Postmen: We bind the nation together

[TrueBlueTerrier]

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Everyone loves the postie and for many they are an essential community lifeline. How would we survive without them, asks Roy Mayall — the pseudonymous author of a new book.

He is probably Britain’s best-known postman and set to achieve greater celebrity. But there is a certain cloak-and-dagger element to our meeting. He agrees to let me come to his home town but all I can tell you is that it is somewhere in the South of England. He is fiftysomething, but won’t be more specific. He has been doing his round for “a number of years”.

He signs e-mails with his pseudonym and asks me to use it when we talk in the pub, which I cannot identify. Only when we have been chatting for more than an hour does he tentatively reveal his real name, on the strict understanding that I don’t pass it on.

Roy Mayall (geddit?) first attracted attention earlier this autumn when he wrote a diary in the London Review of Books, giving a postman’s-eye view of the looming strikes. The column, with its scathing opinions of Royal Mail managers and their modernisation drive, was picked up by newspapers. Now he has written a book; a hymn to the postie and his place in national life, but also a lament for the passing of the glory days of the job and a pessimistic sketch of his fears for the future of the Royal Mail. It is his criticism of management that has made it necessary, he says, for him to retain his anonymity.

Mayall is not your typical postman. A university graduate, he had some success in an intellectual job before several years ago he found himself unemployed. “I reached a hiatus in my life, a bit of a crash. I was very depressed, had no money coming in, nothing happening. Basically I applied for a job at the Royal Mail, got it and I have to say it kind of saved my life. I was working with people again, very physical activity. It was all really good. I took to it. It’s a great job. A great bunch of people down the office, very funny people.”

He sees the role of postman as “the thread that binds the nation together. You are moving from door to door, in a sense holding the fabric of the nation together. We are so important. We are loved as well. People call me ‘postie’.”

His book, written in the form of a letter, is called Dear Granny Smith, after the affectionate nickname postmen have for the typical old lady whom they meet on their rounds. He says that old-school postmen see the Royal Mail as a service rather than a business and that they take pride in talking to people about their lives and worries on their rounds and making sure they are OK. He says that the days when they could run an errand for a customer have gone, but he has called ambulances for people who he has found incapacitated at their homes.

Granny Smith is everyone, he writes, but “particularly every old lady who is alone and vulnerable, and for whom the mail service is a lifeline. I’m maybe the only person in the whole of the world who thinks about that old lady every day, even if it’s only for long enough to read her name on an envelope and then post it.”

He tells me of a man whose wife recently died and how it upset him that mail kept arriving addressed to her. Mayall was able to remove the letters while sorting the mail for his round. “That’s knowing your customers, knowing the streets, knowing your round. To me that’s the most important part of what it is to be a postie.”

Postmen keep an eye on people’s houses when they are away and are vital to the mail being secure. If the same person delivers every day, he argues, it is easier to catch them if they are stealing and so they are less likely to do it.

He describes the job as a satisfying “memory waltz”. Postmen begin their day sorting the mail. This is a feat of memory, for postmen need to know which round a road is in. Then, when putting the mail for their own round in sequence, they must know in which order the roads come and which part of the route is delivered in what order. “Nobody knows a town or region or an area better than a postie. I know every street in this town and have probably delivered to every street.”

The book contains a lovely lyrical passage in which he takes the reader back to when he first became a postman and he made deliveries in the fresh, earlymorning. “It’s like the whole Earth has grown bigger, like it has taken in a breath and expanded itself, is stretching itself to take off the night.” In those days your postage stamp didn’t just pay to get a letter from here to there but for “a little spark of Eden”.

The deliveries are made later now and there is less time to stop and chat. The recent strikes were called off and the union and management are talking. But the postmen remain anxious about plans for modernisation, including new sorting and delivery technology, some of which they think will not work.

Mayall says that at the heart of their concerns is that there will be a emphasis on casual workers and that new delivery systems will mean postmen will no longer have a specific round. “Take that away and we are just carriers. The fear everybody has is that we are going to be deprived of our rounds and that the specific relationship you have with your customers is going to be taken away.”

He says that he has a difference of opinion with his union over the mass of advertising “junk mail” that drops on to our doormats. It is profitable for the company but he regards it as rubbish that customers hate and chuck in the bin.

“Nobody wants it. These days everything has to make a profit but you ask yourself why on earth does everything have to make a profit. As long as the Royal Mail covers its costs isn’t that enough?”

