nottingham Trent University for all their support.

Derrida on the Line

My article ‘Derrida on the Line‘ has been published in Derrida Today 10.2 (2017), pp.142-159.

By offering us a voice that is both at a distance and inside one’s own head, the telephone causes interference in thinking and writing. But despite the multiple telephones that echo in and across Jacques Derrida’s work, and specifically his writing to and with Hélène Cixous, it is only since Derrida’s death that critical interest in the phone has fully emerged, with work by Nicholas Royle (2006), Eric Prenowitz (2008), Geoffrey Bennington (2013) and Lynn Turner (2015) stressing the value of staying on the line. Engaging with Derrida, however, is not simply a matter of picking up the receiver. For the telephone is also, Derrida insists in H.C. for Life (2006), a ‘poetico-technical invention’, that is, the telephone is ‘thought itself’. This paper is about how the telephone ‘thinks’ Derrida, about how it remembers Derrida, and about how it offers us a line for re-imagining his voice. Bound up with the uncanny mechanisms of the telephone, it invites readers to participate in long-distance calling – listening across species, texts and worlds.


Daisy Bell: The Voice and the Machine


Artist’s rendering of HAL 9000’s noted camera eye

Listen to my documentary feature ‘Daisy Bell: The Voice and the Machine’ on BBC Radio 3, complete with interviews with beatboxer Danny Ladwa, Professor Simon King (Director of the Centre for Speech Technology at the University of Edinburgh), Dr Jonathan Fishman (a consultant at the Royal National Throat, Nose and Ear Hospital), the inspirational Andrew Beaumont, HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey, and ‘Mr Phone’.

Many thanks to producer Simon Elmes, to Aoife Radburn who sang so beautifully for us, and to everyone who helped with the making of this feature.

Losing your voice

My three ‘Switchboard’ events for the Being Human Festival 2017 have been selected as a ‘Festival Highlight’! Hear me talk about the cultural history of the answer machine with Shahidha Bari and Lawrence Scott for a BBC Radio 3 Free Thinking Special.

Being Human Blog

In 1877, The Times reported: ‘A time is coming when everybody, we presume, will carry his own Telephone about with him’. Now, over a century later, there are more telephones in the world than people. For some, the phone is a lifeline; the vital role of mobile connectivity for refugees and migrants, for instance, has been widely documented. But for others, the loss of face-to-face contact, the huge environmental impact, and increasing reports of ‘nomophobia’ (or ‘no-mobile-phone-phobia’ where symptoms include ringing ears and phantom vibrations), mean that – as Mark Twain told telephone engineers in 1877 – ‘if Bell had invented a muffler or a gag, he would have done us a real service’. But despite our increasing preoccupation with the benefits and dangers of the smartphone, our understanding of the aesthetics of telephony remain neglected.

Working with the BT Archives and the Science Museum, my research currently focuses on the ways that the telephone has been conceived by writers from the nineteenth century to the present day. How has the telephone – from Bell’s needle vibrating in water to the iPhone X – changed the ways that we read and write? In particular, I’m interested in the telephone’s capacity to destabilise relations of presence and absence in art and literature; this means thinking about interruption and disconnection as well as communication and contact. What happens, for example, when calls are intercepted or when meaning goes astray? What kinds of voices and what kinds of messages get lost and found down the line? As G. K. Chesterton once remarked, ‘There is only one way of getting through on the telephone: but there are an infinite number of ways of not getting through’.

Reflecting on the telephone in A Lover’s Discourse (1979), the French philosopher Roland Barthes highlights the disruptive capacity of electric speech, suggesting that ‘the telephone is always a cacophony, and that what it transmits is the wrong voice’. Certainly, the power of the telephone to challenge our understanding of what it means to communicate recurs with uncanny frequency in books and films, where calling someone up often means crossing the wires or talking to the dead.

Exploring the different voices that have been lost or found down the line, ‘Switchboard’ is a three-part series of events for Being Human 2017 exploring the cultural legacy of the telephone. ‘Switchboard I‘, the first event in the series, is a workshop at Nottingham Industrial Museum on 19 November that will inspire and support writers of all levels in the production of new creative work. Building on Nottingham’s own telephonic history, participants will have the chance to try their hand on the old exchange, reminisce over the Mickey Mouse character phone, or listen out for ghostly voices down the wires as they develop and share new writing inspired by the telephone and its many voices.

