On retiring from the Service of the Post Office after fifty-five years spent in harness, it has been suggested to me that some account of my experience of Post Office work in the days before the railways were established might be of interest to many who have no knowledge of “the good old coaching days,” except what they have acquired by hearsay or from books. I will, therefore, set down a few of the incidents that stand out most clearly in my memory. They will show, at any rate, that life on a Mail Coach fifty years ago was not all “beer and skittles,” though enjoyable enough at times.

I was born in Angel Street, Norwich, on the 12th May, 1817. My father was a coach-builder, and had at that time a contract for the construction and repair of the Mail and other coaches running in and out of Norwich. I was brought up to the same business until I was about nineteen, when my entry into the Mail Service was brought about in this way. My father was a staunch Whig, and about the year 1835 there happened to be a General Election. In those times the polling at an election lasted for fourteen days, and I can remember that I took a very keen interest in the proceedings. My father had seven tenants, and these were kept in reserve until the final day of the polling, when they were the last men to vote. Their votes carried the election. Some little time afterwards, the member who was elected showed his gratitude to my father by getting me an appointment in the Post Office Service. When I was leaving home to take up my new duties, my father—who, no doubt, knew the temptations of the life I was about to enter upon—gave me an excellent piece of advice, which I never forgot, and which was of great benefit to me in after years. He told me “Never to injure my own health by drinking other people’s.”

About Midsummer in 1836, then, I was sent down to act as guard to the Mail from London to Stroud, and shortly afterwards was transferred to the Mail running from Peterborough to Hull. It was not very long before I had another change, and this time I was appointed to the Portsmouth and Bristol Mail as a regular duty. This was a night journey, and occupied about 12 hours—from 7.0 p.m. to 7.0 a.m. My duty as Mail Guard was to take charge of the Mail bags and protect them.This winter of 1836 was the first I passed on the road, and a severe one it was too. There were terrible snow-storms towards Christmas time, and many parts of the country were completely blocked. I had one very rough experience of what my new duties were to be like. After leaving Bristol one night at 7.0 p.m. all went well until we were nearing Salisbury, that is to say, about midnight. Snow had been falling gently for some time before, but after leaving Salisbury it came down so thick and lay so deep that we were brought to a standstill, and found it impossible to proceed any further. Consequently we had to leave the coach and go on horseback to the next changing place, where I took a fresh horse and started for Southampton. There I procured a chaise and pair and continued my journey to Portsmouth, arriving there about 6.0 p.m. the next day. I was then ordered to go back to Bristol. On reaching Southampton on my return journey I found the snow had got much deeper, and at Salisbury I found that the London Mails had arrived, but could not proceed any further, the snow being so very deep. Not to be done, I took a horse out of the stable, slung the Mail bags over his back, and pushed on for Bristol, where I arrived next day, after much wandering through fields, up and down lanes, and across country—all one dreary expanse of snow. By this time I was about ready for a rest, but there was no rest for me in Bristol, for I was ordered by the Mail Inspector to take the Mails on to Birmingham, as there was no other Mail Guard available. At last I arrived at Birmingham, having been on duty for two nights and days continuously without taking my clothes off. I may add that for my exertions and perseverance in getting the Mails through I received a letter of thanks from the Postmaster-General.

I remained on the Bristol and Portsmouth Mail for ten months, when I was transferred to the London, Yeovil and Exeter Mail. We had a very sad accident with that Mail once between Whitchurch and Andover. The coach used to start from Piccadilly, where all the passengers and baggage were taken up. On this occasion the Mail was brought up to Piccadilly by me in a cart as usual, and we were off in a few seconds. My coachman had been having a drinking bout with a friend that day, and when we had got a few miles on the road I discovered that coachee was the worse for drink, and that it was not safe for him to drive; so when we reached Hounslow I made him get off the box seat. After securing the Mail bags, and putting the coachman in my seat and strapping him in, I took the ribbons. At Whitchurch the coachman unstrapped himself and exchanged places with me, but we had not proceeded more than three miles when, the coach giving a jolt over a heap of stones, he fell between the horses, and the wheels of the coach ran over him, killing him on the spot. The horses, having no driver, broke into full gallop, so, as there was no front passenger, I climbed over the roof to gather up the reins, when I found that they had fallen among the horses’ feet and were trodden to bits. Returning over the roof I missed my hold and fell into the road, but fortunately with no worse result than some bruises and a sprained ankle. The horses kept on until they reached Andover, where they pulled up at the usual spot. Strange to say, no damage was done to the coach, though there was a very steep hill to go down. The old Exeter Mail, running from London to Exeter, which came behind our coach, found the body of my coachman on the road, and, a mile further on, picked me up. Notwithstanding the excitement I had undergone, and the bruising I had sustained, I took my Mails on to Exeter and returned the next day for the inquest.