He contends that the Royal Mail is being run down so that it can be sold off on the cheap and then private owners can benefit when it starts running well. He says that this is a view shared by colleagues. Some may regard them as being rather too conspiracy minded, especially as Mayall is unclear how this would work.

Corporate clients are regarded by his managers, he says, as more important to the business than individual customers. He claims that at one meeting someone piped up: “What about Granny Smith?” To which a manager said: “Granny Smith isn’t important any more.”

For all his medium-term concerns, however, he is looking forward to the short-term future of his job. “Christmas is our great time as posties and the Royal Mail. Its achievement at Christmas is phenomenal. There’s real pride, real camaraderie. It’s the time where we bond the nation. Christmas cards are basically about remembering each other and we are the process by which that is done. You are delivering Christmas good cheer and you are maintaining people’s relationships. It’s the glue that binds the nation. It’s a big thing, it really is.”

He particularly enjoys doing special-package deliveries. “You load up the bike and you are wearing red so it’s just like being Father Christmas. It’s a great feeling, it really is.”

Perhaps this year some of the parcels he delivers will contain his short, pocket-sized book, written in just two weeks.

The postmen he works with know about his pseudonymous existence. Indeed the initial diary was a collaborative effort and parts of the book, although told in the first person, concern the experiences of other postmen. But he has not told the majority of his colleagues about the book and certainly not the management. What if his identity should get out?

“I don’t know, we’ll have to see. It’s going to be a bit strange but quite interesting.”

Elegy from a postie...

We used to have time. Not just time for ourselves: time for other people too. We call you “Granny Smith” and that nickname stems from the old days, because we were always there for Granny Smith. We had an idea of service. And if an old lady was worried about something, we’d listen.

Sometimes we’d pick up the paper on the way to our round and we’d drop it off for her, or we’d run errands for her if she was in need. We’d listen to her woes and her troubles and her joys and about what her grandchildren were up to and she’d offer us tea, and sometimes we’d accept it.

We were a lifeline for Granny Smith: someone she knew would be arriving that day. And you could set your watch by the postie then. Always on the same road at the same time. Always the same postie, the same familiar face, a part of the family almost. And sometimes she’d know us by name, or if not, by our nickname, which is the name everyone calls us, and which we have always borne with pride. “Postie”.

So that’s what you can call me now.

“Postie”. Everyone else does.

You see, this is what the new management at the Royal Mail don’t get. They think we’re a business in the market place, here to make money. And I have no objection to money or to making it. But being a postie is so much more than this, so much more than Gordon Brown or Peter Mandelson or Adam Crozier, or any of the other penny- pinching penpushers in offices and behind desks, with their figures and their targets and their profit and loss accounts, can ever imagine. What they don’t know is that we are a part of the very fabric of our national life, we are the thread that binds the nation together, weaving our way from door to door, not just bringing the news, but bringing stability and service, confidentiality, comfort, a familiar face, and time to listen when required.

Time, Peter Mandelson. Time. That’s what you are stealing. “Time is Money” you say, but I say “Time is Service”. Time is listening. Time is being there, on time, so my customers know. Time is spending time on the things that matter, on the brief exchange of words that is the breath of life itself, sharing the air, shooting the breeze, enjoying the moment, taking a little time, before I pass on up the road and on my way.

Granny Smith is everyone. Everyone is vulnerable in the end. Everyone is someone’s mother or father or sister or brother or uncle or cousin. Everyone needs someone. But if you are alone and vulnerable, if your family has gone, or moved away, who do you have left?

Just the postie. The postie bringing the mail. You see, I know my customers and they know me and in the old days I had a little time for them too. I still do. I make time, though there’s no time for just shooting the breeze any more. But if someone is in need, I will do whatever I can to help. It’s only human.

An extract from Dear Granny Smith:A Letter from Your Postman by Roy Mayall, published by Short Books, £4.99

Please, Mr Postman

Il Postino

Mario was only an Italian postman, but with the help of an exiled Chilean poet, he wooed the girl of his dreams, and won the hearts of film fans.

Kevin Costner

The Postman: It’s 2013 and the world as we know it has ended. Armed gangs roam the streets, hoarding food. Only one man can save us: Costner ... through the civilising power of the post office.

The Singing Postman

Norfolk’s answer to Bob Dylan, postman Allan Smethurst found fame in 1966 with Hev Yew Gotta Loight, Boy?

Alan Johnson

As a school-leaver of 18, the Home Secretary went from Tesco shelf stacker to delivering the post. And 30 years later, he pushed the Postal Services Act 2000 through Parliament

Postman Pat

After 27 years delivering the post, one question remains: was he called “Pat” because it rhymed with “black and white cat”, or did he get a cat because it went with Pat?

