Poste Restante

So there I was, sewing, and watching Robert Powell in "The 39 Steps" last week, and he went into Strathallan Post Office to pick up a letter which was "Poste Restante"

PR means "remaining post" - if you were travelling, and did not have a fixed address, you could arrange for your post to be delivered to a designated Post Office, and then collect it on your arrival in that place. It remained there till you went in and asked for it

Do they still have PR? I wondered. Well, yes, they do. Royal Mail will keep post for up to 14 days, and surprisingly this service is free. 

I think some of my outgoing post has been resting/remaining somewhere. All Christmas cards were posted on December 12th - but some have yet to arrive, and one got to its destination in Hampshire on January 6th [last Thursday] Where was it all that time? 

Nearly half a century ago, when I was a student, cold winter Sundays often followed a regular pattern. Off to church, followed by a visit to the call box to ring Mum and Dad, then lunch. I'd spend the afternoon in my room, listening to music and writing letters. 

Then I'd put on my coat and walk up the road to the postbox, and then come back for tea. I sometimes went to church in the evening, and met up with friends afterwards for coffee. They were good days - I didn't do any uni work on a Sunday if I could possibly help it. And of course, during the week, the postman would bring replies to the letters I had sent.

I have decided to look again at how I communicate with people. I love the immediacy of WhatsApp, when Liz or Steph send me a picture of my grandchildren playing in the middle of a busy day. I like being able to exchange emails with friends and family. It is fast and inexpensive. Twitter and Facebook are more public, and I'm not particularly diligent about keeping up with those, but it is great when someone posts some news, or sends something to make me think, and to bring a smile. I'm in a couple of FB support groups, and these are good.

But a real letter, in an envelope, slipping through the letterbox - now that is good communication. A pretty card, with a personal message inside, a photograph of a new baby, something to show that someone has given thought and care. These are treasured [usually ending up as bookmarks- to bring happy memories months later when I rediscover them]

On Sunday, after church, we went for a walk in Waterloo Park in Norwich. It was so sunny - the place was full of small children learning to ride their bikes. We had a snack lunch in the café. Delicious, good value, and run by a local not-for-profit charity [details here]

Then we came home and had a cuppa. Bob put some music on the record player. I wrote three letters, and walked round the corner to post them. I hope they arrive soon and bring joy.

My grandmother used to quote this [but she would say 'Sabbath' not Sunday!]

Now my Sundays are less busy, perhaps I should try to write more letters then.