Accidents of one kind and another were not uncommon on the road, though some, of course, made more impression on me than others. I remember that when bowling along towards Andover one very dark night I noticed something lying at the side of the road. The coachman pulled up, and I found that it was a man with his head smashed to pieces. I wrapped the poor fellow’s remains in my shawl, and took them on to Andover, returning from Exeter on the following day to be on the inquest. It turned out that the man had been riding on the shaft of a lime waggon, and falling off—probably while asleep—the wheels had gone over his head. On another occasion, in a different part of the country, when my coach was nearing Cheltenham, our leaders knocked down a man who was walking along the road from Cheltenham Fair. The front part of his head was crushed by the horse’s hoofs, and the wheels of the coach went over him.

In 1838 I was transferred to the Cheltenham and Aberystwith Mail, leaving Cheltenham at 7.0 a.m. and arriving at Aberystwith at 9.0 p.m. I worked this Mail for 16 years—from 1838 to 1854—and this was the most eventful period of my career. The road ran through a fearful country, and we had to go over Plinlimmon Mountain, the top of which is about 2,000 feet above the sea level. We had many accidents and adventures with this coach. For example, we left Hereford one market day, the wind blowing a hurricane. When we reached St. Owen’s turnpike gate I saw that the gate was closed, and blew the horn for the gatekeeper to open it. He threw the gate wide open, when it rebounded and struck one of the leaders, which so frightened the team that they got completely out of hand, and galloped down the road as fast as they could lay feet to the ground. The coachman was a very nervous man, and, finding he could not control the horses or pull them up, he threw himself off the box into the road, with the result that the back part of his head was dashed in. The horses, now at full gallop, ran into a donkey cart in which an old woman and her daughter were going home from market, and doubled it up completely. The daughter heard the noise of the approaching coach and jumped out in time to save herself, but the poor old woman was kicked to death before I could cut the harness to release the leaders, which had fallen and got mixed up with the remains of the cart. I had the bodies of the old woman and the coachman placed on hurdles and carried to the Infirmary. Meanwhile the leaders had broken loose from the coach and galloped on for about two miles. They did further mischief by running into another cart, but without doing any serious damage. There is little use reproaching the dead, but it would have been a good thing for this poor coachman and others if he had been as good a whip and possessed of as steady nerves as the late Mr. Selby. If he had only stuck to his post—as every coachman should in such circumstances—this sad accident might have been averted.

While I was on this Mail there was a dreadful flood all over the country. I think it was in the year 1852. The rivers were so swollen, particularly the Severn and the Wye, that it was difficult to get along the roads. Leaving Gloucester at midnight on one occasion, all went on pretty well until the coach reached Lugg Bridge, four miles from Hereford, or rather the place where the bridge had been, for it had been washed away in the night, and the coach, going along quickly, fell into the rushing stream. Horses, coach, and coachman, the guard (whose name was Couldry) and one passenger were carried down the river about a mile and a half. The coachman caught hold of one of the leaders which had broken loose, and he and the horse were carried some distance and washed into a field, where the animal was able to regain its footing. The other three horses were drowned. The guard and the passenger managed to catch hold of a tree as they floated down stream, and were rescued after being some hours in the water, but unfortunately the passenger died some days after from the effects of his immersion. On the following night I had a very unpleasant experience of the flood. Coming within a mile and a half of Gloucester, we found the water had risen considerably since the morning; so much so that the coachman would not venture to proceed unless someone went first to see what was the depth. I got down and walked for about a hundred yards, with the water up to my armpits, and called to them to come on, which they did; but unfortunately for me they did not stop to pick me up, and there I was left for full three hours on a dark night, in the water, surrounded by it on all sides, and afraid to move one way or another for fear of getting out of my depth. At last, almost in despair, I did make an effort, and with great difficulty managed to get to Gloucester, where I was put to bed and between warm blankets.

On another occasion on the same Mail we escaped with our lives in an almost miraculous manner. This happened in passing over Plinlimmon. It was a fearful night. The snow had been falling for hours before we got to the top of the mountain at Stedfa-gerrig, and after going for about a mile downhill we found ourselves enveloped in a dense fog and snow-storm. We completely lost our way, although we had a postboy in front as guide, but unfortunately he missed the road and took us over a precipice about 60 feet deep. The coachman and I, without any effort on our part, performed the acrobatic feat of turning two complete somersaults before we reached the bottom. I remember distinctly that my one thought was how I could avoid being crushed under the falling coach. We both escaped this, however, and, owing to the depth of the snow, were quite unhurt by the fall, though much shaken of course. The two inside passengers were cut about a good deal by the glass of the windows, and two of the horses were killed. The next thing was to right the coach and get the living horses loose, which was an extremely difficult thing to do, as the snow was very deep at the bottom. It took us two hours to get things together again, and fortunately we discovered that there was an old Roman road near where we were, so at last we got started, and made up a good deal of time before we got to Cheltenham, arriving there just in time to catch the up London Mail. An account of this accident was given in the Hereford Times newspaper.