[Thorby Bislam]

He tells me of a man whose wife recently died and how it upset him that mail kept arriving addressed to her. Mayall was able to remove the letters while sorting the mail for his round. “That’s knowing your customers, knowing the streets, knowing your round. To me that’s the most important part of what it is to be a postie.”

See that ? That's why Roy is so anxious to preserve his anonymity. That's a sacking offence, that is.

[clashcityrocker]

He tells me of a man whose wife recently died and how it upset him that mail kept arriving addressed to her. Mayall was able to remove the letters while sorting the mail for his round. “That’s knowing your customers, knowing the streets, knowing your round. To me that’s the most important part of what it is to be a postie.”

See that ? That's why Roy is so anxious to preserve his anonymity. That's a sacking offence, that is.

Is it ? Why ? The woman has died and the widower doesn't want some useless shoe catalogue addressed to his wife.So you put a red sticker on, tick the "gone away" box and RTS.I do. (or I used to if you are right and this is a sackable offence).
Is my memory going or years ago, wasn't there a "deceased" option for undeliverables?

[BELIAL]

Forget Consignia ,should've been Imodium

[axeman]

And like roy mayall iv'e done the same it's a kind gesture for somebody who's life has been beset by a tragedy and it's a small little thing to do isn't it

[Broxi51]

It is a sackable offence if you were to d oit off your own back but if the poor gentleman who has lost his wife requests this, then it is ok. Obviously if you are talking to him and he starts to say how distressing it is to get mail for his late wife then you can suggest that if he doesnt want it then we can return it to sender. Thats what I do. Not sackable

[Roy Mayall]

No, not sackable if you are answering a customer's request. See, they even have us questioning our own instincts and wondering whether it's right to do an old gentleman a favour or not. Anyway, that's not the reason why I want to remain anonymous. I want to remain anonymous so I can go on doing my job without interference. By "job" I mean both jobs, as a writer, and as a postie.

[dropbag_clone]

Roy Mayall"
No, not sackable if you are answering a customer's request. See, they even have us questioning our own instincts and wondering whether it's right to do an old gentleman a favour or not. Anyway, that's not the reason why I want to remain anonymous. I want to remain anonymous so I can go on doing my job without interference. By "job" I mean both jobs, as a writer, and as a postie.

Unfortunately that’s the way its going...it won’t be until the Royal Mail is utterly changed (for the worse) that will know the value of what we had.

Keep the good work up, heard you on Radio 4 today, you came over much better than the 'consultant'. God how I hate that word ‘modernisation’, thrown into every conversation to hide the reality of job cuts, poor service, lousy part time conditions, and a ruthlessness to squeeze every penny out of what our postal service used to be.

[bexhil palace]

I have an old gentleman on my walk,a really nice guy.
Sadly since the death of his wife he lives alone in a large house.
He has no children to visit him,and take an interest in his life.
Today he told me that i was the only person he gets to speak to for most of the day.
What a sad inditement on our selfish, greedy society.
I regard part of my job as being an ear for people like him ,i enjoy our chats and his stories of the war.
Whatever these fools at RM have in store for us, i will always find time to listen.
I fear RM have no interest in Grannie Smith, but i do.

[Pinky 1]

I have an old gentleman on my walk,a really nice guy.
Sadly since the death of his wife he lives alone in a large house.
He has no children to visit him,and take an interest in his life.
Today he told me that i was the only person he gets to speak to for most of the day.
What a sad inditement on our selfish, greedy society.
I regard part of my job as being an ear for people like him ,i enjoy our chats and his stories of the war.
Whatever these fools at RM have in store for us, i will always find time to listen.
I fear RM have no interest in Grannie Smith, but i do.

Nice one mate .....

[clashcityrocker]

I have an old gentleman on my walk,a really nice guy.
Sadly since the death of his wife he lives alone in a large house.
He has no children to visit him,and take an interest in his life.
Today he told me that i was the only person he gets to speak to for most of the day.
What a sad inditement on our selfish, greedy society.
I regard part of my job as being an ear for people like him ,i enjoy our chats and his stories of the war.
Whatever these fools at RM have in store for us, i will always find time to listen.
I fear RM have no interest in Grannie Smith, but i do.

A few years ago when they introduced the SDD we had managers following us to make sure we were not swinging the lead.One of my colleagues was challenged for stopping and talking to one of his elderly and lonely customers.My colleague explained that he always took a few minutes to talk to him and was told in future he should not because "You are not his social worker."