The Royal Mail can trace its history back to 1516, when Henry VIII established a "Master of the Posts", a post which eventually evolved into the office of the Postmaster General.
The Royal Mail service was first made available to the public by Charles I on 31 July 1635, with postage being paid by the recipient. The monopoly was farmed out to Thomas Witherings.
In the 1640s Parliament removed the monopoly from Witherings and during the Civil War and First Commonwealth the parliamentary postal service was run at great profit for himself by Edmund Prideaux (a prominent parliamentarian and lawyer who rose to be attorney-general).[13] To keep his monopoly in those troubled times Prideaux improved efficiency and used both legal impediments and illegal methods.[13][14]
In 1653 Parliament set aside all previous grants for postal services, and contracts were let for the inland and foreign mails to John Manley.[13] Manley was given a monopoly on the postal service, which was effectively enforced by Protector Oliver Cromwell's government, and thanks to the improvements necessitated by the war Manley ran a much improved Post Office service. In July 1655 the Post Office was put under the direct government control of John Thurloe, a Secretary of State, and best known to history as Cromwell's spymaster general. Previous English governments had tried to prevent conspirators communicating, Thurloe preferred to deliver their post having surreptitiously read it. As the Protectorate claimed to govern all of Great Britain and Ireland under one unified government, on 9 June 1657 the Second Protectorate Parliament (which included Scottish and Irish MPs) passed the "Act for settling the Postage in England, Scotland and Ireland" that created one monopoly Post Office for the whole territory of the Commonwealth.[14][15]
Listening to a programme on Radio 4 about the Royal Mail, we can see that any institution takes many many years to work at all well.At first the postage was paid by recipient. Sometimes therefore a postman would bring a letter from a son at war for example and the recipient, the mother often would see the handwriting and know her son was still alive and refuse the letter because of the huge charge. The service was for spying on people since most of the subterfuges were carried on by letter, witness the incriminating letters of poor Mary Queen of Scots. We hear stories of Postmen being found in ditches by man's best friend, the dog, having drunk rather too much beer on the way. This was when the hapless Postman or boy delivered letters on horseback. Then the mail stagecoaches came in, the 'stages' originally used to transport theatrical scenery until an inventive mind saw a way of reforming postage and improving things. People and mail were carried on these high speed mail coaches.
Letters came into their own during war time when a letter from home for a soldier in the trenches of Flanders field would put a glow into their weary hearts. And today, in this rural area the Postmen who deliver to people's houses individually can sometimes be a real lifeline. Sometimes Postmen have found people dead inside their houses.
Anyway I asked Clive to wait while I jumped out of his car and assailed the hapless Robert and asked if he had my parcel. And there it sat in the back of the van in all its undisguised tennis raquet shape. I signed for it and some mail contained inside by registered post. Then jumped back into Clive's blue car. We drove to Buryan. | rushed into the shop to get the last copy of the Guardian. Thankfully they still had some. For some reason Guardian's often seem to run out. Saw a few locals, had a few words. Tristan's Dad was in there looking very confused while he looked for bananas to feed his grandchildren. Probably never looked after children before. He didn't recognize me even though I'd met him loads of times last year, in particular at the Penberth Pancake Day Party at Favel and Helen's spare holiday let cottage, well its more of a house than a cottage. Most people wouldn't accept the limitations of a real cottage. It's all done to look chintzy in the ads I suppose. Cottage sounding so much more rural than simply house.
So picked up a bag of kindling that I realize is not too heavy to carry and with my rucksack full I trundle back down to Crean Bottoms. Cars rush by manically fast or am I going so slow? They whip past me so that I can actually feel the force of the wind as they flash past. Cars scare me, they have far too much power than we actually need and would cost far less if they were slower and practical. A police van goes past. I see the copper inside eyeing me. Am I doing something wrong?
Minutes later, believe this, the same Police van returns and this absolutely gorgeous young chap, not too young though, with very firm well muscled slightly hairy arms, I just happen to notice offers me a lift as he felt guilty seeing me plod plodding along!! He said I looked like I was in pain, grimacing. I said 'at my age I always look like I'm grimacing.' Then said I was probably reacting to the speeding maniacal cars whose drivers probably had just done some shopping in Penzance and were returning home for a cuppa, so of course they had to travel at breakneck speed. Had a lovely chat with the Policeman. I said a nice thing about Policemen on facebook yesterday. I hate the constant slagging off of these guys. I don't know what the New York cops are like and I read dreadful stories about what's going on in the 'Occupy' movement but none about decent cops. Lets hear it for Public Servants and in my case a real knight of the road. Two knights of the road in one day. If that isn't pure Gemini/Sagitarrius eclipse magic I don't know what is. So I feel vindicated and not so awful for swearing at my neighbour yesteday and not so awful that my brothers are so up their arses that they won't speak to anyone in the family. Here's to the kindness of strangers.
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