THE POSTMAN
It is easy to be eloquent on the subject of the postman. He is the
outward and visible sign to us all of the postal service. He brings it
to our doors. He has persisted, while other officials and other methods
have passed away to make room for modern improvements. Post-boys, mail
coaches, and mail trains have in turn carried our letters across country
at increasing rates of speed, but the last stage, viz. the actual
delivery of the letter, is still left to the postman. And I suppose his
average rate of speed is a very little higher than it was two hundred
years ago.
There have been, of course, changes in his methods and in his costume:
Penny Post simplified his duties while it increased enormously the
volume of his work. The town postman has perhaps changed more than his
rural brothers. The idea of a uniform for the Service is comparatively
modern, and in the old days there was great variety in the postman's
costume. He wore in town districts a top hat, and he rang a bell as he
passed down the streets. In certain towns not only was there the usual
delivery but selected postmen collected letters for despatch. “The bell
rings for my letter, and makes me lose the happiness of fancying I am
talking with my dear, to whom I am sincerely, ever your most
affectionate wife.” So wrote, in January 1701, Lady Mary Coke to her
husband, Thomas Coke, afterwards Vice-Chancellor, and there is little
doubt she was referring to this custom. A century later the custom was
in full vigour in London, and in _The Picture of London for 1805_
appears the following statement: “Houses or boxes for receiving letters
before four o'clock at the west end of the town and five o'clock in the
City are open in every part of the metropolis: after that hour bellmen
collect the letters during another hour, receiving a fee of one penny
for each letter.”
The ringing of the bells was only abolished as late as 1846 in London,
but it lingered on in other places much later: in Leamington there was a
Post Office bellman as late as 1866. Pillar boxes and frequent
collections have been the death of the bellman.
The general title “postman” covers a number of separate positions,
varying in importance and salary. There are London postmen, provincial
town postmen, sub-office postmen, rural postmen, and auxiliary postmen.
And these different ranks are again divided into established and
unestablished officers. An established officer holds a permanent
situation, and devotes the whole of his time to the Post Office service:
he has an annual holiday, and receives a pension when he retires from
the Service.
The unestablished positions are not permanent, and do not carry pensions
with them. Auxiliary postmen do not give up their whole time to the
Service, but are supposed to pursue another trade or occupation. These
men are generally employed for two or three hours in the morning to
assist the established postman with the first delivery, which is always
the heaviest. A postmaster reported on one of these men as follows:—
“Jones received notice that his services would not be required after the
20th August. On the 16th he came on duty at the usual hour. After about
an hour's work had been done he tossed up a penny to decide whether he
should stop or not; as he at once left duty and did not return, it is
presumed that the spin of the coin was against further work.”
A rural postman's duties are certainly more varied and often more
responsible than those of his town brother. His average walk is supposed
to be about 16 miles a day, with a maximum of 18. He is often regarded
as a “walking post office” in remote country districts: he sells stamps,
receives letters for posting, takes even registered letters, and in some
cases sells postal orders. The bell has been abolished in town
districts, but the rural postman still blows his horn or whistle in
villages where he collects or delivers letters.
It is obvious that with this huge body of men, who have great
responsibility thrown upon them, something approaching to the discipline
of an army has to be preserved. Let me mention a few of the marching
orders of the town postman. A postman, when he has once started on his
walk, must not go to his own house or to any other except to deliver a
letter; he must not smoke on duty; he must not deliver letters to owners
in the streets, but only at the houses to which they are addressed; he
must not put letters under doors even if asked to do so; he must not
take letters from the public for registration; he must carry no other
missives than those that have been regularly posted; he must not act as
a newsagent; must not borrow money from persons on his walk; he must not
agitate or help in any agitation for a discontinuance of Sunday work;
and he must not in any way be connected with a public-house or inn.
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[Illustration: THE POSTMAN'S BELL.]
In the eighteenth and the early years of the nineteenth
century the town postman carried a bell, which he rang
vigorously to give notice of his approach.
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There are all sorts and conditions of men employed as postmen, and among
them are to be found men of education and culture. I have known several
such men, who could talk on any subject, and had read widely. I asked
one postman how he spent his annual holiday, and I think I suggested to
him that he probably lay on the beach all day resting his tired limbs.
“Good gracious, no!” he replied; “I go on a walking tour. I have done
the Lakes, Wales, and Scotland. You see, sir, it's really a change of
movement for me, for we postmen don't walk, we shuffle.” And this is
perhaps the reason why the postman fails to impress us as an individual.
