A schoolboy who was given the task of writing an essay on the Post Office used these words: “The Post Office contains the whole world's circumstances, or welfare, day after day, as a mother shuts all her chickens under her wings. A man would not reveal his very secreate words to his wife or to any one, but he trusts them to a weak envelope in the Post Office.” This boy was perhaps wiser than he knew. For there is no institution existing in the country which comes so near to the hearts and homes of the British people as the General Post Office. Created primarily for the despatch and delivery of letters, it has developed into a vast organisation which is at once the carrier of the people's correspondence and parcels, the people's bank, and the agency by which all communications by telegraph and telephone are conducted. To tell the story of that organisation, how from the smallest beginnings in the Middle Ages it developed into the Post Office of the present day, would be a delightful task, but my intention is rather to relate its modern triumphs and to deal It is usual, in telling the story of the Post Office, to go as far back as Greek, Roman, and Jewish times. In almost every book and article on the subject we are reminded that Ahasuerus sent letters into all provinces concerning his wife Vashti, and that Queen Jezebel has at least one urbane action to her credit in that she despatched the first recorded circular letter. Then we are reminded that Cicero and Pliny were accomplished correspondents, and that St. Paul wrote letters which have had a wide circulation. But these instances usually belong to the history of letter-writing and have little relation to our subject. It is obvious that so soon as letters began to be written in any nation they must have been despatched by some means or other to the persons for whom the communications were intended. Ancient history has many instances of posts specially created for the delivery of perhaps only one letter. The story of the Post Office can only properly begin at the time when the first efforts were made to systematise what was already a prevailing habit of the people. The history of the British Post Office as a system can be divided into three periods. There was the age of the post-horses and postboys, extending from the time of the Tudors far into the eighteenth century. There was the age of the mail coaches, the romantic age of the General Post Office, full of stirring deeds and adventures. Indeed the title “His Majesty's Mails” would have accurately described the whole of the business transacted by the British Post Office during these centuries. Lastly there is the age in which we are living, the age of the mail train, which has produced a wide extension of the duties of the Department, and the despatch and delivery of letters is now only one of its activities. There is little doubt that the first posts organised in this country were simply for the transmission of public despatches, and though from time to time attempts were made by private individuals to organise posts of their own, these efforts met with but little success, and in 1637 it was ordered by proclamation that no other messengers or foot posts were to carry letters except those employed by the King's Postmaster-General, unless to places untouched by the King's posts. This order marked the beginning of the monopoly which ever since has been in the hands of the Government. The word “post” comes to us from the French; in early English records the carrier of the post is called a runner or a messenger. We assimilated the word under the Tudors, and the first man to be described as Master of the Posts was Brian Tuke, appointed by Henry VIII. in 1509. In this reign there was a service more or less regular between London and Berwick and between London and Calais. The Dover road is probably the oldest mail route in the kingdom. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries services were gradually extended to Scotland, Ireland, and the West of England. The posts were slow and unreliable. The roads of this country were for several centuries in a wretched condition, and travelling was difficult and dangerous. The causeway or bridle-track ran down the middle of the road, while “the margin on either side was little better than a ditch, and being lower than the adjoining soil and at the same time soft and unmade, received and retained the sludge.” The authorities The words, “Haste, Post, haste,” have been found on the backs of private letters written at the close of the fifteenth century, and this was no formal endorsement but an urgent appeal to the lazy postboy to hurry up. “Ride, villain, ride,—for thy life—for thy life—for thy life,” appeared also on letters with sketches of a skull and cross-bones or of a man hanging from a cross-bar. It was thought desirable to frighten the servant of the Government into the performance of his duties. The towns on the route were bound to supply the horses for the King's posts. The postmasters in each town were the persons immediately responsible for this business, and it is interesting to know that one of the qualifications for the situation was the ability of the candidate to furnish a certificate under the hand and seal of the Bishop of the diocese that he was conformable to the discipline of the Church of England, and he was required to receive the Sacrament of the Lord's The Mail Coaches Leaving London. In the early part of the nineteenth century one of the sights of London was the departure from St. Martin's le Grand every evening of the mail coaches bound for all parts of England. But we must not forget the foot posts in the old days, or runners as they are usually called. In the year 1715 there was not a single horse post in Scotland, all the mails being conveyed by runners on foot. Cross posts were frequently undertaken by runners, and the runners were not extravagantly paid for their