A piece of creative writing used as an exercise in brand storytelling for Lifeline Tasmania. Note the character is inspired by a true story but names and circumstances have been changed

There's a funny video circulating the internet where two teenagers are given four minutes to make a call using a rotary phone. Remember those phones where you stuck your finger into each numbered hole of the wheel and spun it clockwise to dial? No matter how hard you tried to speed dial, you always had to wait an eternity for the wheel to return to the start, find the next number, and repeat the process until finally ringing the number and hearing the dial tone change to a ring.

Growing up in Ireland, I remember the day in the mid-1980s when our beige wall phone with its endless cord was replaced by a snazzy blue and grey electronic push-button touch-tone device.

I have a distinct memory of pressing each button repeatedly in different sequences, from the asterisk to the pound key and back again, enjoying the sensation of each press, the new sounds, and the remarkable speed and rush of accidentally calling a stranger in Angola!

While our friends and family were also getting their phones upgraded (and children like me were costing parents a fortune), these devices weren't actually new; the invention had taken place twenty years prior, in the 1960s. Around this time, a Sydney Methodist theologian and minister Rev. Dr. Alan Walker, was working in his dilapidated old church building, and received a call on his equally rickety rotary phone. 

It was late, and we assume the caller found the number on the church noticeboard in the entrance porch. What was clear in the caller’s voice at the end of the phone was his deep distress. In later years, Walker never shared the details of the conversation, only that he listened to a man crying out in pain. 

It turned out that Walker was unable to help. The man ended his life days later. What he did though was sit patiently with and listen to this man in that moment. The conversation, and his helplessness against the man’s trauma, affected Walker so deeply that shortly after, he began setting up Australia's first crisis line. Walker felt compelled to never experience that kind of exchange again. The crisis phone service became known as Lifeline.

It took those teenage boys four minutes to work out the rotary phone, albeit unsuccessfully. Today, Lifeline receives an average of eight calls every four minutes—that’s one call every 28 seconds. Whether the outcome is successful or not is unknown. Time is not limited; patience and careful listening are absolute. Each caller is given the time and space required, there is no limit on how long the phone call needs to last. What matters is the conversation. 

On Elizabeth Street Mall one spring afternoon in Hobart, Jim, a crisis support volunteer with Lifeline was making his way home through the popular pedestrian thoroughfare. He’d had a tough day, answering calls and problem solving with strangers. Unanswered questions and frustrated outcomes dogged his day. He wondered whether he was making a positive impact at all. 

While he grappled with this discontent, he strolled past a busker and turning towards home, Jim shared a smile with the musician, adding a few $2 coins into the guitarist's hat who eagerly strummed the chords to "Bridge over Troubled Water."

Jims’ gaze moved from the musician to a large, obtuse piece of art, doubling as a water source, placed prominently in the mall's centre. It’s called “Fish out of Water”, and today, that’s exactly what he felt like. 

As he reached for his bottle and unscrewed the lid, a woman approached with her bottle. Always a gentleman, Jim smiled and held the lever so she could fill hers first. She smiled back, adding an expression that struck Jim deeply. Her eyes flickered from his T-shirt to his face. She then locked eyes, for a brief moment. Jim felt she wanted to say something but couldn’t. She coughed softly, mumbled a quick thanks, screwed the lid back on her bottle, and walked away. 

Jim was sure he didn’t know her, and was unsure why he lingered on this non-verbal exchange instead of striking up a chat.  

Later, after the kids were fed, the dog walked and dishwasher packed, Jim prepared for bed. He undressed and tossed his clothes onto the laundry pile, stopping for a moment and noting his wardrobe that day—daggy dad jeans, blue socks with yellow smiley faces, and a navy work T-shirt with a circular white logo: a reference to the old rotary phone system and the crisis line that was created over 50 years ago. That's when he recalled the silent exchange at the Fish out of Water. The woman who spoke with her eyes. 

"Hey, I know that logo on your shirt. I know what it means. And it’s helped me. You make a difference you know. What you do matters. “

Jim grasped the significance of what he wore that day. How his work top could mean so much more: a symbol, a beacon for those adrift, a helpful ear, a thoughtful hand, a shoulder to cry on, a person to lean on. The acknowledgment in that stranger’s eyes testified to the impact Lifeline had on the community. It wasn’t about personal recognition; it was about the solace and trust Lifeline provided. Jim was representing all of that by choosing to wear that top. 

He reached for the T-shirt, picked it up from the pile, shook it out, folded it with a newfound care, and placed it by his bedside. He slipped on his uggs, went to the kitchen, filled the kettle, and reached for his phone. He was a nostalgic kind of guy, often annoying his kids with memories of his childhood—bringing home vintage comics, albums from the 1980s, and most recently, an old black Bakelight rotary phone. The kids never used it; it took way too long to dial a number. But tonight, James made his tea, looked at the circular dots in the mouthpiece of the receiver and had an idea. 

He placed his index finger into the first of eight holes, took a conscious breath and made a phone call he’d been putting off for ages. Just because he worked with Lifeline didn’t mean he too couldn’t use the service. A trusted ear at the end of the phone who could help him diffuse that dogged day. 

Lifeline Tasmania provides Tasmanian with a lifeline for life through services and partnerships that strengthen the community.

In 2024 and 2025 Digital Dandy has worked with Lifeline Tasmania to define their brand story and help augment the impact on the Tasmanian community.