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.

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.”