POST & MAIL

Roy, the postman, is at the heart of village life. He faithfully delivers mail and newspapers each day, even during bad weather making it up the treacherous icy hill to outlying homes even though Royal Mail does not provide him with a 4WD. Many of the older residents who live on their own and can be isolated for weeks at a time, rely on him to check on their welfare and that they are still alive and kicking.

But at Christmas time, the locals deliver all their cards to each other by hand. Although there is one anomaly to this. If you don't know someone's address or can't reach their home, there is a special box in the village shop. A small donation and the cards will find their way to their recipients - I suspect delivered, stampless, by our local postie.

Whilst I have met many people, it is true to say that I hardly know anyone's surname or address. As there are a lot of Jeans, Sallys, Maries, Gillians etc., leaving cards in the shop box was not a solution for me as undoubtedly even our saintly local Santa would have difficulty knowing to whom and where he should deliver my good wishes.

Then there was the additional issue of not wishing to seem presumptuous by giving cards when perhaps it is not de rigeur on such short acquaintance?

That fear was overcome once cards started to be hand-delivered to me through my front door. I was quite delighted at this unexpected treat. I decided I would give cards to the few people whose addresses I knew and that way, I too could hand deliver my cards. Thus it was that I set out a week or so ago and dropped a few cards into letterboxes, thus returning the Compliments of the Season.

At Clicking Needles last Monday Jean arrived with a bundle of cards and handed them out to some of the ladies. On Tuesday, Kate brought her cards with her on our shopping excursion to the Danish Christmas shop and gave several to those on the trip. On Wednesday at our girls' night, Petrina and Marie had piles of cards with them which they passed out. Cards are passed between neighbours to deliver when they are 'going that way'. And so it goes on.

By now I had quite a shelf of cards, and even a couple of gifts for 'under the tree'. So I wrote cards for everyone I had met, which I put into my handbag to give out whenever opportunity knocked. When I mentioned that in Sydney we generally always post our cards, I blushed with city guilt to hear Jackie say, aghast, that she knew someone in Fife who actually put a stamp on the card for her next door neighbour and posted it. Imagine! If you post mail in the village postbox for a local, it gets collected and sent all the way to Edinburgh for sorting before coming back here again. No wonder the practical solution of a local's box in the shop was devised.

Whilst enjoying afternoon tea on Saturday and admiring more than 200 cards already decorating Dawn's home, discussion turned to the marvellous job our postie Roy performs for the village. Jeanette was disgruntled to learn Dawn had two Christmas kisses from him last year; she only had one, so plans are afoot to capture him under a large bough of strategically placed mistletoe, and address the deficit!