The Last Post by Kate Mitchell
Published 29 December 2011 as part of the Writing East Midlands and Lincolnshire Echo Short Story Competition
Monday 5th December
I was glad to get back to work after the weekend, although as always on a Monday, I felt a little bit guilty, leaving Winston all alone. There he sat, beside his litter tray, gazing sadly at me as I left. He was father’s cat until the poor soul forgot where he lived and wandered onto the railway line. Father, that is, not Winston. That was when we had to put him in a care home. I mean father, of course. Poor Winston has never forgotten being abandoned.
There was a brisk wintry breeze, quite in keeping with the time of year. I enjoy autumn but it gets a little nippy and I feel it in my joints. I was glad of my new regulation fleece jacket – it’s very smart and warm. I live just around the corner from the Sorting Office, so it takes barely half an hour to pick up my post bag and get back home. This morning, as I came through the gate, Mrs Pettifer tapped on her window and beckoned me in. She wanted me to put her bin out for collection tomorrow, which of course I will, later. She doesn’t need to ask but it is nice not to be taken for granted. She does like to chat though, asking me about Winston, and how father was, and so it was a while before I got into my own flat, and unpacked my bag.
There were just two A4 envelopes, seventeen A5 envelopes, and 208 ordinary white envelopes. I think there were some early Christmas cards amongst them. Oh, and there were two of those padded jobs, which now count as packets of course. I used to get a lot of A4 envelopes with just one or two sheets of paper inside. It’s hard to keep them straight. More often than not the corners get bent as I push them through the letter box; those letter boxes with the little draught excluder brushes make it particularly difficult. Nowadays, people mostly use A5 envelopes. They fold the contents so it’s bulkier. It saves costs and it’s easier to handle.
I was so pleased when they introduced the new postal rates a couple of years ago. It’s only fair, to price for size as well as weight, even though it has doubled the time it takes me to check the mail. I asked Mr Dickson, my supervisor, if I could have one of those red, plastic sizing templates such as they use in the office. He frowned and said: ‘Why do you need one?’ ‘For my personal use,’ I said. He gave me an odd look. ‘Homework,’ I said. He laughed and gave me one. No doubt he’s pleased to know someone in his team takes the job seriously.
So it was an exceptionally heavy mail this morning, and all the checking along with Mrs Pettifer wanting to talk, put me behind. It was nearly eight o’clock before I went out to deliver the post.
Tuesday, 6th December
There were no A4 envelopes at all today. I wonder whether A4 will become as rare as foolscap. I mean, you don’t see much foolscap around these days, do you? There were fourteen A5 envelopes – three of them for number eighteen, with typed address labels and no sender’s details. Who do you think is sending so many official letters to them? Some of them had windows but I was unable to see much through them.
I received my own parcel today. Not in my real name of course. I don’t like my colleagues at the Sorting Office to know my business. It was a delivery of health supplements from Vitco. I like to stock up for winter; as I said, the cold weather plays havoc with my joints. I used to swear by cod liver oil. Then, I found an article about glucosamine in the Sunday supplement. This is my first order. I kept thirty back for myself and divided the remainder into eight equal portions and popped them into eight padded envelopes. Across the top I wrote: ‘Free Sample’. I put them in the front of my post bag. If I see any poor old soul on my route who seems to be suffering with their joints, I shall pop them through their letter box.
Mrs Bishop gave me a cheery wave as I went by. I thought she was a little peaky last week. So when I was in Boots, I found a packet of Mega Mineral Complex, on offer, and popped it through her letter box. I packaged it well because she has a little terrier who attacks the post and tears it to pieces before it has even landed on the mat. I marked it as a sample, of course. She certainly looked a lot better today.
I finished my deliveries in double quick time and popped into Thorpe’s Hardware on my way home. I had seen an electronic scale in the window. Guaranteed 99.9% accurate. So I decided to splash out, a sort of Christmas present to myself.
I got home to find the dustbins all awry on the pavement. I say ‘dustbin’ though people don’t seem to have dust nowadays. Perhaps we should find another name for them. I worry about how the old folk get along the pavement on a Tuesday, with bins all over the show. They used to put them back after they’d emptied them, but that was before privatization. It’s just the same in the Post Office these days – all targets and cost effectiveness and never mind the customer. Anyway, there was litter all over the pavement – whether it was dropped by the bin men, or by that awful Burton family who have such a messy garden, I can’t say – so I tidied up and it all looks spick and span again. Mrs Pettifer knocked on her window and raised a thumb, so obviously she thought so too.
Wednesday 7th December
There were several packages for 15, Arkwright Terrace today. Getting their Christmas shopping organized, no doubt. This internet shopping business has changed the face of the postal service. It was a worry, when that web thing first started up; we all thought the post office would go out of business. But we’ve had something of a comeback with this internet shopping. You should see the size and shape of some of the parcels we get, though. And the state of them. It’s a wonder they manage to find a space to put the stamps, sometimes. There’s no allowance made for us carrying these bulky parcels around. Mr Dickson offered me a bicycle but I told him: ‘I suffer from vertigo’. Some of the older posties have been issued with little trolleys. It keeps the parcels and letters nice and flat. Our shop steward says these innovations are just to make us do more for the same wages. Mind you, there’s plenty of competition, as Mr Dickson says when he gives us a pep talk. ‘There are courier services out there,’ he said only last week. ‘The customer has the choice and they won’t choose us if we’re inefficient’. The shop steward had something to say about that point of view, but as Mr Dickson said, the union won’t give me a job if the Post Office goes out of business, will it? We have to do our best. I’ll ask Mr Dickson how I can apply for a trolley of my own.