The second event of the series, ‘Switchboard II‘, will take place on 21 November in a telephone box next to ‘Dialling In’, a phone-booth cafe in Nottingham, reported to be the smallest coffee shop in the United Kingdom. Members of the public will be invited to enter the phone box to leave their own messages on our answer-machine, reflecting on the significance of the telephone in their lives or imagining calls yet to be made. Selected extracts from these recordings will be used with the authors’ permission during the third event of the series, ‘Switchboard III‘, a live literary event on 23 November at ‘Wired’ cafe in Nottingham where we will celebrate the aesthetics of the phone through poetry and music.

See the Being Human blog.

Sherlock’s Smartphone

My article on the use of telecommunication technologies in Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes mysteries and the BBC series Sherlock is now online at Huffington Post.

Book Illustration Depicting Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson in a Train Cabin

Illustration by Sidney Paget published in ‘The Adventure of Silver Blaze’ in The Strand Magazine (December 1892)


Telephone Terrors

On Saturday 24th September 2016, I presented my research to an audience at the Royal Festival Hall as part of BBC Radio 3’s residency at the Southbank. It was broadcast on BBC Radio 3 on 5th October. To find out why both Freud and Kafka were afraid of the phone, listen to my essay ‘Telephone Terrors‘!


Iain Spillman – Guest Blog

Read SPUR researcher Iain Spillman’s final blog, exploring telephony in the work of Mark Twain…


In his invaluable book, Telephone: The First Hundred Years, John Brooks uncovers how quickly the telephone and telephony impacted upon literary culture. He notes that as early as October 1877 the London Telegraphic Journal was moved to comment that, ‘The telephone seems to have established a literature of its own. The comic papers have employed it as a vehicle for their wit […] poets have eagerly welcomed it as a new image […] and there have not been wanting preachers who have hailed it as a new symbol.’[1] Brooks argues the first significant piece of telephone literature was Mark Twain’s ‘A Telephonic Conversation’, first published in The Atlantic in June 1880.[2]

While Twain was an early subscriber to the telephone, and obviously not opposed to it, he displayed a light-hearted antagonism towards the invention, telling the engineers who installed one in his home in Hartford, Connecticut, in 1877 that ‘if Bell had invented a muffler or a gag, he would have done us a real service.’[3] It is a stance he maintained in his 1890 Christmas message published in the New York World: ‘It is my heart-warm and world-embracing Christmas hope and aspiration that all of us – the high, the low, the rich, the poor, the admired, the despised, the loved, the hated, the civilized, the savage – may eventually be gathered together in heaven of everlasting rest and peace and bliss – except the inventor of the telephone.’[4]

However, notwithstanding his frustrations with the telephone, Twain displayed a high degree of prescience in identifying which aspects of telephony would influence both culture and behaviour. The aforementioned essay, ‘A Telephonic Conversation’, was quick to identify both the initial allure and the ultimate dissatisfaction in hearing only one side of a telephone conversation, ‘and not taking any part in that conversation,’ Twain wrote, ‘is one of the solemnest curiosities of this modern life.’[5] Twain also added his delicate sarcasm to how it affected his work by adding, ‘I notice that one can always write best when somebody is talking through a telephone close by.’[6] It would not be unreasonable to suggest that Twain would find it both alarming and amusing that over a hundred years later the greatest cliché of the digital telephone age would remain the frustration at overhearing telephone calls, but now people carry on their conversations in public spaces across mobile networks. Furthermore, Twain had recognized how to employ the ‘telephone monologue’ to comic effect. Hearing just one side of a conversation allows the opportunity for an author to humorously juxtapose words and phrases. Here an example would be; ‘”Visitors?” Pause. “No, we never use butter on them.”’[7] Additionally, it allows an author to disclose just enough information to keep their readers curious without ever revealing the complete story (‘”Who did?” Pause. “Good-ness gracious!” Pause. “Well, what is the world coming to? Was it right in church?” Pause. “And was her mother there?”’)[8]

