All post offices other than a Head Office are called sub-offices. The definition embraces busy town offices as well as the village post office. The sub-office is usually managed by a man or woman who has other visible means of support. In the vast majority of cases the sub-office is a shop. And comprising as the ranks of sub-postmasters do all sorts and conditions of men, it is not surprising if we find more variety among this class of official than among the Head Postmasters. The Head Postmaster is a Civil Servant; he has a tradition to keep up, and he looks at official matters with a sort of professional eye. The sub-postmaster, on the other hand, has, as it were, a foot in both worlds, the commercial and the official, and he comes to his duties with the training not of the Civil Servant but of the local tradesman. I sometimes think that it is a good thing for the Post Office service that so many of its servants should have this double interest; they are in close touch with the public, they know its peculiarities across the counter, and they are less likely to be strangled by red tape. The sub-postmaster is often, of course, a highly educated man, and can take a high place among any society of business men in his district; on the other hand, in a small district or village he may be a man of slight education who is only a degree above the working classes. A sub-postmaster is often very human and unsophisticated; he is not trained by the Civil Service Commissioners to write reports in proper official style, and he often shocks the staid officials at headquarters by the directness of his style. And considering the stock from which sub-postmasters are often drawn, it is sometimes astonishing how well the work of the Department is performed. For most of the duties proper to a Head Office belong also to a sub-office. The responsibility is perhaps less, but the sub-postmaster has frequently to be efficient in all classes of Post Office work, to be an accountant, experienced in banking business, and to know a good deal about telegraphy.

We are growing accustomed to the fact that any letter we write to the remotest hamlet in the Kingdom is certain to be delivered at the earliest possible moment; but it is only within a comparatively late period that this has actually happened. Up to 1764 the Post Office carried letters to post towns only, but did not undertake to deliver them at the homes of the addressees, and in London only was there a local post. This was the famous Penny Post, originally founded by Dockwra in 1680, and soon afterwards taken over by the Crown. In 1764 authority was given for the establishment of this Penny Post within the limits of any city or town, and thirty years later it was provided that any Penny Post might be extended beyond the former limit of ten miles from the town in which it was set up. But such posts were in fact only set up in about half-a-dozen of the largest towns in the Kingdom, and at that time neither benefited nor were intended to benefit the rural districts.

At the beginning of the nineteenth century there were no rural or village posts. Letters were conveyed by post to towns of any considerable size, and were fetched from these places by arrangement on behalf of the people living in the surrounding villages. Probably a village generally employed its own messenger, paying him in some cases a fixed sum as wages, and in others a penny or more on every letter carried. Sometimes a pauper was employed for this work. Wealthy people made their own arrangements. In 1801 the Post Office made efforts to reach the villages, but right down to 1840 the service was fitful and irregular, and was not uniform. The Government of Sir Robert Peel in 1843 decided that the principle on which rural posts should be established should be based simply upon the number of letters for each locality. “All places, the letters for which exceed 100 a week, should be deemed entitled to the privilege of a receiving office and a free daily delivery of their letters.” In 1850 this rule was still further simplified, and the rule was now that a post should be established when it would pay its way. Modifications of even this rule took place in successive years, and the network of rural posts extended so much that in 1862 the proportion of letters delivered to the addressees was estimated to reach 94 per cent. In 1871 the Postmaster-General was able to announce that he hoped “the time is not distant when a free delivery at least two or three times a week will be provided for every house in the country, however remote.” But it was twenty years before this pious hope began to be fulfilled. At the end of 1892 it was estimated that there were still about 32,000,000 letters a year not delivered by the Post Office. Nearly 8,000,000 letters were in the next year brought into free delivery, and the work of extension went on gradually until the day of the Queen's Diamond Jubilee in 1897, when it was announced that a regular delivery of letters would be given to every house in the Kingdom. We can now scarcely understand any other state of things to be endurable for a day.

The rural sub-postmaster has had enormously increased duties thrown upon him in recent years, and it is possible that his pay has not kept pace with his responsibility. The Department naturally takes advantage of the fact that the work of the Post Office is a valuable addition to any business, and that a man is provided with a big advertisement for his particular trade when he is given the Post Office business. At any rate, there is usually a demand in every place for the privilege of running the Post Office. Still, the sub-postmaster is human, and he does not always admit the justice of this kind of indirect payment. Towards the end of 1907, many sub-postmasters were eagerly looking out for the Report of the Parliamentary Committee on their condition. Something good was expected. In January 1908, a new book of Rules for sub-postmasters was issued and distributed, and one sub-postmaster in a remote country district came to the conclusion that the book was the long-looked-for Report, and fresh from great disappointment, and, as will be seen, breathless with indignation, he wrote to his Head Postmaster as follows: at the end of his letter he placed his first full stop.

