Time advanced apace, and wrought many of those innumerable changes in
the fortunes of the human race for which Time is famous.
Among other things it brought Sir James Clubley to the bird-shop of
Messrs. Blurt one Christmas eve.
"My dear sir," said Sir James to Mr Enoch in the back shop, through the
half-closed door of which the owl could be seen gazing solemnly at the
pelican of the wilderness, "I have called to ask whether you happen to
have heard anything of young Aspel of late?"
"Nothing whatever," replied Mr Blurt, with a sad shake of his head.
"Since Bones died--the man, you know, with whom he lived--he has removed
to some new abode, and no one ever hears or sees anything of him, except
Mrs Bones. He visits her occasionally (as I believe you are aware),
but refuses to give her his address. She says, however, that he has
given up drink--that the dying words of her husband had affected him
very deeply. God grant it may be so, for I love the youth."
"I join your prayer, Mr Blurt," said Sir James, who was slightly,
though perhaps unconsciously, pompous in his manner. "My acquaintance
with him has been slight--in fact only two letters have passed between
us--but I entertained a strong regard for his father, who in schoolboy
days saved my life. In after years he acquired that passion for spirits
which his son seems to have inherited, and, giving up all his old
friends, went to live on a remote farm in the west of Ireland."
Sir James spoke slowly and low, as if reflectively, with his eyes fixed
on the ground.
"In one of the letters to which I have referred," he continued, looking
up, "young Aspel admitted that he had fallen, and expressed regret in a
few words, which were evidently sincere, but he firmly, though quite
politely, declined assistance, and wound up with brief yet hearty thanks
for what he called my kind intentions, and especially for my expressions
of regard for his late father, who, he said, had been worthy of my
highest esteem."
"He's a strange character;--but how did you manage to get a letter
conveyed to him?" asked Mr Blurt.
"Through Mrs Bones. You are aware, I think, that a considerable time
ago I set a detective to find out his whereabouts--"
"How strange! So did I," said Mr Blurt.
"Indeed!" exclaimed Sir James. "Well, this man happened by a strange
coincidence to be engaged in unravelling a mystery about a lost little
dog, which after many failures led him to the discovery of Abel Bones as
being a burglar who was wanted. Poor Bones happened at the time of his
visit to be called before a higher tribunal. He was dying. Aspel was
at his bedside, and the detective easily recognised him as the youth of
whom he had been so long in search. I sent my letter by the detective
to Mrs Bones, who gave it to Aspel. His reply came, of course, through
the ordinary channel--the post."
"And what do you now propose doing?" asked Mr Blurt.
"I think of going to see Philip Maylands, who, I am given to understand
by Miss Lillycrop, was once an intimate friend of Aspel. Do you happen
to know his address?"
"Yes, he lives with his mother now, but it's of no use your going to his
home to-night. You are aware that this is Christmas eve, and all the
officials of the Post-Office will be unusually busy. They often work
night and day at this season."
"Then I will go direct to the General Post-Office. Perhaps I shall be
able to exchange a few words with him there," said Sir James, rising.
At that moment there burst upon the ears of the visitor a peculiar
squall, which seemed to call forth a bland and beaming smile on the glad
countenance of Mr Blurt. Sir James looked at him inquiringly.
"My babe, Sir James," said Mr Blurt, with ill-concealed pride; "since
last I had the pleasure of seeing you I have been married. Ah! Sir
James, `it is not good for man to be alone.' That is a truth with which
I was but feebly impressed until I came to understand the blessedness of
the wedded state. Words cannot--"
He was cut short by a sudden crash of something overhead, and a bump,
followed by a squall of unwonted vehemence. The squall was simultaneous
with the ringing of a handbell, and was followed by the cry of a soft
entreating voice roused to excitation.
"Oh! Nockie dear"--thus the former Miss Gentle named her spouse,--"come
here, quick--oh! _do_ be quick! Baby's fallen and Fred's ringing."
