The radio was on in the background and I had to ring the bell for attention, prompting a hello and exchange of friendly tourist chitchat while I got the correct stamps.
There were postal boxes in the entrance, for the kids travelling around the country and using them as a forwarding address. It reminded me of getting packages from home when I was working at a summer camp in New Jersey as a teen. If you're not living at home for a while, how else do you get your mail forwarded from your old address?
I haven't yet identified why I was so taken with the moment, but today, there it was again. The excitement of having real, hold in your hand post, is something that electronic communication will never quite match.
The post on Lewis can be attrocious - only one mail plane comes onto the island a day, so if you put a letter in a post box on, say, a Thursday, it doesn't leave the island until the Saturday morning! I have a great game I play with my Mum when she posts us birthday cards or presents, where she works out when she posted it and we count how many days its taken to get here - its usually quicker coming onto the island from the mainland than it is going the other way round, but you can never bank on it. It could be foggy at the airport somewhere!
Mark has been working as the local postman for over a year now and is just about to be taken on permanently by Royal Mail. He loves it, he calls it extreme postman-ing. Finally all the driving skills learned green-laning in Wales have paid off. There is an unorthodox level of other roles involved in being the postman in a remote community like ours too. Social worker, care worker, tow truck, plumber, cake tester and message-conduit are all part of the job as well as making sure the mail gets through.