“Sir I have read the new book of rules all through I see by it that sub postmasters has gained nothing but lost all the privileges they had the cannot speak of any thing the cannot speak for a member of parlment county counceler or anything the cannot sell anything that does not belong to the Post Office the cannot take an agency from any one the belive that himself and his place all belongs to them the expect him to look after Postboys mail car bad coin watch everything night and day that belongs to the Post Office I have to keep the office opened for twelve hours every day do everything attend to every one no one person fit to do this or do what the Book expects them to do we have not sunday to ourselves we must stay till four o'clock in the evening to prepare the bag for the mail car we get no allowance for holidays one of us must stop at home from church on Sunday on our turn to attend for the car bees nearly always late on Sunday and gets no money for it I do not see how the expects us to do it for nine pence a day or how can the expect a man to live on it would be a fine thing for one to be a postman I would have more pay and clothes when my three hours was over I could go where I liked and had Sunday to myself there is no one under the goverment so bad paid as country sub offices and still we have more to do than any other one for we have to tie parsels rite the direction on letters and parsels for most of the people for the do not no how last year I had to sit up till 11 o clock at night riting after the 5 35 car came I had 34 regestered letters to compair with the list and check them put my Initels after every one of them fill 34 receats 34 counterfoils so the do not look to whet we have to do to prepare everything for the Postmen next morning we have to handle letters from every one take their money no matter what desease or sickness is in there house still we are not allowed a doctor if anything happens we are not alowed anything it is nearly a shame to be a country sub postmaster if the expect to do work they should pay us I have to pay a man 12 shillings a week for 6 days and he will oneley work 9 hours for me in summer and about 5 in Winter so I see that nothing is left us but to resign as it will pay no one we are not alowed to show our greevances in the press to the publick or through a member of parliment we must leave all to them no less than a pound a week would Pay to keep up to the new rules Keep marking time for Postmen marking and dating everything in the new book they should give us fair Play we waited with patience thinking the Commission would do something for us but it made us worse it must be there was no one to give evedence for us we have pens ink cealing wax too I think I have rote some of our Grievence to you as you are onely one left to us to write to your obedient servant.”

Here we have the duties and disabilities of a rural sub-postmaster all described picturesquely in his own words, and the only defence we can offer for the authorities is that the man has not resigned, and would regard it as the greatest injustice of all if he were relieved of his duties.

Yet sub-postmasters do deserve our sympathies. They endure much from an irritable and impatient public. Occasionally, the suffering becomes articulate. “I beg,” says a sub-postmaster, “to report that the man called at the office to-day. I handed him the book, and complied with your instructions. I hope I shall never see him again.” We can almost imagine the painful scene at the counter.

We are often ready enough to complain of the incivility and indifference of the man or woman at the post office, but we don't realise how trying we are to the much-harassed officials. A sub-postmaster was asked to explain why he accepted irregularly a deposit in an account which had already exceeded the limit. His reply showed that at least red-tape methods do not prevail at his office, even though moral courage may be lacking in the postmaster. “In order to avoid unpleasantness which appeared to be imminent, I accepted the deposit.”

Sometimes so involved and difficult is the work put upon a slow-minded country sub-postmaster, that it is often a case of the blind leading the blind. A shaggy and a shambling man, obviously an agriculturist, entered a rural post office. He knew all about crops, and was firmly convinced that every sort of weather was bad for them. But he was weak in finance. However, it had come to his ears that it would be a sound scheme to invest money in the local post office. Therefore he entered the curious building—half grocer's shop, half village club, and perfumed with cheddar—that served as a post office. The sub-postmaster explained the system to the man.

“But, mister, can I withdraw my money whenever I want to?”

“Of course you can, fat'ead,” was the answer. “You can drore it ter-morrer ... if you give a fortnight's notice.”

The habit of talking to the people in their own idioms is to be commended. In rural districts it inspires more confidence, and is better understood than official regulations.

The sub-office is frequently an hereditary institution. It has been in the same family for generations. There is a sub-office at Churchill near Enniskillen, in Ireland, which has passed down in direct succession from father to son since the year 1750. In 1882 the salary was £3 a year, but the Postmaster-General specially increased the amount to £12 in consideration of the lengthened period in which the office had been held by members of the family.

The Post Office in Ireland in old days was served light-heartedly compared with these strenuous times. I have read in an old newspaper of 1821 how the postmaster of Lismore, aged ninety-seven, and almost old enough to know better, won a wager. He travelled to Fermoy in a Dungarvan oyster tub, drawn by a pig, a badger, two cats, a goose, and a hedgehog, with a red nightcap on his head, a pig-driver's whip in one hand, and a cow's horn for musical purposes in the other. In these days he would have had to furnish a written explanation to the Secretary. Possibly it would have been similar to that furnished by a modern sub-postmaster, who had been accused of certain vagaries in the performance of his duties: “I know I am not Perfect by a Long Way, but it does not make it any Better. I was not Drunk because I hadd no Bear.” The explanation of another respecting the misconduct of one of his subordinates was: “As Mr. —— is generally a careful officer, and was probably not on duty at the time the error was made, he has been let off with a caution.”