The new electronic scales work very well. Today I found two underpaid letters that hadn’t been noticed at the Sorting Office. They can be very slipshod in that department. I don’t collect the money from the customers. I just write it on the envelope so they know it’s underpaid. Then they can tell the sender to get it right next time.
This afternoon I visited father. He’s got a new friend. An elderly lady who lives on his corridor. They were having tea together when I arrived. I tried to tell him about my research into vitamin supplements that might benefit his prostate, but he was not at all attentive to me, having eyes only for his new lady friend. He barely noticed when I left. I’m afraid he may be lining up yet another stepmother for me. I thought we were past all that but he certainly has a twinkle in his eye. She was even wearing lipstick. At her age.
I got home to find Winston standing on the draining board looking out of the window, making those little squeaks that usually mean he’s seen a bird that he’d quite like to play with. Sure enough there was a robin sitting on the washing line. I don’t like Winston to get too excited before his tea, so I tapped on the window and shooed the little bird away. Then I noticed one of those little Burton scamps at their window, which overlooks my kitchen. He was jumping up and down, pointing at me and laughing. I drew the blind and switched on the radio.
Thursday 8th December.
I can hardly believe the first week of December is already over. There were 147 Christmas cards in my bag this morning – you can always tell by the envelopes – so I had to get my special notebook out. I keep a record of who’s getting what so that I can send cards to those who don’t get any. I like to make sure everyone on my round gets at least one card. I called into the newsagent to buy a pack. The lady at the till said: ‘Got a big family have you, duck?’ She says this every year. The week before Christmas, I’ll be up all night writing them out. Then I shall have to walk all over town to post them in different locations on different days. I must say I get a certain satisfaction from noting how long it takes the Sorting Office to process these envelopes before they land in my post bag, ready for delivery.
They don’t know it’s from me, of course. I sign it all squiggly and leave it to their imagination. Mostly it’s old folk and they probably think it’s a friend from the old times that they’ve forgotten. I miss off the Asian names in case they’re not Christians. I wouldn’t want to offend anyone.
A man was just getting into his car as I delivered his mail. He called out: ‘Here comes the Snail Mail’ and laughed. The cheek of it. I told him that our District met all our delivery time targets last year. He laughed again, which sounded more like a snort.
Mrs Pettifer was waiting for me. She tapped on her window and waved in a very agitated manner, so I went in to see what was the matter. She said we have a Peeping Tom. Seemingly there was a car parked across the street all day, with two men watching our block. She said one went around the back and peered over the fence, and then the other went off and got chips. I looked out of the window and sure enough there was a chip wrapper blowing around the street so I popped out to pick it up.
Friday 9th December
I unpacked the post onto the kitchen table ready for weighing and sorting, and was just reaching for the electronic scales when the doorbell rang, accompanied by very loud knocking. My first thought was to get to the door quickly. I don’t want my neighbours thinking I’m anti-social, having visitors before 7am. In my rush to the door, I trod on Winston’s tail. He shrieked and jumped onto the table, scattering packets and envelopes everywhere. I looked at the front door and then back at the mess and I didn’t know what to do first. Winston’s hair on his spine was standing on end. Suddenly the door burst open and three police officers ran down the hallway. One pushed me against the wall. Another reached for electronic scales – he got a nasty scratch from Winston’s paw for his trouble. The other opened all my drawers and emptied the contents onto the floor. It was such a mess. He found the packet of MCP powder which I planned to give to my father for Christmas. It is recommended for prostate problems.
Well, in no time at all, they had bundled me into a police car. I was too shocked to say anything even when they put me in a little room and started firing questions at me, just like you see on the television. ‘We all know,’ one said; ‘That only drug dealers use that kind of electronic scales. And those zip-lock bags.’ Well, I never. I found my voice then and I told him, there’s nothing like that going on in my street. It’s one of the best postcodes in the City.
When everyone calmed down, I learned that the police think I’ve been dealing drugs, and using my post bag to move them around. They said they’ve been watching the house, and even followed me for several days. They called the Sorting Office so Mr Dickson could verify that I was an employee. Then they sent me home and said they’d be in touch. They kept all my vitamin samples. They took my little book with all the names and addresses so I can’t send Christmas cards this year. They even kept my scales. But I still have the sizing template. Mr Dickson came and took the letters away. He said someone else will deliver them. He said he’ll be in touch.
Saturday, 10th December
Winston is purring and rubbing against my ankles. He is very pleased to have me at home all day. I found some envelopes marked ‘addressee unknown’ that I have been keeping under the carpet for a rainy day. I shall put them in order. Then I might have time to write some letters of my own for a change. There are a few things that concern me. There’s that matter of the binmen being so careless. I could write to the council about that. I shall also tell them about the council gardeners who failed to give the communal lawn its last cut before winter, so it’ll be tired and limp by spring and take half the summer to recover. Then I shall start a diary to record the behaviour of those ragamuffins, the Burtons. I can see them now, throwing sweet wrappers over the garden wall. I think the council will be very interested in that.
