Betty Shum arrived in ISD at the point where it was just beginning to take on some of these new initiatives. "I joined," she recalls, "in late 1968 when it was a small news-oriented organisation staffed mainly by ex-journalists. I was among the first few female university graduates without any journalistic experience to be recruited as an Assistant Information Officer. Being my second job after leaving the campus, little had I expected it to become my life-long career. But I ended up spending 28 years in the department!

"It was a sunny December morning when I set foot on the sixth floor of Beaconsfield House for the first time. As I met my colleagues, among whom were David Willis, Osman Talip, Jimmy Evans, Johnny Khan, Gerry Xavier, Tommy Hahn and Jimmy Marshall, I thought I had mistakenly walked into the Office of the United Nations!

"Later, the multi-racial and international flavour of the department became even stronger with the arrival of newcomers like Carlos Digmanese, Alberto de Cruz, Harold Yau, Lionel Rodrigues, Bushi Ratour, Vinki Sharma, Ramachandran, Halima Gutteres, Jo Tashiro and Akber Khan to name a few. Their ethnic origins ranged from Pakistan, India, Malaysia, Korea and Japan to Spain, Portugal and Holland. Added to the list were their Chinese, British, Australian, New Zealand and American counterparts. It would not be an over-statement to say that the department was made up of people from four of the five continents.

"Another characteristic of the department in the old days was the high percentage of smokers. Ashtrays were everywhere and the newsroom was filled with the aroma (or odour if you dislike the smell of tobacco). As a non-smoker in those days, I used to watch in amazement how one or two heavy smokers would talk on the phone with the receiver being placed comfortably between head and shoulder, light up a cigarette and let it hang loosely between their lips, and bash away on their typewriters with two index fingers, all at the same time! It fascinated me to see their cigarettes getting shorter and shorter as the ash at the end grew longer and longer, desperately trying to cling to the butts against the force of gravity.

"My previous employment was in the academic field, where many fellow workers could be described as 'intellectual snobs'. The casual and lively atmosphere of GIS was a refreshing change and I fell in love with it at first sight. The compact and simple structure of the department held its staff together as a closely knit family. It must have been one of the least bureaucratic government departments there were. Our then Director, Nigel Watt wore long hair with sideburns, smoked a pipe, and travelled around on a motorbike. To me, he was certainly not the picture of a typical civil servant.

"David Willis, then assistant director, was also a character. Whenever a typhoon hit Hong Kong, he would show up in his shorts and sandals, jumping up and down with excitement like a little boy about to take part in a war game. On such occasions, one would find in the GIS theatre objects that one would not expect to see in a normal office environment. These included helmets, raincoats and boots prepared specially for officers who were required to cover outdoor incidents during the storm.

"There would even be canvas beds, blankets and mahjong tables! In those days, there was no MTR, and cross-harbour ferry services would be suspended, very often at short notice, when the gale force became too strong. To make sure that they could get to the office in time for their emergency duties, officers living in Kowloon or the New Territories would come in much earlier or even spend the night in the theatre. What better way was there to kill time than playing a few rounds of mahjong with ones colleagues while waiting to go on shift!

"Another colleague who still makes me giggle whenever I think of him is the one-time editor of the Chinese DIB, Hui Ying Ke. He had this habit of slapping his forehead while subbing our copy. I suppose our translations sometimes drove him up the wall, and in frustration, he would hit his head very hard with his palm, first from the front and then immediately from the back. 'To balance the blow' was the only reason I could think of. Watching him repeat this act throughout the day could be painful, and that was probably why our Chinese improved by leaps and bounds when we were working under him.

"I majored in English literature at university. But after I joined GIS, I discovered to my horror that I could not write, not even a simple three-paragraph press release on such topics as 'water cut', 'road closure' or 'buildings declared dangerous'.

"Training was non-existent in those days; you learned on the job through your mistakes. For months, which seemed to me years, every single draft I passed to the editor was thrown back in my face.

"All he said was 'Rewrite'. No guidance, no advice. Then one fine day my draft did not come back, and I actually found the press release in the next morning's DIB. But alas! It bore no resemblance whatsoever to what I had written. I think what happened was that the editor got so tired of repeating the word 'rewrite' that he decided to do it himself. As my writing was time and again torn into pieces, so was my self-confidence. I was about to embark on a job-hunting exercise when the long-awaited breakthrough came.

"One day, Osman Talip, then a PIO, assigned me to interview an officer in the Agriculture and Fisheries Department and write a feature article on fish marketing in Hong Kong. Eager and excited, I churned out a three-page story and handed it to Osman. Nothing happened for a long time. I said to myself, 'Uh oh, it's ended in the wastepaper basket again!' Then on a Saturday I found my story in the DIB, printed almost word for word! Overnight, I grew a few inches taller, only because I was able to walk with my head held up high.

"There was a time when new recruits were required to take turns to man the press enquiries desk on week-ends and public holidays, single-handedly. You were practically alone except for a few teleprinter operators. We were then unfamiliar with the personalities on the other end of the line, how and where to obtain the necessary information, or how much we were supposed to release to the press. Unlike nowadays there was no 'line to take' except in very rare cases.

"Moreover, there were no departmental units; GIS headquarters provided a one-stop service to the media. Whenever an incident occurred, the telephones would start ringing all at once. You hardly had time to take down one set of questions, not to mention getting the answers, before another set came in. And let's face it, some reporters could be really nasty, particularly when they discovered that you were new on the job. Every time I went home after a shift duty, I would suffer from stomach pain which, according to my doctor, was induced by stress and anxiety. The way we used to describe this experience among ourselves was: 'They dump you in the water. You either learn to swim right away or you drown.' Well, we all survived, and became pretty good swimmers too!

"Editors' briefings were at one time regularly held, almost once every fortnight if I remember correctly, in the Director's office after 5.30pm. Senior government officials were invited to conduct briefings on their respective subject areas, particularly those aspects that were controversial. The editors of Chinese papers in the '60s were mostly elderly veteran newsmen who spoke relatively little English, although I am sure they all had a good understanding of the language. The speakers, on the other hand, invariably used English as the medium of communication. So we, a group of inexperienced AIOs, were ordered to interpret on those occasions.

"Usually we would go in blind, without being told of the topic. It was not at all surprising that we would often get stuck over figures, jargon, and technical terms, or even get them wrong. Ironically, it was always one of the editors, Eddie Tsang of the Hong Kong Times, who came to our rescue! Those were the moments when I wished there was a hole in the ground so I could hide. The feeling of incompetence was bad enough. Worse still was the awareness that everyone there had spotted your mistakes but pretended not to have noticed. Worst of all was the realisation that your presence was totally unwarranted! We all uttered a sigh of relief when the practice was finally stopped. One good did come out of this farce though - we became very thick-skinned in the process, which helped us to deal with more awkward situations in later years.

"I guess, like first love, initial impressions and early experiences always make the strongest and most lasting impact. There have been more significant events in the latter part of my career, but somehow they seem comparatively dim and blurred. Looking back, it is the people with whom I have worked that form the best part of my memory. A unique personality trait, a peculiar mannerism, a characteristic laugh or a favourite expression. They always remind me of their owners, and I miss them, very very much."

• Betty Shum was Assistant Director Public Relations before she retired in August 1997