The Post Office has employed women in its service since the earliest times. The sub-postmistress of the village is often a most useful officer. She sometimes takes her duties more seriously than the man; she likes the opportunity of managing things which the office gives her: the sense of being “On his Majesty's Service” helps her to magnify her office. And she is usually quite refreshingly free from officialism. One of their number was asked in an official memorandum to state why she had not yet furnished an explanation of an irregularity a few weeks back, and she replied: “I was too angry with myself to do anything.” What need was there of an official caution in face of such sincere repentance!

But the sub-postmistress is often extremely strong-minded and masterful, especially if she is of mature years, and it is extremely difficult for either her chiefs or the public to move her in any course she has adopted. The Department was informed by one lady that she was about to be married, and when she was asked the usual questions whether she would remain the housekeeper, she replied magnificently: “I have made no change. I hold entire dominion over the present post office premises, otherwise there would be no marriage.” The proposal scene in this case must have been shorn of a good deal of the romance one usually associates with such experiences. Sometimes the sub-postmistress marries one of her male assistants, and she is in the proud position of being able to extract written explanations from, and to administer cautions to, her husband. And yet there have been instances where the public service did not suffer by this arrangement, nor was the home life apparently put much out of gear. Sometimes the sub-postmaster marries a female assistant, and I read in a service paper this touching confession of one of the inconveniences arising from such an act: “My wife is also my first assistant, and during the first three years of our married life we obtained our holidays together. Last year, however, exception was taken to this by the Surveyor, who stated my wife ought to take charge during my absence on annual leave. I appealed to the Secretary, and the decision went against me.” I think “the decision went against me” is a very pretty touch.

The sub-postmistress is of course often one of the village folk herself, and she is frequently exposed to gossip and unworthy suspicions. The lady who had charge of a certain village post office was strongly suspected of tampering with parcels entrusted to her care. If anything went wrong with them in any part of the Kingdom she was to blame. One day a rosy-cheeked youngster, dressed in his best clothes, entered the post office and carefully laid a huge slice of iced cake on the counter.

“With my sister the bride's compliments, and will you please eat as much as you can.”

The sub-postmistress smiled delightedly. “How very kind of the bride to remember me. Did she know of my weakness for wedding-cake?”

“She did,” answered the youngster coolly, “and she thought she'd send yer a bit of it this afternoon, just to take the edge off yer appetite before she posted boxes to her friends.”

Rightly or wrongly the rural post office is supposed to know all the secrets and scandals of the neighbourhood. When private information leaks out, it is usually the post office which is suspected. And especially is this the case when there are women at the post office. Sometimes the interest in the affairs of the village is quite open. A woman enters a rural post office.

“Anything for me?” she asks.

Rural Postmaster. I don't see nothen'.

Woman. I was expectin' a letter or postcard from Aunt Spriggs tellin' when she was comin'.

Rural Postmaster (calling to his wife). Did you see a postcard from Mrs. Hayfork's aunt, Sally?

His Wife. Yes; she's comin' on Thursday.

In the Christian World of the 20th September 1901 there appeared an excellent description of the village post office in an article entitled “The Scottish Coast Village.” “The real centre of the world for us is the village post office. It does everything except the one thing which is supposed to be the duty of a post office—distribute the letters. That is done from a neighbouring village by a five-mile-an-hour-easy postman, who when he has delivered our letters and returned to his own office a mile and a half away has still a thirteen-mile tramp amongst the scattered farms. Summer and winter, through snow and mud, in burning heat or freezing cold, he fulfils his daily task, and has never missed a mail nor caught a cold.

“But if our post office does not distribute the letters it would be difficult to name anything else which it will not do. There the chance tourist leaves his bicycle and waterproof while he looks round the village and has a dip in the sea; thither turns the inquirer after lost property or the fine weather which will not come; groceries, draperies, stationery, tobacco, all are found among its exhaustible stores; anything will be provided within reasonable time, and 'prescriptions are carefully made up' at forty-eight hours' notice from the country town twelve miles away. The postmaster and shop-keeper is one of those willing, handy men, often found in such positions, who are the acting representatives of Providence to the helpless visitor. He will take any amount of trouble for you; never loses his temper amid the thousand-and-one inquiries which assail him all the day long; and gives up part of his Sabbath rest—well earned—to leading the singing of the village choir. This he does with an accompaniment of the foot which ensures excellent time, though in itself a little disconcerting.”

