Sketch on Folgate St. A long awaited wander in Spitalfields, London’s East End.

After a glorious day of conversation with writing friends, it was 5:00 pm on an October evening in the East End of London. The sun would set in an hour and the store I sought would close then also. A brief window of time.

I wove through the narrow streets and bustle of Spitalfields, heading toward what I hoped was the right part of the Old Truman Brewery. But I wasn’t looking for beer, I was searching for a typewriter.

I wandered in and out of the evening crowds of Brick Lane, my GPS not connecting.

It was obvious where the brewery had been. Founded in 1666, the year of the Great Fire of London, the Black Eagle Brewery, as it was first known, became the largest in Europe. It closed in 1989. The remnants of the great buildings showed the way, also street names like Dray Walk. And tall arched gateways for horse and dray, the cart specifically for hauling beer barrels.

But where inside the brewery I was going, I did not know. What I needed was the homing pigeon quality of a typewriter finding an owner, a collector uniting with a machine.

In Search of ‘The Good Companion’

I was searching for The Good Companion. What a great name for a typewriter.

The Imperial Typewriter Company of Leicester, England, made this popular portable from 1932 into the ’60s, with several updates to the design. But it was the earliest version I hoped to find.

For five years I had kept an eye out for one in the States, to no avail.

Of course, there is always shipping. Tom Furrier, my Boston typewriter repairman, refuses to ship machines internationally after unfortunate incidents. And he is a packing pro. (He told me he was relieved that no international shipping was involved in sending typewriters for Tom Hanks’ latest movie, a WWII feature shot near London. They only had to be mailed to New York, where props were gathered and sent by shipping container.)

Imperial Portables are plentiful in the UK, so I waited to find one there in person.

But the Pandemic

My youngest daughter, Abigail, and I were ready to visit London from Boston in March 2020. I was heading to a writer’s reunion run by The Gentle Author of Spitalfields Life. Lockdown intervened the day before our flight.

Eventually, the reunion was rescheduled for October 2021. All that summer, COVID numbers ballooned and travel restrictions remained but I kept up the hope of a trip and an Imperial Good Companion.

A sudden change of policy! Travelers from the US were allowed to enter England four days before the reunion. Abigail and I sprung into action.

“Oh, my goodness, we’re going!”

We landed the day restrictions eased. With Abigail safely at my mum’s house in East Anglia, I was back in London, alone there for the first time in years. At my hotel in Spitalfields, I flopped down on the bed and did a late-night phone search for typewriter shops.

Is there a physical typewriter shop in London?

Oh my goodness: there was a listing in Spitalfields!

“Typewriter Emporium & Vintage

‘Behind the Tearooms’ in the Old Truman Brewery.
Open two days a week. ”

The Truman Brewery and the Call of a Typewriter

I was unsure where to find the ‘tearooms’ or what ‘behind’ them actually meant.

The maze of narrow streets offered many options but I instinctively took a turn and entered a rabbit warren of low-ceilinged, tiny indoor stalls, with the hopeful sign of a tea place at the entrance. Dozens of artists, jewelry makers, and sellers of every kind of antique and knickknack lay within. Deep into the rabbit warren, it seemed a ridiculous quest, wandering in search of one specific machine.

I walked on through the maze until I did a doubletake. Had I just spotted typewriters?

The Typewriter Emporium. Also … cameras and a few other things.

Yes, and there was the owner, John Rush, amid the clutter, greeting me warmly with his Scottish accent.

No Imperials?

“I emailed you yesterday,” I said. “I’m looking for an early Imperial Good Companion.”

“Ah, I’m sorry I didn’t see the message. I don’t think I have one at the moment. Now, Alan—he’s the repairman—I think he’s working on a Good Companion. I can ask him to bring it for you next week.”

“I’ll be in Norfolk next week. I’m coming through here the week after, but not when you’re open.”

Undeterred, I began to poke around under the curtain of hanging cameras and unearthed an interesting MP1 ICO, the earliest portable made by Olivetti. It had been rebranded for sale at Harrods.

Olivetti MP1 ICO, rebranded for Harrods. Nice brushes!

I shuddered, remembering the disastrous ICO I had imported from Holland and the trouble it caused Tom Furrier. Besides, I only had enough hands for one machine.

As I returned the ICO to the shelf, John looked in one typewriter case after another.

“So, the last customer I had in here,” he said, bent double to investigate a pile of cases, “was visiting the set of Tom Hanks’ latest movie. It’s a World War II movie, you know. Naturally, they have the right period typewriters.”

Wait. What? The typewriters Tom Furrier supplied?