In Mr. H. J. Barker's delightful book, _The Comic Side of School Life_,
there is an amusing essay entitled _The Postman_, supposed to have been
written by a little boy. Perhaps if all writers were to follow his
example, and record what they have actually observed, rather than what
has been communicated to them second hand, they would be equally
entertaining.
“Nobody could be happy in the world except for the useful gentleman what
we call a postman. For how would you no whether those arnts and uncles
of yours who live right acrost the fields and rivers was dead if the
gentleman didn't bring a henvelop with black all round? You would think
they are still alive and you'd keep on all writing to them. Thet is why
postmen are allis little thin men without beards, cuz they have to keep
on walking quick all day. They are not dressed up so fine as soldiers
cuz they havent to go and fight acrost the sea. You never see postmen
fight: not even with their fists, cuz they havent got no time with all
those letters to take round. I dont think postmen dare even fight boys
cuz when me and some more boys was a looking at a postman unlocking a
pillar box and one of the boys pushed his head in the hole and we all
run away: he wouldn't even run after us but only told a polleceman when
he came round the corner and when he came away from the polleceman he
was frightened of walking our way past us but jumped on a tramway and
shammed not to see us. Postmen allis knocks so as to waken babies and
then they tries to look as if they didn't no as baby was behind the
door. If the postman doesn't bring your letters you can summons him,
thats why they're so frightened. Two or three postmen come together
without letters at Christmas and they ask your mothers for a Christmas
box. My mother gave them a penny to share amongst them, but some didn't.
Many boys become postmen cuz they think it is a good trade. I dont think
they get good dinners same as men who hasnt to dress up. My father has a
lot of meat and bread and he keeps on a eatin. Postmen allis black their
boots cuz they are frightened of being summonsed. They are very
frightened men and wont hurt you whatever you do. Never be cruel to them
for they have to take care of their clothes more than you and are not so
big as they would like. I once see a postman not dressed up an he was
smoking a pipe and he put it away when he seed me and the other boys.
But we seed him though and some of the boys called out after him 'You'll
go and get summoned for smoking yer fathers pipe yer will,' but he
wouldn't turn round, and he puffed the terbacca out again as he got
further on. This is all I know about postmen except they are very clean
men most any time you like to look.”
We understand exactly how the boy formed his delightful impressions, and
it is curious that in an article in the _Mirror_ of the 1st June 1839 I
have found many of the ideas anticipated. “The letter carrier himself
may be said to be deficient of any very striking characteristic, any
peculiar recommendation as a national portrait; he himself is indeed a
commonplace; he is only for the time being elevated by our hopes and
fears.... He literally walks through life, absolutely knocks through a
whole existence transacting small Government bargains, with no time to
sit or stand or think of the iniquities, real or imaginary, of his
political masters. We never heard of a postman being concerned in a
conspiracy. If a postman start in life with a dapper figure shall he not
be slim and elegant to the last? Is he not certain of carrying to the
grave his original greyhound outline? Gout shuns him, corpulency visits
him not, while exercise crowns him with its gifts.”
Some of this, however, does not apply to the modern postman; he has
learnt the art of combination, and the Postmen's Union can scarcely be
called an ineffective organisation. And, of course, in hundreds of cases
the charge of personal ineffectiveness is ludicrously false. The
opportunities of their calling for brave and effective action in the
streets and wayside roads on behalf of their fellow-creatures are
constantly being taken advantage of by postmen, and the Royal Humane
Society's medals are held by quite a number of these men. And Post
Office history is full of stories of the way they stood by the mail to
the last moment in crises of difficulty and danger. The impression of
personal ineffectiveness is one that cannot be justified logically; but
it persists, just as the reproach of femininity is still associated with
the clergy. Here is a case where the rural postman scored. Motorists do
not always get their own way on country roads. A mail cart was suddenly
confronted with a large motor on a very narrow road in the north-west of
Scotland. The postman was told in peremptory tones to shift on to the
heather. He refused to budge. Language which appears to be common to the
driver in all classes of society followed from the motor gentleman. But
the mail-man merely remarked with dignity: “Every minute you detain me,
you are detaining his Majesty's mails. You must make way for me.” The
result was the car had to back a considerable distance, and the mail-man
drove past triumphant. And even the motor gentleman realised the
absurdity of reporting the matter to the Postmaster-General. He merely
continued to use strong language.
Moreover, those who have to deal with the postman find him delightfully
human. The Magna Charta of the Postal Service is the written
explanation. Before you can be punished for any offence you are given
the opportunity to defend yourself on paper. It is the privilege of all
ranks, from the highest to the lowest; but, of course, the written
explanation of the principal clerk is a different production from that
signed by the postman. The difference is often chiefly in style and
grammar, and the credit of the production as a real explanation of the
facts must often be given to the postman, rather than to the high
official, when he explains any action. All explanations are modelled on
the same plan: you state the facts, you explain your conduct, and you
express regret. The special feature of the postman's explanation is that
there is nothing studied about the composition.