There are hundreds of village post offices which would answer to this description; we all go straight to the post office when in a strange place, if we are in the slightest difficulty. The post office is there “On his Majesty's Service” to get us out of trouble. Unhappy is the village without a post office. Yet there is, or was until recently, a village on the edge of the Norfolk marshlands where there was no doctor for seven miles, no telegraph office for delivery within five miles, and where, until a very late date, the only village post-box was a slit in a hollow elm against the churchyard. In such villages as this, the news of the world comes through the postman. If he has no letter to deliver in the place, the news as well as he stops away.

Writing in 1897, the author of the delightful Pages from a Private Diary spoke of the effect of the increase of postal facilities on the sluggish-minded country-folk.

“People who are accustomed to the business-like promptitude of the young men and maidens in town offices have little idea of the casual way in which things are managed with us. A month or two since, having to register a letter containing a small present for the golden wedding of an old friend which had reached me too late for our own despatch, I drove to a village on the railway where the mails leave a few hours later. The following dialogue ensued:—

“Postmaster. Do you know how old I am?

“I. No; are you seventy-five?

“Postmaster. Seventy-five! I'm as old as Mr. Gladstone. Don't look it, don't I? No, I mayn't look it, but I am. I've been postmaster here for fifty years or more. Yes, I ain't so young as I have-a-been. Good-day, sir.

“I. But I want a letter registered.

“Postmaster. Registered! Well, I hardly know how. You see, I'm an old man now. Oh yes! I've registered 'em in my day, but I don't somehow like the responsibility. No, I don't feel as if at my age I ought to take the responsibility. You see I've been postmaster here man and boy for....

“In the end I had to take the letter home again.”

There is one thing which you will rarely obtain in a rural post office, and that is incivility. This as a rule is associated with “the business-like promptitude of the young men and maidens in town offices,” and the country postmaster's manners are often superior to his intelligence.

The smaller the place, the more limited, of course, is the field of selection by the authorities. Let me give one or two specimens of the applications for appointment which are received.

This man had, no doubt, painted from his own model a picture of the ideal country postmaster as conceived by the poet and the literary man who, writing in Fleet Street, dream of the sanctifying influence of the countryside. But the inhuman Department declined to take the man at his own valuation, and his qualifications were not considered sufficient.

Here is another:—

I now give an application from a woman who was conscious of her educational failings but suggested a way by which they could be circumvented:—

This is an application which would be seriously considered by the Department: the grand-daughter would be the stand-by of the post office.

It is often asked, Why does not the Post Office demand Civil Service certificates from all its officers? The question, of course, is simply one of expense. The employment of persons with a higher standard of education would mean a higher rate of payment, and this would lessen the annual contribution which the Post Office makes to the Treasury. There can be little doubt, however, that the multifarious duties which are now thrown on the village post office are a severe strain on the uneducated official, and he causes an infinitude of trouble at the Head Office, which has to rectify his mistakes. This is the sort of thing which frequently occurs. A sub-postmaster was asked why he accepted the signature of a certain Nurse Jones as witness to an important document. His instructions were that the document must be signed in the presence of a commissioner for oaths or a notary public. He replied: “Nurse Jones is one of a body of nurses who is well known in the neighbourhood. Nurse Jones was therefore regarded as a notary public.”

But even with the drawback of possessing so many agents who belong to the half-educated and quarter-educated classes, the Post Office gets a good deal out of its country officers. Many possess plenty of shrewdness and native intelligence, and business is got through with or without the help of the regulations. They are sometimes not to be side-tracked even by a railway company. There was at a certain date some irregularity in the mail service in the Romney Marsh district. The local official explained “that on Friday last the mails were only got off by running after the train, and to-day in the same manner. On Saturday we failed to catch up the train.” Evidently the South-Eastern and Chatham Railway were beginning to accelerate their train service.

There remains to be considered the village post office itself, and post office architecture is usually a rather painful subject. The modern standard post office is obviously built for utility, and little regard is paid to what fits in with the spirit of the place. But there are hundreds of village post offices all over the United Kingdom which are the delight of the artist and the tourist. Just as a hymn or a psalm seems to contain an added beauty because of the feeling in the singer that it has perhaps brought joy and consolation to men and women through the centuries, so the little gabled cottage or shop covered with ivy appeals to us not only through its beauty but through its long connection with the joys and sorrows of the village. Those of us who have visited Tintagel know the cottage called the “old post office.” It is of the fourteenth century, small but commodious; it has a fireplace which is so constructed that the inhabitants could sit round the fire without being betrayed by the light to passers-by. It is fitted up with conveniences for the use of smugglers. And over all stretch great roof timbers black with the smoke of ages. That, however, is a disused post office; there are beautiful offices still to be found, especially in our southern villages, and every lover of the country-side demands of the Post Office authorities that the standard pattern should be confined to the suburbs and the new townships. We will willingly put up with a village postmaster who indulges in euphonious spelling if they leave us our pretty ivy-clad post office full of associations which bind it to the village.