“So, he tried the typewriters on the set, though why they let him, I don’t know. And he had to come to my stall to look for one. He was desperate to get himself a typewriter. A nice young man in his twenties. I sold him a Smith-Corona.”

And so it begins.

Behind the curtain of cameras, I kept looking. There, in the very far corner, I spotted the curves of an early Good Companion.

John kindly hauled it out.

“You know, I had no idea it was there. I really need to have a sort out in here.”

I tried out the typewriter, the machine balanced on a plastic tub of for-sale postcards, 50p each.

From the very far corner, a lovely dusty-shiny Imperial.

I tried it—with a little disappointment because it was not the one—as John wrestled the typewriter’s case from the great stack, hopeful that I’d buy the machine. To his surprise, it was not the correct case but held yet another Good Companion!

“Well, look at that. You’re bringing them out of the woodwork. Do you want to try this one?”

This one was indeed it.

I can’t tell you exactly why. The backspace didn’t work. The platen was the hardest rubber I’d ever felt on a typewriter; practically stone. But no matter, those things could be fixed. This Good Companion had the right look and feel. The matte black machine had a terrific ‘By Appointment to His Majesty King George, V.’ insignia, and other decals—barely a scratch. And the case and handle looked sturdy enough to withstand the journey home.

“Yes. I’ll take it.”

We talked about the price—far below what I’d expected. And John agreed to get Alan, the repairman who did work for him, to fix the backspace.

It involved some shenanigans of travel to get the machine to Alan, and figuring out when to meet to get the machine back to me. We exchanged information and I left the typewriter there, feeling curiously empty-handed after coming so close.

But it was as well not to have it with me to haul about for the entire trip.

Walking the streets of Spitalfields with a spring in my step. I had found the machine I hoped for.

Back in London

After several weeks and adventures—including a hunt for Roman London with Abigail—we found ourselves outside the closed Typewriter Emporium meeting John Rush. It was the evening before our flight home. John had been inside, sorting through piles of machines. The tea rooms and stalls beyond were locked and still, a silent contrast to the teeming first visit.

Abigail was astonished that, with the exchange of payment and machine, went animated conversation as though between old friends, and the gift of a vintage ribbon tin.

We chatted for a good while. John confessed his troubles bringing home yet another typewriter “and what the wife says” and described the storage barn he’s built for his own collection.

And so it progresses—the journey of a collector.

The next morning we left our little hotel room in Paddington: suitcase in one hand, the 80-year-old leather handle of a typewriter case in the other. We boarded the No. 23 bus to Paddington Station, then the express train to Heathrow.

Taking a Typewriter Through Heathrow Security

I was nervous about going through airport security with a typewriter. So I was not prepared for the experience to be funny.

We watched the security line creep shorter and people pulled aside as their hand luggage was opened and examined. My typewriter case in its airport tray trundled ahead of us towards the scanner and disappeared under the flaps. We were so far behind the rate of the luggage, I couldn’t quite make out which tray was which on the other side. I saw the inevitable hand reach out and pull something from the conveyor belt and my heart sank. “I just know that’s my machine.”

"Is this yours, Madam? Would you open it for me, please?” the Asian security fellow said as I caught up with my tray. I fumbled with the latch, and he added, leaning in, “It looks very beautiful on the monitor."

"Ah, look at that, very beautiful indeed ..." He gazed lovingly at the typewriter. “Is it an antique?” Having expected a problem, I was so surprised, I could barely answer.

I think he just wanted to have a look.

Called a portable for a reason. The sturdy lid snaps in place. The typewriter is permanently attached to the base.

One More Round of Repairs

After all its travels, this vintage treasure went for a visit to Cambridge Typewriter for a final spruce up.

In the end, I did take this machine for a bit of extra help. Tom Furrier added a ribbon reverse mechanism, which was missing, which I didn’t realize until home; and did a deep clean. He also replaced the stone-hard platen. In its place is a platen of the same era, covered with cork. It came from an unfixable Good Companion, a donor machine from the shop.

Tom also kindly added a tube of typewriter oil and brush, identical to what would have been original.

Brush for cleaning type slugs, and a tube of typewriter oil. There’s a dedicated slot inside the machine’s lid for each.

A cork-covered platen! Wartime rubber shortages led to this innovative solution. The cork is quite bouncy still so the type slugs leave a better impression on the paper.

This Imperial was also at Tom’s shop and received parts from the same donor machine:

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A Grand Machine

I’ve only had the Good Companion back from Tom for a few weeks. With all the repairs done to this machine, it is now close to magical.

The bell is resonant, the clatter just right, and the feel is snappy, similar to a Remington #2 Portable. This machine is going to get plenty of use.