A postman was asked “to furnish a written explanation for frequently
departing from the direct and proper route to the starting-point of your
delivery in order to call in at your home.” The reply of the postman
should appeal to our hearts: “My reason for the above was for no other
purpose than I told the clerk when he questioned me on that point—to let
my wife know what time I should be likely to return to breakfast. It
must also be understood that I have only been married a few weeks, and
is very anxious to return to my wife where others of longer experience
might be glad to keep away. I also told the clerk I would in future turn
to the left instead of the right. Remaining, your obedient servant.”
It seems that the Head Postmaster of the district recommended to the
surveyor not only that the postman should be reprimanded, but that “the
local sub-postmistress should be cautioned to keep a better look-out on
the movements of the men under her control.” This lady had failed to
report the irregularities; she had in fact winked at official lapses
incidental to the prolonged honeymoon. Like the postman, she probably
knew that his was an offence which time would cure.
These written explanations of the postmen bring us to close quarters
with human life: they illustrate for us, better than any description
could do, the conditions of their life. For instance, “The slight smell
of drink which the inspector noticed, was what I and my missus had for
our suppers.” I am afraid this inclusion of the missus rather justifies
some of the schoolboy's strictures on postmen.
A rural postman was asked to explain how it was that he was ten minutes
late at a certain point, and he stated that he had been “Reaveling in
Nature.” Again our sympathies are stirred: we think it hard that the
official machine should come down on him because he owned up to the
possession of a soul.
More attention is paid to the subject of postmen's uniform than in the
days when Mr. Alfred Jingle spoke of it in this contemptuous fashion:
“Rather short in the waist, ain't it? Like a general postman's
coat—queer coats these—made by contract—no measuring—mysterious
dispensation of providence—all the short men get long coats—all the long
men short ones.” But the question of uniform was long a burning one in
postal circles. Official delays were as frequent in these matters as in
others. A memorandum faithfully explains how matters stood. It naturally
causes irritation when the distributions are so delayed that the winter
clothing does not reach the employés until the cold weather is well-nigh
over: the irritation is not allayed when the garments which reach them
at the late period are found not to fit; and when months elapse before
misfitting garments are exchanged, it is not surprising that the feeling
of irritation is merged in one of active discontent. But more eloquent
than any official language is a representation made by one of the men
themselves. “I was late last night and my close are to thick for this
weather; my shirt was running with prasperation last night and they are
to much for this weather, it takes all your time to wipe the sweet of my
face, and I cannot tell weather I am intit to A summer sute or not, but
the things are too hot for this weather and I had to work at Skote and
weigh some parcels as there is no men to carry them when the woman is
out and that make a difference to me on my round and it is not all
pleasure with winter clothing and I am sorry; believe me to be yours
truly.”
Then there is the extra wear and tear which is sometimes difficult to
explain with a limited vocabulary. An auxiliary rural postman was called
upon to explain why his uniform was in an unsatisfactory condition. Here
is his reply: “Dear Sir all I can say a bout the trousers that i never
ad a pare that were so bad before and as for waring my youniform is a
thing never do off duty at any time, there is wone thing i have a good
meny styles to get over i have had to have the hole of my trousers
mended in seat be fore time of the next ishue but this is the worst.” If
the postman found his difficulty was in getting over the stiles the
authorities must have discovered that their difficulty was to get over
his arguments.
A postmaster in applying for stores once inquired “whether anything can
be done for a cycle postman who has ridden through the seat of his
trousers.” An auxiliary appearing in private trousers was taxed with the
disappearance of the official pair. He explained that after a shower of
rain he had hung them on a fence to dry, and had subsequently found that
they had been eaten by cows. Another postman was asked to return his
uniform, and he had rather a painful story to relate. “Sir, the postal
stores sent for the last light overcoat and cape Saturday last. I am
sorry to say that a little axedent occur to the coat in the wintry wett
weather; while my Mrs. was drying the coat her tail caught fire and was
damage and then I was oblige to cut her three quarters size and find her
very useful in the mornings of fine weather.” Evidently a resourceful
postman.