The ‘telephone monologue’ would remain a significant technique for over fifty years, particularly on stage where it would be taken into darker places by Noel Coward’s sketch, ‘Sorry You’ve Been Troubled’ (1923), where a misidentified corpse reveals a loveless marriage and, in particular, by Jean Cocteau’s ‘The Human Voice’ (1930). Here, a woman awaits a pre-arranged call from her former lover who is to wed the next day. Her desperation is accentuated by lost connections, wrong numbers and callers hanging up.  Here, the mystery (and psychology) of a ringing telephone and its resultant tension is heightened: Will not answering the call mean a missed opportunity of an unlikely reconciliation? Or will answering the call mean a final, shattering separation? This tension and the dynamic of the ‘telephone monologue’ is famously twisted and reversed by Dorothy Parker in her short story, ‘A Telephone Call’ (1930). In this instance, the monologue derives from a telephone that does not ring as a woman waits in vain for a telephone call from her lover who never arrives. The telephone’s refusal to ring provokes in the woman a wheel of hostility, hope, frustration, and anticipation. As she circles the ‘damned, ugly, shiny thing’ she wishes her lover dead (‘If he were dead, he would be mine’), she wants to smash the telephone (‘I’ll pull your filthy roots out of the wall’), and she would even welcome a call of rejection (‘If he says he can’t see me tonight, I’ll say, ”Why that’s all right dear.” […] I’ll be the way I was when I first met him. Then maybe he’ll like me again.’)[9] The woman’s relief from her anxiety never comes and she is left counting in fives. If her lover has not rung by five hundred she is resolved to ring him herself.

Two other texts by Twain are also closely associated with telephony; ‘The Loves of Alonzo Fitz Clarence and Rosannah Ethelton’ and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. The first is of particular interest as it predates ‘A Telephonic Conversation’ by two years, being published in the March 1878 edition of Atlantic Monthly. The four chapter short story tells of a telephone romance (reinforced by the exchange of photographs) conducted between Alonzo in Eastport, Maine, and Rosannah in San Francisco. This was pure speculation by Twain as the first trans-continental phone calls did not take place until January, 1915. Their plans are temporarily interrupted by Sidney Algernon Burley, who upsets the relationship by impersonating Alonzo on the telephone. Twain also uses Burley to warn of the dangers of the potential lack of privacy when telephoning: ‘at present […] a man may go and tap a telegraph wire which is conveying a song or a concert from one state to another, and he can attach his private telephone and steal a hearing of that music as it passes along. Suppose that instead of music that was passing along and being stolen, the burden of the wire was loving endearments of the most private and scared nature?’[10] Later, in his search for Rosannah, Alonzo would use his own wire-tapping equipment to locate her: ‘So he took his carpet-sack and a portable telephone, and shook the snow of his native city from his articles, and went forth into the world.’[11] Ultimately, the lovers would reunite but would not meet until after they were married – via the telephone.

Published in 1889, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court tells of an engineer thrown back in time of King Arthur who used technology to convince the citizens of the era that he has magical powers and to modernize the past (‘I could set up a little enchantment of mine which I call the telephone, and he could not find out its secret in a hundred years’).[12] Unlike ‘The Loves of Alonzo Fitz Clarence and Rosannah Ethleton’, there is only a hint of the connection between telephony and romance, but it is significant as it introduces the female telephone operator or ‘hello-girl’. While the telephone operator romance was already a staple of late nineteenth-century short stories and emerged during the telegraphic age, here was an early use of the colloquial term that originated from the greeting subscribers received when seeking a connection through the central switchboard.[13] While savouring the response to his achievements (‘I was […] kissing my hand to the storm of waving kerchiefs and the thunder-crash of applause that greeted me!’) the engineer could only think ‘of a certain hello-girl of West Hartford, and I wished she could see me now.’[14] Twain, clearly held hello-girls in high esteem (‘the humblest hello-girl along ten thousand miles of wire could teach gentleness, patience, modesty, manners, to the highest duchess in Arthur’s land’) and regretted any previous discourtesy towards them: ‘it’s a new kind of girl; they don’t have them here; one often speaks sharply to them when they are not the least in fault, and he can’t get over feeling sorry for it and ashamed of himself in thirteen hundred years, it’s such shabby mean conduct and so unprovoked; the fact is, no gentleman ever does it – though I – well, I myself, if I’ve got to confess -’.[15] The greeting to a switchboard operator (hello central) is also prominent within the text. The engineer, Hank Morgan has married Alisande (Sandy) and during a dream says ‘hello central’ which Sandy, not knowing its true meaning, believes it to be a mystical phrase and a good enough name for their child: ‘She never found out her mistake. The first time she heard that form of the salute used at the telephone she was surprised, and not pleased; but I told her I had given order for it: that henceforth and forever the telephone must always be invoked in that reverent formality, in perpetual honour and remembrance of my lost friend and her small namesake. This was not true. But it answered.’[16]

