US election results unexpectedly highlight lost art of signatures - Christa Ackroyd

It is not the one I would have chosen but then in it is not my country and not my vote, so who am I to leap up and down in horror? (Though any politician who insists he is going to look after women’s health ‘whether they like it or not’ would not have got my support that’s for sure.)

And so it was as the chocolate fingers became depleted and the fizzy water ran dry I drifted in and out of sleep as the figures for Trump kept piling up. Until something jolted me awake.

It was around 3am when CNN announced with a sense of urgency they were crossing live to a count in Nevada where an election official proceeded to explain they were checking the validity of around 14,000 ‘mailed in’ votes… postal votes in British parlance. Understandably I immediately thought voter fraud. You see Trump’s false claims of victory last time had stuck with me.

I was wrong. Instead what emerged was an interesting fact that unless, like me, you were listening at silly o’clock in the morning you would have almost certainly have missed in the aftermath of the dramatic landslide victory which followed.

The Nevada official explained the problem. To vote in America seems much more complicated than our system. Rather than producing ID in person or joining a household register, an American has to first register with a signature which in turn is then matched up when they cast their postal vote.

In Nevada thousands upon thousands did not. Signatures were unrecognisable. What’s more they were mainly very young possible even first time voters whom officials were now urging to come to the polling stations and verify that they were who they said they were.

And the only explanation given was that young people today don’t know how to write their own names. Or at least their signatures.

It would be so so easy to throw up our proverbial hands in horror and shout what is the world coming to? But it made me think.

The truth is we are all losing the need and therefore the practice of writing our own names over and over again until the writing of our signature becomes second nature and looks exactly the same month on month, year on year.

Think about it. When is the last time you wrote your name in full? Or actually when was the last time you even wrote anything down at all in your own hand? Even my shopping list is typed on my phone. The last time I wrote my signature was on my will several years ago and recently on a house sale document.

Before that I can’t remember when I was called upon to do so. What I do remember is thinking that doesn’t even look anything like my handwriting any more.

Over the last few months I have been identified many times formally and legally and never once needed to put pen to paper. Facial recognition opens my mobile and my tablet.

My diary once tucked in my handbag is also on there. I have a myriad of pin numbers and passwords that protect my banking and a host of other things. I have finger recognition somewhere else. I can’t remember where.

And even when I signed a contract for my latest filming I did so electronically using a scribble on a screen which bore absolutely no resemblance to what I think my signature still is. The same for clocking into the London recording studios subsequently and for my online deliveries.

This year, partly due to laziness, partly due to the ridiculous cost of stamps and because I would rather give my money to charity, I will not be sending anything but a handful of Christmas cards.

My mum used to send 100 a year. Just think how many times she practiced her signature, let alone all the little notes she left for herself and us and the dozens and dozens of letters she enjoyed writing and sending over the years. No more.

When my passport is checked they take my photo. If an organisation wants to know who I am I am asked to remember my first pet or my mother’s maiden name.

A close friend had a cheque bounce not because she didn’t have the cash in the bank but because her signature bore little resemblance to the one they had on file, so rarely is does she practice using it.

I actually can’t remember the last time I wrote a cheque. I simply enter my pin on my phone and transfer what I owe or what I want to give.

The truth is even at my age my signature is largely redundant. And if you think about it I suspect yours is too. So of course it is not the main source of identity for young people who probably last practiced it at school. That’s if they practiced it at all.

But isn’t it such a shame? I used to be a lovely writer having spent hours learning ‘ real ‘ writing with an italic pen.

For goodness sake I sound even more of a dinosaur when I say that I even used to write shorthand at 120 words per minute... a necessity when I began in journalism . Now you just use your phone to record the quotes.

My handwriting was once described as flamboyant (it’s certainly writ large) artistic, fun and open . And I do believe our handwriting tells us a lot about the writer. Or it used to. Not any more. Why write when you can text?

Why send a birthday card when you can deliver an emoji cake? Why? Because it’s lovely to receive a letter and it is more meaningful to take the time and trouble to send a card. But we are doing so less and less. And young people hardly at all.

This week as I pondered the loss of signatures.. or at least signatures that have any certainty of remaining constant and legible, my six year old granddaughter was practicing her joined up writing . It was a joy to see.

She looked at me as though I was crackers when I went on and on about how wonderful it was. ‘Nonna’ she said. ‘It’s only my name.’ And it is. But how soon before she stops needing to write it down?

The truth is in our day our signature was part of our identity. It was who we were. It may have got lazier and less legible over the years but it was instantly recognisable.

When I finish writing this column I going to write a birthday card to a dear friend. And do you know something I am going to practice it on a piece of paper.

What’s more I am going to use my fountain pen. Why? Because he deserves my time and my care and attention and is worth more than just a message on social media or a text.

But this afternoon I will give my signature my full attention for the first time in ages. I just hope I have remembered how.