There are, I believe, 1800 sizes and variants of the ordinary tunics for
postmen. The man must have an original shape indeed who cannot be fitted
from the stock in hand. A curious physiological fact has been discovered
by the clothiers of the Department. The further north one goes the
bigger become the heads of his Majesty's postmen. The heads of the
Glasgow postmen are the largest in the Kingdom, and knowing this we are
not surprised to learn that the _Postman's Gazette_, the able journal
devoted to the interests of the postmen, is published in Glasgow and
edited by a Glasgow postman. I may also note that the feet of the
Glasgow telegraph boys are the largest boys' feet in the Kingdom.
The Post Office service includes nearly 3000 postwomen. They get a
rather smart waterproof outfit: official leggings, even shakos are not
refused, but most ladies prefer to wear their own hats.
The Russian Postmaster-General recently drew up a regulation that all
ladies employed in the Postal Service must wear a feminine edition of
the rather smart uniform which is worn by the male officers. It is
described as having “blue piping at the sides and button-holes and
metallic badges. The coat used by both sexes will be much the same,
except that the ladies' sleeve will be wide and fashionable.” The
Continent is always in advance of us in the matter of uniform.
The number of postwomen has increased lately, probably on account of the
migration of men to the towns. For it is in the more distant and
sequestered districts that the postwoman is to be found, and this
explains the fact that one remembers so rarely to have come across a
lady on her postal round. One of these ladies, Mrs. Elizabeth Dickson,
retired in 1908 after having walked 129,392 miles in thirty years. Her
walk was between Melrose and Gattonside in Scotland. She had not once
been late on duty, and had only been absent on sick leave for fourteen
days. She was sixty-eight before she found the daily tramp of 13½ miles
too much for her strength.
Another lady, Mrs. Jane Wort of Overton, Hampshire, was left a widow in
1876 with a stepson, when she was forty-six years old, and then took up
the duties of postwoman. Her daily round was from 16 to 17 miles a day,
and she maintained this for over thirty years. Only twice during these
years had she been off duty, both absences being due to sprains to hands
and ankles, which were caused by falls in slippery weather when going
her rounds.
The records of the postmen are full of similar instances of hard work
and long distances covered, and I have mentioned the ladies in
particular because they are in the minority, and are presumed to be the
weaker sex. It is, however, not everybody who thrives under this regular
and exhausting labour. “Well, Mrs. Biggs,” said a district visitor to
one of her parishioners, “I am sorry your husband is poorly: I think a
little exercise would do him good.” And Mrs. Biggs answered sadly, “I'm
afraid it's done him 'arm, mum; he's been a letter carrier now for
twenty years.”
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[Illustration]
_By Permission of_ _Messrs. Martin
Pirie._
A COUNTRY POSTWOMAN.
This is a portrait of Jane Wort, a postwoman of Overton,
Hampshire. For nineteen years her daily round amounted to
from sixteen to seventeen miles a day. When she was over
seventy years of age her round was reduced to eight miles a
day. For nearly thirty years she had never been off duty.
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At a farewell dinner given to Prince Ranjitsinhji in 1908 a letter was
read out from Mr. Buckmaster, K.C., in which were related the triumphs
of a village postman. He said: “I envy you the pleasure of the evening,
and I sincerely wish that it were possible for me to be present. The
last time I had the honour of meeting his Highness was at a village
cricket match fifteen years ago. The occasion will always be memorable
in the annals of country cricket, for he was bowled by the village
postman for nineteen runs. He never knew that the postman had been put
into careful training for the performance for weeks, and that he had
been driven all round his district so as to avoid the exhaustion of his
energies by long walking or too long lingering in the hospitable
kitchens of the country.”
A postman is surely the last occupation we should think of for a lame
man, but there have been several instances where a man with crutches has
performed his daily duties willingly and excellently. An official sent
out to test a man's ability to do his work—the postman walked 17 miles
on crutches—found himself quite outpaced by the lame official. A rural
postman who had a wooden leg made use of a donkey and cart, but it was
found out after his resignation that finding a difficulty in getting in
and out of his cart he carried with him a tin bucket full of large
stones. These he hurled at the front door when occasion demanded. An
original postman's knock. Certainly this was another resourceful
postman.
A rural postman of Newport who has recently retired from the Service
gave notice of approach in this fashion. He could whistle by the aid of
his fingers in such a way as to make himself heard from parish to
parish. And he carried an umbrella which it was said would shelter a
village population nicely.
Wherever he may be, in northern latitudes, in the tropics, or in the
town and country districts of the United Kingdom, the postman carries
about with him the proud consciousness that he is “On his Majesty's
Service.” Everything must give way before him. Even when on occasions
the streets of London are blocked to everybody else, to allow a royal
procession or a Lord Mayor's Show to pass, the policeman makes room for
the postman. These are perhaps the proudest moments of a postman's life,
provided always he is indifferent to the doubtful compliments of the
London crowd.