services. A post-runner travelled from Inverness to Lochcarron—a distance, across country, of about fifty miles—making the journey once a week, for which he was paid five shillings. Naturally there was much difficulty with them, and they were continually at the mercy of highwaymen. Moreover, in spite of the penalty of capital punishment being visited on those who robbed his Majesty's mails, the postman himself was a frequent offender. The difficulties of travelling in the seventeenth century are illustrated by the fact that in 1626 nearly £60 was spent in setting up wooden posts along the highway and causeway, near Bristol, for the guidance of travellers and runners. A Government running post then existed from London to Bristol. There is a spirited description in Cowper's Task of the arrival of the mail which would have been applicable during the whole of the postboy period:— “Hark, 'tis the twanging horn! O'er yonder bridge, That with its wearisome but needful length Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright, He comes the herald of a noisy world, With spattered boots, strapped waist and frozen locks, News from all nations lumbering at his back. Yet careless what he brings, his one concern Is to conduct it to the destined inn, And having dropped the expected bag, pass on.” Such was the service with which our forefathers were more or less contented during the greater part of two centuries. At the end of the seventeenth century there were weekly posts to many parts of the country: there was a mail six days a week along the Kent road: at any place where the Court happened to be in residence a daily post was at once created, and during the season at Bath and Tunbridge Wells the visitors enjoyed the privilege of a daily despatch and delivery of letters. It was not until late in the eighteenth century that any radical alteration in the system took place. For many years it had become a reproach against the Post Office that it had not kept pace with the travelling capacities and requirements of the time. What were called “Flying Coaches” had been established in the seventeenth century to many towns in the Kingdom, and while these conveyances were increasing in speed and comfort the Post Office was still satisfied with its four or five miles an hour. The slowness of the posts was in fact becoming intolerable to the people. The General Convention of the Royal Burghs of Scotland called the attention of the Postmasters-General to the slowness of the posts on the Great North Road. “Every common traveller,” they wrote, “passed the King's mail on the first road in the kingdom,” and complaints were made, generally by traders and professional men, that business was hampered by the backwardness of the Post Office. To John Palmer, proprietor of the theatre at Bath, belongs the credit of the proposal to use the coach for The mail-coaching period extended a little over fifty years, and it marked as great an advance on the service of the past as the mail train has since shown compared with the mail coach. For instance, in 1715 the time allowed for the mail between London and Edinburgh was six days. Eighty years later a great advance had taken place. In 1798 Lord Campbell relates: “I was to perform the journey by mail coach to Edinburgh, and was supposed to travel with marvellous velocity, taking only three nights and two days for the whole distance from London. But this speed was thought to be highly dangerous to the head, independently of all the perils of an overturn, and stories were told of men and women who, having reached London with such celerity, died suddenly of an affection of the brain. My family and friends were seriously alarmed for me In 1836 the speed of some of the mail coaches was nearly ten miles an hour including stoppages, and this was kept up over very long distances. From Edinburgh to London, a distance of 400 miles, the time allowed was forty-five and a half hours; from London to York, 197 miles, twenty hours; from London to Holyhead, 259 miles, twenty-seven hours. The time-bills of the old mail coaches are most interesting, and they show how complete was the organisation of the service. There was a column for the distance between each place, another column for the time allowed, and another column for the actual arrival and starting times. The numbers of the coach and the timepiece which it carried were recorded, and the delivery of the timepiece “safe” was always signed for at the conclusion of the journey. The coachman, though not a Post Office servant—he was employed by the contractors—always wore a brilliant uniform; and the mail guard, an officer of the Postmaster-General, also arrayed in bright uniform, carried firearms. The mail guard had to see that time was kept, and especially that there was no delay in the time allowed for refreshments. The instructions to guards bring home to us the ways of the road a hundred years ago. At the beginning of the last century the chief superintendent of mail coaches was Thomas Hasker, an official of the Post Office. His instructions, written in homely language, seem to be instinct with a vitalising influence which was speeding up the whole system. What to him was the safety of mere passengers compared with the punctual delivery of his The halt for refreshments was always an annoying necessity to Hasker. A guard had attempted to hurry out the passengers as well as the driver. And the passengers had complained. “Sir,” wrote Hasker, “stick to your bill and never mind what passengers say respecting waiting overtime. Is it not the fault of the landlord to keep them so long? Some day when you have waited a considerable time (suppose five or eight minutes longer than is allowed by the bill), drive away and leave them behind.” We can imagine a guard acting on this instruction and losing his tips! The guards were expected to be as regular as clock-pieces, but even Mr. Hasker had sometimes to reckon