The novel also allows Twain to discuss one of his chief frustrations with the telephone; its inefficiency and its particular potential for misunderstanding. He writes: ‘Confound a phone, anyway. It is the very demon for conveying similarities of sound that are miracles of divergence from similarity of sense.’[17] This chimes with reasons for Twain’s belief in ‘mental telegraphy’, the subject of two essays published between 1891 and 1895 although much the material written as early as 1874. He argues that ‘the telegraph and the telephone are going to become too slow and wordy for our needs. We must have the thought itself shot into our minds from a distance; then, if we need to put into words, we can do that tedious work at our leisure.’[18]  The seeds for Twain’s theories lay in his numerous observations of letters or telegrams ‘crossing’. He writes, ‘We have the instinct a dozen times a year that the letter we are writing is going to ‘cross’ the other person’s letter. We call it ‘accident,’ but perhaps we misname it.’[19] Here, Twain demonstrates that not only had he perceived the importance of the telephone to literature but he also understood the early theories of telephony and the concept that all telecommunications could be interchangeable (Alexander Graham Bell’s original notion for the telephone was not to transmit sound but to make speech visible as an aid for deafness).[20] Twain’s belief in messages crossing is also in sympathy with an early demonstration on acoustics made by Bell to Boston lawyer, Gardiner G. Hubbard. ‘”Do you know,” he said to Hubbard, “that if I sing the note G close to the strings of the piano, that the G-string will answer me?”’[21] Bell concludes that is evidence that one day ‘we will send as many messages simultaneously over one wire as there are notes on that piano.’[22]


[1] John Brooks, Telephone: The First Hundred Years (New York: Harper and Row, 1975), pp.65-66.

[2] Brooks, Telephone, p.75.

[3] Mark Twain cited in Brooks, Telephone, p.65.

[4] Brooks, Telephone, p.95.

[5] Mark Twain, ‘A Telephonic Conversation’, The Atlantic, June, 1880, http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/1880/06/a-telephonic-conversation/306078/

[6]  Twain, ‘Conversation’.

[7]  Twain, ‘Conversation’.

[8] Twain, ‘Conversation’.

[9] Dorothy Parker, ‘A Telephone Call’ [1930] in The Penguin Dorothy Parker (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973), pp. 117-124 (p.120-121, 122).

[10] Mark Twain, ‘The Loves of Alonzo Fitz Clarence and Rosannah Ethelton’ Atlantic Monthly, March 1878, http://www.online-literature.com/twain/3266/, pp.1-19 (p.7).

[11] Twain, ‘The Loves’, p. 9.

[12] Mark Twain, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1889), p.187.

[13] Early texts include Justin McCarthy’s ‘Along The Wires (1870), Josie Shlofield’s ‘Wooing By Wire (1875), and ‘The Thorsdale Telegraphs’ by Barnett Phillips (1876).

[14] Twain, Connecticut Yankee, p. 375.

[15] Twain, Connecticut Yankee, p. 111.

[16] Twain, Connecticut Yankee, p.375.

[17] Twain, Connecticut Yankee, p. 215.

[18] Mark Twain, ‘Mental Telegraphy’ [1891] in The £1,000,000 Bank Note and Other New Stories, ed. by Shelly Fisher Fishkin (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), pp. 45-76 (pp. 65-66).

[19] Twain, ‘Telegraphy’, p. 47.

[20] Robert MacDougall, The People’s Network: The Political Economy of the Telephone in the Gilded Age (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), p.61.

[21] Herbert N. Casson, The History of the Telephone [1910] (North Charleston: CreateSpace, 2015), p. 4.

[22] Casson, Telephone, p.4.

Iain Spillman – Guest Blog

Iain Spillman, a SPUR undergraduate researcher at Nottingham Trent University, updates us on his recent work at the BT Archives. Here, he writes about Anthony Trollope, novelist and clerk at the General Post Office, and his short story, ‘The Telegraph Girl’.


One of the most abiding topics of the early Post Office magazines Blackfriars and St. Martin’s-le-Grand was the life, career and work of Anthony Trollope. The anecdotes published exhibit ‘a certain degree of gratitude and affection’ and as Tristram Crutchley writes: ‘there have been, and are, other distinguished writers among the servants of the Post Office, but Trollope was one of the first to achieve the measure of success that spells fame, and we have not forgotten it.’[1]

Memories are shared of Trollope’s schooldays (described by Sir William Gregory as ‘without exception the most slovenly and dirty boy I ever met,’) as well as his physicality and appetites (the first remark he made was ‘I have walked up from Cardiff’ – a distance of 24 miles. ‘Any hotels here; which is best?’ I directed him; and, as he marched out, still at a six mile-an-hour-stride, he said, ‘back soon, going to have a raw beef steak.’)[2] The reminiscences also show Trollope continually in trouble with his superiors for insubordination and unpunctuality, ‘which he seems to think was fairly compensated by his energy when he set to work,’ and, interestingly, glimpses into his method of writing.[3] Over dinner Trollope explained to James Russell Lowell how he rises at five (at four on hunting mornings) and completes the same number of pages before breakfast every day, writing ‘just like a shoemaker (works) on a shoe, only taking care to make honest stiches.’[4] It was Trollope’s ability to write anywhere and at any time that indirectly brought him into conflict with his superiors and nearly led to him to be summarily dismissed.