And yet another winter adventure on this Mail. We had left Gloucester, and all went on pretty well until we came to Radnor Forest, where we got caught in such a snow-storm that it was impossible to take the coach any further, so we left it. I took the Mail bags, and, with the assistance of two shepherds, made my way over the mountains. It took us five hours to get over to the other side to an inn at Llandewy. There we met the up Mail Guard Couldry, who took my guides back again. It was not many hours before the abandoned coach was completely covered with snow, and there it remained buried for a week. Well, the up guard Couldry fell down in the snow from exhaustion, and had to be carried by the two shepherds to the Forest Inn on the other side of the mountain. There he remained some days to recover himself. I had to proceed with my bags, so I got a chaise and pair from Penybont and another at Rhayader, but was unable to take that very far owing to the snow. There was nothing for it but to press on again on foot, which I did for many miles until I came to Llangerrig. There I found it was hopeless to think of going over Plinlimmon, and was informed that nothing had crossed all day, so I made up my mind to go round by way of Llanidloes, and a night I had of it! I was almost tired out, and benumbed with cold, which brought on a drowsiness I found it very hard to resist. If I had yielded to the feeling for an instant I should not have been telling these tales now. When I got about eight miles from Aberystwith I found myself becoming thoroughly exhausted, so I hired a car for the remainder of the journey, and fell fast asleep as soon as I got into it. On arriving at Aberystwith I was still sound asleep, and had to be carried to bed and a doctor sent for, who rubbed me for hours before he could get my blood into circulation again. I had then been exposed to that terrible weather for fifty hours. Next day I felt a good deal better and started back for Gloucester, but had great difficulty in getting over the mountain. Again I had the honour of receiving a letter from the Postmaster-General, complimenting me on my zeal and energy in getting the Mail over the mountain. Even when there was no snow, the wind on the top of Plinlimmon was often almost more than we could contend with. Once, indeed, it was so strong that it blew the coach completely over against a rock, but we soon got that right again, and always afterwards took the precaution of opening both the doors and tying them back, so that the wind might pass through the coach. Altogether I had good reason to remember Plinlimmon, and, after all I have undergone in that country in the way of floods and snow-storms, it is little wonder if I am troubled with rheumatism now.

In 1854 the Mail Coach from Gloucester to Aberystwith ceased running, and I was transferred to the London and Exeter Railway. I travelled upon that line, working the Mail Bag Apparatus and sorting and delivering the Mail bags, until the year 1861, when I was placed at Paddington Station. There I have been ever since, despatching and receiving Mail bags and superintending the Parcel Post work at the station since its commencement. It will be seen, therefore, that I have worked for eighteen years on Mail Coaches, seven years on the railway, and thirty years at Paddington Station.

I have often been asked if I had any encounters with highwaymen in my coaching days. Many people seem to have an idea that the stoppage of Mail Coaches by Dick Turpin and his followers was an event of frequent occurrence. All I can say is that in my experience of the road nothing of the kind ever happened to my coach except once, and then I was like to have done myself more injury than the highwaymen did. It was in the year 1836, when I was travelling on the Bristol and Portsmouth Mail. One night, between Bath and Warminster, two men jumped out of the hedge; one caught hold of the leaders, and the other the wheelers, and tried to stop the coach. My coachman immediately whipped up the horses and called out to me, saying “Look out! we are going to be robbed!” I took the blunderbuss out of the sword case (which was a box just in front of the guard’s seat); but, just as I did so, I saw the fellows making towards the hedge, and then lost sight of them altogether. To let them know that I was prepared I fired off into the hedge. I don’t know whether I hit anything; I heard no cries or groans; but I do know that the recoil of the blunderbuss nearly knocked me off my seat. I have had many hard knocks in my time, but that blunderbuss kicked like a mule. No doubt it was loaded to the muzzle, as was usual with those weapons.

Occasionally of late years I have been reminded of my old coaching days. A few years ago the Marquess of Worcester kindly invited me to go down with him to Brighton by coach. On the journey I was able to tell the Marquess that I knew the late Duke of Beaufort, who used very often to take the reins between Gloucester and Hereford when going down to one of his country seats in Monmouthshire. A splendid whip he was too. It was quite a treat to ride behind him, and every coachman and guard was pleased to see him, he was so affable and pleasant to all.

One of the Wards—I think it was Harry—used to drive me on the “Quicksilver” Exeter Mail, on which I acted as guard for a short period.

I don’t know that I notice very much change in the manners and habits of people from what they were in my younger days. As regards my Post Office work, however, the change has been most wonderful, and at Christmas time the Mails despatched by me from Paddington to places on the Great Western Line have grown to be a hundredfold of the quantity we used to carry by coach.

M. J. Nobbs