with them as human beings. “The superintendents,” he writes in another memorandum, “will please to observe that Mr. Hasker does not wish to be too hard on the guards. Such a thing as a joint of meat or a couple of fowls or any other article for their own family in moderation he does not wish to debar them Even in those days Post Office servants were obliged to give written explanation of their misdeeds, and they occasionally scored against their fault-finders. A mail guard had been reported for impertinence by certain contractors who were notorious for the indifferent lights with which they supplied their coaches. The mail guard admitted his offence, “but,” he slyly added, “perhaps something may be said for the feelings of a guard that hears the continual complaints of passengers against bad lights and the disagreeable smell of stinking oil, especially when through such things the passengers withhold the gratuity which the guard expects.” There is some dignity in this way of putting the matter. The mails were of course the first consideration on the coaches. The available room after the loading of the mails was given to passengers' luggage, and this had frequently to be reduced by the passenger himself before starting. The great trouble with the guards was the temptation to overload the coaches. A contributor to the Quarterly Review in 1837 said: “Yet notwithstanding the moral improvement of the drivers, the improved state of the high roads throughout the kingdom, stage-coach travelling is more dangerous than it was before owing to the unmerciful speed of the swift coaches and the unmerciful loads which are piled upon the others like Pelion upon Ossa, or suspended from them, wherever they can be hung on. 'Coachman,' said an outside passenger who was being driven at a furious rate over one of the most mountainous roads in England, 'have you no consideration for our lives and limbs?' 'What are your lives and limbs to me?' was the reply, 'I'm behind my time.'” Sometimes the driver himself The great coaching event of the year was the procession of mail coaches which took place in London on the King's Birthday, and heading the procession was usually the oldest established mail, the Bristol coach. In 1834 there were twenty-seven coaches in the procession. At the start from Millbank “the bells of the churches rang out merrily, continuing their rejoicing peals till the coaches arrived at the General Post Office.” I quote from a book, Annals of the Road: “In the cramped interior of the vehicle were closely packed buxom dames and blooming lassies, the wives, daughters, or sweethearts of the coachmen or guards, the fair passengers arrayed in coal-scuttle bonnets and in canary-coloured or scarlet silk. But the great feature after all was that stirring note so clearly blown and I have already spoken of the mail-coach era as the romantic age of the General Post Office. English literature and English art have drawn upon the real and legendary history of the period for much of their inspiration. Nobody has revealed to us with more vivacity the humours of the mail coach than Charles Dickens—did not Mr. Tony Weller drive a coach?—nobody has written of the glories of the mail coach with greater power than Thomas de Quincey. De Quincey has described one journey in particular which lives in our literature. The mail was carrying with it into the country districts the news of a great victory. “From eight P.M. to fifteen or twenty minutes later, imagine the mails assembled on parade in Lombard Street, where at that time and not at St. Martin's le Grand was seated the General Post Office. In what exact strength we mustered I do not remember, but from the length of each separate attelage we filled the street, though a long one, and though we were drawn up in double file. On any night the spectacle was beautiful. The absolute perfection of all the appointments about the carriages and the harness, their strength, their brilliant cleanliness, their beautiful simplicity—but more than all, the royal magnificence of the horses—were what might first have fixed the attention. Every carriage on every morning in the year was taken down to an official inspector for examination, wheels, axles, linchpins, pole, glasses, lamps were all critically probed and tested.... But the night There is something quite tragic in the fact that at the very time when travelling by road had reached its perfection in this country as regards speed and punctuality, a new force was at work which was to overthrow the mail coach not gradually, but within a few years. On the introduction of the railway in any district the coach service collapsed almost immediately as a medium for carrying the mails. And the great main roads of the country were for thirty years or more almost abandoned except by the local traffic in the districts which they passed through. Telford, the great engineer, had only recently reconstructed the magnificent road which runs from Shrewsbury to Holyhead, which was to be the means of beating all records in the speeding up of the Irish mail, but the railway gave it the appearance of a white elephant. For a long time grass could be seen growing in places in the centre of the road. “The calamity of railways has fallen upon us,” said Macadam, the great engineer of the main roads. There was undoubtedly an appeal to the spirit of Then there was the fascination of the great high-way—the thin white line, sometimes straight, sometimes winding—which was human and alive in a way that a railway track can never be. Men were not then simply driven or shot into places; they drove through places; and they touched life at every point of the road. The Post Office is, however, not administered by poets and artists, but by men of the type of Thomas Hasker. And to men like him the coming of the mail train was a matter for official rejoicing. For it meant the speeding up still further of his Majesty's mails. |