His most autobiographical work, The Three Clerks (1857), was principally written by Trollope in railway carriages when travelling on G.P.O. business.  Of all the characters in the book, Trollope is most closely associated with Charley Tudor. Not only do their early, unpromising careers mirror each other but there are also specific incidents identical to both. Mrs. Davis, the guardian of Charley’s admirer, Norah, appears in his office to challenge him to ‘settle something … when do you mean to marry her?’[5] Similarly, there is an account of Trollope’s discomfort at his office ‘invaded’ by ‘the mother of a girl to whom he had been paying innocent attentions … and addressed him in a loud voice: ‘’Anthony Trollope, when are you going to marry my daughter?”’[6] Charley was ‘deeply, inextricably in debt’, while Trollope, with money problems of his own, formed ‘that intimate acquaintance with the habits of bill-discounters which is written large on half a score of his books.’[7]

However, the chief concern of The Three Clerks was to satirize and denounce the Civil Service competitive examination system. In the novel, Mr Jobbles (jobless?) was ‘enthusiastically intent on examining the whole male adult population of Great Britain’ and opposed patronage only for the reason that it ‘limits the number of candidates among whom his examination papers would be distributed.’[8] Trollope’s condemnation of the examination scheme was evidently too much for his employers, as he had already criticised it in his first paid article which was deliberately ‘intended to be very savage in its denunciation.’[9] He compounded his offence with his lecture ‘The Civil Service’ made at an early meeting of the Post Office Literary Association and subsequently published in the Cornhill Magazine. Trollope alludes to the speech in his autobiography, describing how it ‘advocated the doctrine that a Civil Servant is only a servant as far as his contract goes; and that beyond that entitled to be as free as a man in politics, as free in his general to be as free in his general pursuits and as free in opinion as those who are open professionals, and open trades.’[10] The incident prompted the Postmaster General to send for Trollope and inform him that the Secretary recommended his dismissal. When Trollope confidently ‘asked his lordship whether he was prepared to dismiss’ him, the Postmaster General ‘only laughed. The threat was no threat to me, as I knew myself to be too good to be treated in that fashion.’[11]

The Post Office magazine’s colourful caricatures of Trollope almost obscure the fact that he was, as described by A. M. Cunynghame (the first Surveyor of the Metropolitan District) ‘an excellent man of business, (who) wrote splendid reports, and was an indefatigable worker.’[12] Additionally, it denies the small but significant contribution Trollope made to telecommunications in literature. During the writing of The Prime Minister, Trollope composed and published the essay, ‘Young Women at the London Telegraph Office (June 1877), and the short story, ‘The Telegraph Girl’ (December 1877); the latter is particularly notable for several reasons.[13] Firstly, it serves as a ‘social artefact that registers the effect of technological work for women in the Victorian period,’ encouraging increased autonomy and self-reliance.[14] When it was suggested to Lucy Graham that she should leave ‘the Telegraph Office and seek the security of some household, her spirit rebelled against the council. Why should she not be independent, and respectable, and safe?’[15] She ‘had to think of her independence.’[16]