The truth of this was corroborated by another furious ring by the
invalid, which mingled with the recurring squalls, and was increased by
the noisy and pertinacious clatter of the cracked bell that announced
the opening of the shop-door.
"Zounds! Mrs Murridge, mind the shop!--Good-bye, Sir James. Excuse--.
Coming, dear!"
Mr Blurt, glaring as he clutched his scant side locks, dashed up-stairs
with the agility of a schoolboy.
Sir James Clubley, who was a bachelor, left the place with a quiet
smile, and proceeded, at what we may style a reflective pace, towards
the City.
But Sir James might have saved himself the trouble. It was, as we have
said, Christmas eve, and he might as well have demanded audience of a
soldier in the heat of battle as of a Post-Office official on that
trying night of the year.
In modern times the tendency of the human race (the British part of it
at least) to indulge in social intercourse by letter and otherwise at
the Christmas season has been on the increase, and, since the
introduction of cheap postage, it has created a pressure on the
Post-Office which has taxed its powers very considerably. The advent of
halfpenny post-cards, and especially the invention of Christmas-card and
packet correspondence, with the various facilities which have of late
years been afforded to the public by the Department, have created such a
mass of inter-communication throughout the kingdom, that Christmas has
now to be regularly prepared for as a great field-day, or rather a grand
campaign extending over several days. Well-planned arrangements have to
be made beforehand. Contingencies and possibilities have to be weighed
and considered. All the forces of the Department have to be called out,
or rather called in. Provisions--actual food, of exceptional kind and
quantity--have to be provided, and every man, boy, nerve, muscle, eye,
hand, brain, and spirit, has to be taxed to the very uttermost to
prevent defeat.
On the particular year of which we write, symptoms of the coming
struggle began to be felt before Christmas eve. On the morning of the
23rd, the enemy--if we may so style the letters--began to come in like a
flood, and the whole of that day the duty was most pressing, although
the reserve forces had been called into action. On the morning of the
24th the strain was so severe that few men could be allowed to leave the
Office, though some of them had been at work for eighteen hours. During
the whole of the 24th the flood was at its height. Every available man
in the other branches whose services could be utilised was pressed into
the service of the Circulation Department at St. Martin's-le-Grand.
The great mouth under the portico was fed with a right royal feast that
day--worthy of the Christmas season! The subsidiary mouths elsewhere
were fed with similar liberality. Through these, letters, cards,
packets, parcels, poured, rushed, leaped, roared into the great
sorting-hall. Floods is a feeble word; a Highland spate is but a
wishy-washy figure wherewith to represent the deluge. A bee-hive, an
ant-hill, were weak comparisons. Nearly two thousand men energised--
body, soul, and spirit--in that hall that Christmas-tide, and an
aggregate of fifteen thousand eight hundred and seventy-nine hours' work
was accomplished by them. They faced, stamped, sorted, carried,
bundled, tied, bagged, and sealed without a moment's intermission for
two days and two nights continuously. It was a great, a tremendous
battle! The easy-going public outside knew and cared little or nothing
about the conflict which themselves had caused. Letters were heaped on
the tables and strewed on the floors. Letters were carried in baskets,
in bags, in sacks, and poured out like water. The men and boys
absolutely swam in letters. Eager activity--but no blind haste--was
characteristic of the gallant two thousand. They felt that the honour
of Her Majesty's mails depended on their devotion, and that was, no
doubt, dearer to them than life! So the first day wore on, and the
warriors stood their ground and kept the enemy at bay.
As the evening of the 24th drew on apace, and the ordinary pressure of
the evening mail began to be added to the extraordinary pressure of the
day, the real tug of war began! The demand for extra service throughout
the country began to exercise a reflex influence on the great centre.
Mails came from the country in some instances with the letters unsorted,
thus increasing the difficulties of the situation. The struggle was all
the more severe that preparations for the night despatch were begun with
a jaded force, some of the men having already been twenty-six and
twenty-eight hours at work. Moreover, frost and fog prevailed at the
time, and that not only delayed trains and the arrival of mails, but
penetrated the building so that the labour was performed in a depressing
atmosphere. To meet the emergency, at least in part, the despatch of
the usual eight o'clock mail was delayed for that night fifty minutes.
