The Post Office and Its Story. Edward Bennett
churches, bridges, gates, and clumps of trees. There is a tale told of a white horse which was seen so regularly every day in a field beside the railway that the animal became a mark for the official working the apparatus. One day the horse died, and there were then several bag failures at the particular station.
Photos by
Herbert Lazenby.
The Travelling Post Office.
(1) The official placing the suspended pouch in position to be taken up by the passing train.
(2) The pouch suspended and the net open to receive the pouch from the approaching train.
(3) The pouch has been received into the travelling post office by means of the net attached to it, while the one received from the train is seen in the wayside net.
The work of the officer in charge has to be done in less than twenty seconds, when the train is going fifty or sixty miles an hour; in this time he has to lower two pouches, extend the net, and raise it again after the receipt of the pouch.
The roadside receiving apparatus is made up of a net of stout manilla rope attached to a framing which consists of a fixed wooden upright and a hinged iron frame. Both stand up some four feet above the rail level, and when in position are kept apart by a cross-bar. To this bar the angle end of a double piece of rope is fastened by means of straps, and the other ends of the rope are attached, one to the top of the fixed wooden framing and one to the top of the iron frame, forming a V. This is struck by the drop strap of the pouch suspended from the delivery arm of the carriage, and the pouch itself is released, not the net. The weight of a single pouch, including the bags which it protects, must not exceed 50 lbs. when despatched from a roadside standard, or 60 lbs. when despatched from a carriage arm. The man stationed at the roadside apparatus has to be as alert and careful as the man on the train, and considering the delicate nature of the work it is wonderful how few misses or accidents occur. Parcels are, of course, never exchanged in this way.
The blow sustained by the pouch containing the mail bags at the moment of delivery when the train is travelling at high speed is exceedingly severe, and sometimes causes danger to postal packets of a fragile nature. This explains the following complaint from a member of the public: “I am sorry to return the bracelet to be repaired. It came this morning with the box smashed, the bracelet bent, and one of the cairngorms forced out. Among the modern improvements of the Post Office appears to be the introduction of sledgehammers to stamp with.” But this sort of thing seldom happens. Occasionally, however, the pouches miss the nets and are sent bounding over hedges. Bags have been found at the end of a journey hanging on to a buffer or on the carriage roof. On one occasion, at least, the apparatus has been the means of perhaps saving life. A lamplighter was carried away on the roof of a compartment, and after he had travelled twenty miles in this uncomfortable fashion it occurred to him to knock on the roof-light of the Travelling Post Office. The net was at once lowered, and the man obtained access to the interior of the carriage.
One of the most curious accidents recorded was that which happened to an engine driver who climbed out on to his foot-plate on a dark night to oil his engine. He had forgotten he was near an apparatus station, and was struck violently against the net. He was in a second hurled into it, and the mail bag from his own train came banging in on top of him. He was badly hurt, while the man at the apparatus station must have received a severe mental shock at the delivery of a male which he had not expected that night.
The Travelling Post Office.
The pouch which has been discharged from the wayside standard into the net attached to the train.
The Travelling Post Office.
The apparatus on the exterior of a mail carriage. Two pouches are extended for despatch and the net lowered into position for the receipt of incoming pouches.
The history of the Travelling Post Office is not without its stories of more serious disasters. One of the most awful railway accidents which have happened in this country was the collision of the Irish mail train with some runaway waggons at Abergele on the 20th August 1868. There were barrels of petroleum on the waggons, and these became ignited, setting fire to the train. Among the burning carriages was the Travelling Post Office, and the two officers working in it were seriously injured. The conduct of Woodroffe, one of the two, whose injuries were not so severe as those of his colleague, was in accordance with the best traditions of the postal service. Woodroffe, though badly hurt, carried his brother officer, who was insensible from the collision, to the side of the railway line, and after laying him there proceeded himself to save the mails so far as it was possible.
Another railway tragedy which will long be remembered in the postal service was that which took place outside Shrewsbury Station on the 15th October 1907. This was the severest accident that has occurred in the whole history of the Travelling Post Office. No less than three Post Office men were killed while on duty, and others were injured.
It will be perhaps interesting at this stage to trace the travels of a letter to the furthest point in the British Isles. On this route we can bring out clearly the fact that in many parts of Great Britain and Ireland the Post Office, in spite of mail trains and ingenious mechanical contrivances, is still dependent on quite primitive means for conducting its business. Moreover, directly we get away from the main lines of traffic, considerations of weather still affect postal operations almost as much as they used to do in the old coaching days. Let us address a letter to the Muckle Flugga Lighthouse, which is situated to the north of the island of Unst in Shetland. Let us post the letter at King Edward's Building on a Sunday night at 6 P.M., and given favourable conditions of weather it will be delivered at the Muckle Flugga Lighthouse on Thursday morning. The letter is sorted into the Scottish division, is subsorted into a pigeon hole, and afterwards into a bundle labelled “Aberdeen forward.” The bundle is dropped into a bag inscribed with the words “London to Aberdeen,” and one of the familiar red vans conveys the bag to the London terminus. On Sunday nights this would be Euston. The bag is handed over to the sorters in charge of the Travelling Post Office, on which there is a mail carriage which runs direct to Aberdeen. Aberdeen is reached at 7.35 on Monday morning. So far the process of the letter has been simple and rapid.
The bag containing the letters is conveyed to the Aberdeen Post Office, where it is opened, and the letters are again subsorted. The letter for Muckle Flugga is placed in a pigeon hole labelled “Lerwick,” and a sorter then checks all the postal packets very carefully, because, in consequence of the remoteness of the islands, serious delay would happen if any were mis-sent. Then they are tied in separate bundles and are placed in a strong waterproof sack labelled “Lerwick.” The Monday steamer goes to Scalloway on the west side of Shetland, other steamers during the week go to Lerwick via Orkney, the steamer on Thursdays from Aberdeen sailing to Lerwick direct. But our letter is going to Scalloway, and it can arrive there about 2 P.M. on the Tuesday. The mails are then placed on a mail cart for conveyance to Lerwick on the east side of the island, six miles distant. At Lerwick the letter is again subsorted, and placed in another bag labelled “Lerwick to Haroldswick.” This place is on the island of Unst. The bag is conveyed by mail car leaving Lerwick at 9.15 P.M. on Tuesday, and this stage means a long drive of many miles north, with a break of a few hours at Voe. Mossbank, which is on Yell Sound, the dangerous channel which separates the island of Yell from the Shetland mainland, is reached at 7.30 A.M. on Wednesday. The bag for Haroldswick is here placed in a ferry-boat which starts at 8 A.M. and is due to reach the other side in an hour, the distance being three miles. The tide in Yell Sound has a speed of nine miles an hour, and in a gale of wind is the worst crossing in the British Isles. Ulsta is the landing-place on the other side, and a mail car takes the letter for the lighthouse five and a half miles to Burravoe, then another car takes it to Cullivoe, twenty miles further on, and the letter is opposite the island of Unst at 3 P.M. on Wednesday. Here is another ferry between