Being the local postie demands a talent for solving cryptic puzzles if letters and parcels are to have the remotest chance of delivery.
For example, my neighbours, the Thirds, live at Number Four. My cottage is Number Three, yet it is the second cottage in our row. And Jeanette and Gordon live at Number Two, even though they are the first cottage, because Number One and Number Two were knocked together to make One. Or rather, one. However, the original front door of Number One remains in situ so if I give directions to visitors that I am the second cottage, they need to know that I’m the third front door, so I find it easier to tell people that I am the third cottage. If however, they are confused (I can’t think why) and knock on the door of the third cottage proper, they will indeed by greeted by the Thirds, who as I mentioned before, live at Number Four.
“Am I at the third cottage?”
“Aye.”
“Um …. Is Sarah in?”
“Nae. There’s nane of that name here.”
“Oh, but I was told the third cottage.”
“Aye, this is the third’s cottage.”
“Um, so do you know where I might find Sarah?”
“Ye could try the third cottage.”
To add a little more complexity, our postal addresses are just ‘The Cottage’ with no number appended. Nor are there brass numberplates on the doors. It’s obviously a given that the regular postie knows the names of every local resident so clues such as this won’t be needed.
All of which is fine until there’s a relief postie and then – as you can imagine – the mail ends up any which way and a lot of letter, package and newspaper swapping (the postman doubles as paper delivery boy) takes place amongst the neighbours.
Under these circumstances to actually get a postal delivery is a miracle. More often than not Jeanette gets a note in her letterbox (at Number Two) to advise that a parcel is in her shed. Or with The Thirds at Number Four. This recourse is no doubt after the poor relief postie has stood staring up at the cottages for some time, counting the front doors, and getting a scrambled brain trying to decide where to leave the parcel.
It’s not just for mail delivery that our local postie, Roy, is relied upon. There are other little jobs that he might be called upon to assist with, as my friend Dawn can attest.
I asked her how she had been coping since she broke her shoulder at the beginning of the year. Well into her eighties, it can’t have been easy, especially as she lives in quite an isolated spot.
I knew that she had recently started to drive her car again, much to the horror of her friends who believe that steering with only one arm is a tad ambitious around narrow country lanes.
Dawn agrees. But she needs her independence and more importantly she needs to get to Tescos which is only a 30 minute drive away, mostly in a straight line, and so far there have been no incidents, so really, she’s just fine thank you.
“But the thing I have the most difficulty with is putting in my earrings,” she says, demonstrating how she can’t quite lift her arm high enough.
“Well, perhaps you could go without earrings, just until your shoulder is mended?” I suggest.
Dawn looks at me, horrified.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that!”
Standards must be maintained and Dawn is always immaculately dressed, ever prepared for an unexpected visitor. But help is never far away in this community.
“When I saw Roy coming up with the post, I called out to him, ‘Roy, could you come in and help me for a minute’.
“Of course, Roy you know is so kind, and he came in and I explained my dilemma and I knew he’d be able to help because he has a wife and two daughters so he’d be used to this sort of thing.
“I sat down in my armchair and he knelt down in front of me. I must admit I was a bit worried about whether he would know how to put in an earring, but he did it perfectly!
“He gave me my post, and then off he went. Marvellous!” she chuckles merrily, another satisfied customer of Royal Mail.
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