The Good Companion makes for a true laptop experience. The paper table sits at a very laid-back angle. The type slugs hit the page in such a way it makes it hard to see what you’re typing when at a desk. It takes some getting used to. I find it comfortable to type with this machine on my lap: then the angle works best.

A grand machine that I’m grateful to have.

A Few Frequently Asked Questions

Why is it called The Good Companion?

The Imperial Typewriter Company scored two advertising coups with their portable. The first involved the name.

Popular British author and playwright, J.B. Priestley, gave the Imperial Company permission to name their first portable after his bestseller, The Good Companions.

Martin Wainwright, writing in The Guardian, described the author:

He will be remembered … for his wartime radio broadcasts, which are among the finest material in the national sound archive. … they doubled the fame he had won with his best-selling novel, The Good Companions.
Published in 1929 and never out of print since, the success of the book transformed Priestley’s standing from a noted but not widely read critic, … to a literary lion in his own right.

J. B. Priestley at work in his study, 1940 … on a Royal typewriter.

The first Imperial portable off the Leicester assembly line was presented to Priestley: a boost of launch publicity. Though the author characteristically used a Royal typewriter, the name also implied, ‘Write with one of these typewriters and you too can be successful like Priestley.’

It became the go-to household machine of the era in the UK.

Appropriating Priestley’s popularity was a great marketing gimmick. But I find a connection with the author the advertisers might not have intended.

Priestley’s work frequently employs the device of a time slip, a means of folding past, present, and future. He discourses on a philosophy of time that is not strictly linear.

This resonates with what I discover in using a typewriter, or even in hunting for one, a means of time travel that is altogether accessible to a mere mortal. This machine slips me through portals to the past, yet on which I can write into the future.

I’d like to read Priestley’s wonderfully titled memoir, Margin Released: A Writer’s Reminiscences and Reflections. Also, J.B Priestley, a Traveler in Time, by R.K. Kulkarni.

And Why the Royal Insignia?

The second advertising coup came when a machine was sold to Buckingham Palace. Imperial gained the right to label their brand, ‘By Royal Appointment.’

As the University of Leicester History Department states, “the company … thus gained a valuable PR coup as Britain’s most prestigious and most visible typewriter manufacturer.”

The insignia is usually in vivid full color: red, white, and blue, with gold. Though some machines have a monochrome gold version.

Exactly How Old is my Imperial Good Companion?

Find the date of manufacture at The Typewriter Database: simply use your typewriter’s unique serial number. The serial number is easy to find. Look beneath the right Shift Key.

Imperial Database page

Scroll down to find your model. This one is all the way down the page, under ‘Portable’ and then ‘Good Companion’ and ‘Model No. 1.’

DD034 is a 1940 machine. When dating a machine, be careful to note if there are double letters, like mine, not single letters in the serial number.

Also, check out the gallery of machines listed by serial number, posted by their owners:

Imperial Good Companion at the Typewriter Database

Where Can I Find a User Manual and a New Ribbon?

A reprint of the original instruction book and touch typing guide. Made on thick, quality paper from this seller on Etsy.

This beautifully made reprint was a treat but there is no need to buy a print copy. You can download one here:

Imperial Good Companion Instruction Book

Inside, you will find instructions on how to change the ribbon. Ribbons are available from many places online, including the link below. Respool the new ribbon onto the beautiful, original spools. A ribbon lasts from 4 months to a year or more, depending how often you use it.

A universal ribbon that will fit The Good Companion

Thanks to Richard Polt for curating a digital collection of typewriter manuals, and photos of famous folks at their typewriters.

Famous Writers Who Used The Good Companion

Not surprisingly, this model was popular among British authors, such as:

Rudyard Kipling (“the beastly thing simply won’t spell …”)
Dylan Thomas: an intriguing recent story of using Thomas’ Good Companion
Beryl Bainbridge
Enid Blyton

John Lennon used a slightly later model, The Good Companion, Model T. According to his Aunt Mimi, who donated the machine to raise money for a charity involved in music therapy, this was used by Lennon for his first attempts at songwriting when still in high school. The machine sold for £2,640 at auction in 1999 to the collector of celebrity machines, Steve Soboroff.

Was it Worth the Trip?

One lure of typewriter collecting is the story of the journey. I have never had a journey quite as long in time and distance as this one.

I was taking the trip anyway and it certainly added something to the experience, to search for and find this machine, and meet yet another wonderful, like-minded purveyor of typewriters.

I love machines of this era, the Remington #2 and #3 Portable and the Remington 5 Streamliner. This iconic model was, for me, a must-have.

Yes, it was worth it.

Thank you for slipping through time and coming with me on this typewriter hunt in Spitalfields, London.