As in actual war an hour's delay may be fraught with tremendous issues
for good or ill, so this brief postal delay permitted the despatch of an
enormous amount of correspondence that would have otherwise been left
over to the following day.
Usually the despatch of the evening mail leaves the vast sorting-hall in
serene repose, with clean and empty tables; but on the night of this
great battle--which has to be re-fought every Christmas--the
embarrassment did not cease with the despatch of the evening mail.
Correspondence continued to flow on in as great a volume as before.
Squads of the warriors, however, withdrew at intervals from the fight,
to refresh themselves in the various kitchens of the basement.
As we have said elsewhere, the members of the Post-Office provide their
own food, and there are caterers on the premises who enable them to do
so without leaving the Office while on duty. But on this occasion extra
and substantial food--meat, bread, tea, coffee, and cocoa--were provided
by the Department at its own cost, besides which the men were liberally
and deservedly remunerated for the whole severe and extra duty.
It chanced that Phil Maylands and Peter Pax retired from the battle
about the same time; and met in the sorters' kitchen.
"Well, old fellow," said Phil, who was calm and steady but looking
fagged, to Pax, who was dishevelled about the head and dress and
somewhat roused by the exciting as well as fatiguing nature of the
work,--"Well, old fellow; tough work, isn't it?"
"Tough? It's glorious!" said Pax, seating himself enthusiastically at
the table; "I'm proud of my country--proud of the GPO--proud... I say,
is that beef that I see before me? Hand me a dagger--no, a knife will
do. You cut it, Phil, and help me first, 'cause I'm little."
While Phil was cutting the meat Pax rested his head on the table, and
was asleep almost instantly.
"Hallo, Pax! rouse yourself!" cried Phil, giving his comrade a hearty
slap on the shoulder; "up, lad, and eat--the battle still rages; no rest
allowed till victory is ours."
His little friend set to work at once, and the food and coffee soon
banished drowsiness. A number of men were similarly engaged around him.
But they did not feast long. Like giants refreshed, they returned to
the scene of combat, while others took their places.
And what a scene it was! Despite all that had been done, the hall might
be described as waist-deep in letters! The fever had not yet abated.
It seemed as if the whole world had concentrated its literary produce
into one mighty avalanche on St. Martin's-le-Grand!
The midnight mails worked off some of this, but a large portion of it
still remained to be disposed of on Christmas-day, together with what
the mails brought in on that morning, but the officers worked so well
that between nine and ten on Christmas morning all were allowed to go
home, with the exception of twenty-six, who volunteered to remain.
Thus the battle was fought and won; the tables were cleared; the fever
was subdued; and the pulse of the Post-Office was reduced to its normal
condition.
Think on these things, reader, when next you read the little card that
wishes you "a merry Christmas!"
Some of the facts and results connected with this great battle are worth
recording. The number of _extra_ bags and sacks received at the chief
office altogether on that occasion was 1401. The number of extra bags
despatched was 2269; all of them were crammed full to their mouths, and
the aggregate weight of these extra mails was 197 tons.
To convey these from the chief office 176 extra vans were used, and 75
extra carts. As nearly as could be estimated, the number of extra
letters and packets was not less than four millions. There was a vast
increase, also, in the registered correspondence--to the extent of
thirty-one thousand in excess of the ordinary numbers.
During these three days some of the men did nearly thirty hours' extra
duty, _besides_ performing their ordinary work. The continuous
attendance at the office of some of them varied from forty to
forty-eight hours, and the total increase to the revenue on that
auspicious but trying occasion was estimated to be about twenty thousand
pounds sterling!
Phil Maylands and Peter Pax were among those who had volunteered to
remain after the press of work was over; and it was not till the
afternoon of Christmas-day that they finally, and simultaneously,
plunged into their beds and oblivion.