Trollope also highlights the potential dilemmas women faced that threatened their independence. As Lucy discovers, female telegraph operators were notoriously low paid and her ‘three shillings a day, though sufficient for life, would hardly be more than sufficient.’ She decides to share lodgings with her co-worker, Sophy Wilson, in an attempt to stretch their resources and to avoid the solitude of living alone, an aspect of ‘her independence which almost terrified her.’[17] It has also been noted that of the limited civil service opportunities available to women, only in telegraphy was it ‘found unavoidable to mix the staff of male and female clerks.’[18] This is clearly illustrated in ‘The Telegraph Girl’ as Trollope describes how ‘as no girls were employed there after eight there would always be on duty in the afternoon an increasing number of the other sex, some of whom remained there till late at night – some indeed all night.’[19] The cultural conventions of gendered behaviour of the period create a tension with the ‘certain amount of intimacy’ developed in the work place and the desire for female independence (‘she knew that a young woman all alone could not go to the theatre with propriety.’)[20] By introducing a marriage plot, Trollope diffuses these threats, acting as a ‘safety net’ for Lucy and Sophy and is an early example of a device frequently found in ‘operator’ fiction.[21] Additionally, by acting as an intermediary between Sophy and Abraham Hall, Lucy becomes a ‘transmitter in her personal life’ requiring her to make judgements (‘she…could not be the medium of sending on presents of which she disapproved.’) [22] This contrasts with her employment which was to count words and not to interpret them or, at any time, allow them to be interfered with. This divide is punctured by Trollope when he allows Hall to succeed in speaking to Lucy during her shift despite regulation that forbid staff ‘who are engaged in sending and receiving messages … (to be) kept during the hours of work as free as possible from communication with the public.’ [23] The interpretation of communications, romance, and the blurring of public and private worlds are themes that would later be found in another significant contribution to ‘telegraph’ literature: ‘In The Cage’ by Henry James, published in 1898.

Trollope also conveys the changing nature of telegraphic data, how ‘pundits of the office were in favour of a system of communicating messages by ear instead of by eye.’[24] The familiar ‘dots and pricks’ of telegraph paper were to be replaced by a ‘system of tickling sounds,’ substituting the textual with the acoustic.[25] Richard Menke illuminates how Trollope relates his writing to this form of telegraphy, citing Trollope’s assertion that ‘[The writer’s] language must come from him … as the syllables tinkled out by little bells form themselves to the ear of the telegraphist.’[26]

[1] Tristram Crutchley, ‘Anthony Trollope’, in St. Martin’s-le-Grand, Volume 17, 1907, pp. 160-164 (p.160).

[2] ‘Early Post Office Days: III, the Metropolitan District’, in St. Martin’s-le-Grand, Volume 6, 1896, pp. 293-304 (p.295); G.G., ‘Anthony Trollope as a Post Office Surveyor’, in St. Martin’s-le-Grand, Volume 4, 1904, p. 453.

[3] Stephen Gwynn, ‘Anthony Trollope’, in St. Martin’s-le-Grand, Volume 10, 1900, pp. 207-208 (p.207).

[4] James Russell Lowell, ‘James Russell Lowell on Anthony Trollope, in St. Martin’s-le-Grand, Volume 12, 1902, p.315, extract originally published in Life of James Russell Lowell, Vol. 2, 1861, p. 82; ‘Early Post Office’, p. 296.

[5] Anthony Trollope, The Three Clerks [1857] (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1860), p. 292.

[6] Crutchley, ‘Trollope’, p.162.

[7] Trollope, Clerks, p. 211; Gwynn, ‘Trollope’, p.208.

[8] Trollope, Clerks, p. 295.

[9] Crutchley, ‘Trollope’, p.161.

[10] Housden, J.A.J., ‘Civil Service Institutions: The Post Office Library and Literary Institution’, in Blackfriars, Volume 5, September 1887 to February 1888, pp.91-100 (p. 94).

[11] Crutchley, ‘Trollope’, pp. 164-5.

[12] ‘Early Post Office’, p. 296

[13] Susan Shelangoskie, ‘Anthony Trollope and the Social Discourse of Telegraphy after Nationalisation’, Journal of Victorian Culture, 01/2009, Vol. 14(1), 72-93 (p. 72).

[14] Shelangoskie, ‘Anthony Trollope’, p. 73.

[15] Anthony Trollope, ‘The Telegraph Girl’ [1877], Later Short Stories (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995) pp. 354-385 (p.355).

[16] Trollope, ‘Telegraph’, p. 354.

[17] Trollope, ‘Telegraph’, p. 355.

[18] A Government Official, ‘Ladies as Clerks’, Fraser’s Magazine, September1875, pp.375-6

[19] Trollope, ‘Telegraph’, p. 359.

[20] Trollope, ‘Telegraph’, pp. 357, 359.

[21] Shelangoskie, ‘Anthony Trollope’, p. 72.

[22] Shelangoskie, ‘Anthony Trollope’, p. 88; Trollope, ‘Telegraph’, p. 377.

[23] Trollope, ‘Telegraph’, p. 379.

[24] Trollope, ‘Telegraph’, p. 365.

[25] Trollope, ‘Telegraph’, pp. 365-6.

[26] Richard Menke, Telegraphic Realism: Victorian Fiction and Other Information Systems (Stamford: Stamford University Press, 2008), p. 186.