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Happy Spring Equinox, Headford!
COMMUNITY SPOTLIGHT
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| The Job of a Rural Postman |
When Olly O’Connor first started delivering the post in the
Headford area back in 1996, he probably didn’t imagine he’d still be delivering
the post eighteen years later. Back then, the post office, now a derelict old
building, was inside John Molloy’s house in Ower, and Olly had just one week to
learn all 200 houses and names on his route.
His first day on the job, at the age of twenty, Olly says, ‘John
Malloy showed me around, then I was pretty much on my own.’ Because there were
no house numbers or specific addresses, Olly kept a small book with notes like,
‘so and so lives in the house with the green door.’ In one village, he says,
there were seven families with the surname ‘Lee.’ So, if he had an envelope
addressed to ‘Mr. Lee,’ it might take a bit of detective work to figure out
where it should go.
Then, of course, there’s the dog issue. Postmen are forever
getting bitten by dogs, and Olly is no exception. ‘But I’ve had my tetanus shot
now,’ he says. He reckons dogs attack postmen because they come and go so
quickly, ‘like robbers,’ which is ironic, since he’s leaving things instead of
taking them away.
Today, Olly says, ‘It takes two weeks to train new [postal
delivery] people.’ And Olly is a great role model, having trained several others
on his own route. His day begins early, sorting letters and packages by area.
Then he loads them all in his van and takes off. He has to stop and collect
post from pick-up boxes at a precise time. Scanning the bar code on the green
letter box at 9:59 a.m. instead of 10:00 will bring a call and a complaint from
his supervisor.
Most days, Olly’s job is a race against the clock. He’s got
to bring the post back to Headford in time for the 3:45 p.m. pick up. If he
doesn’t get deliveries to all the houses on his route done first, then he has
to drive back out into the countryside and deliver the rest of the post.
Just after the turn of the century, in about 2000, greed engendered
by the Celtic Tiger became widely apparent in the area. New houses popped up
like mushrooms, creating the flood plains we now have in the countryside
surrounding Headford. By 2004, the rural post office in Ower was moved to
Headford, and Olly’s job became even more complex. Today, there are 417 houses
and three schools on his route.
Olly says the best part of his job is getting to listen to
whatever radio channel he wants while he’s working, and changing the channel as
much as he wants. ‘If I was in a factory or something, I’d have to listen to
whatever someone else wanted.’ As you might imagine, he gets a lot of alone
time in that green van, so if you see him rockin’ out when he drives by, he’s
probably listening to some good tunes. But if he sees you on the road, he always
waves and will even stop and hand you your post through the car window.
The worst part of his job is a wet day.
‘Why?’ I ask.
‘Because no one wants a wet letter.’
Which brings up the inevitable topic of weather, and I have
to ask him if that old postman’s creed it true. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers
from the swift completion of their appointed rounds, was originally a quote
from an ancient Greek named Herodotus (circa 500 BCE) who was describing the
Persian system of mounted postal carriers. Olly tells me that’s still the case,
the post must be delivered regardless of weather. In 2010, when there was ice
everywhere and we were all warned to stay home, Olly was out delivering our post.
Christmas time, however, is the real challenge. Every year. ‘There’s loads to
be done,’ Olly says, ‘and you’re under pressure to get it all done before dark
(because of the short days).’
Olly loves to travel, but not necessarily up the one kilometre
driveway of one of the houses where he has to deliver the post. ‘I dread when
that guy gets a letter,’ he quips. He’s been to the beach in Key West, Florida;
tangoed in Cuba; been tossed around on a small fishing boat in the Atlantic off
the coast of Valencia, Spain,; over a month in Argentina; been to London,
Yorkshire, Leeds and done the Jack-the-Ripper tour; visited what was left of
the Berlin wall; Lourdes, France; Munich; floated down a canal in Holland; visited
Edinburgh Castle; Belgium; Portugal; the Dominican Republic; didn’t gamble in
Las Vegas (but did enjoy the beer); and would not recommend Rio de Janeiro (‘capitals
aren’t great places to go’).
When I ask Olly what he’d like people to know about his job,
he has to think about it. Finally, he says, ‘A lot of people like to talk about
the weather and then we got to make up the time.’ So if he seems like he’s in a
hurry to get away from you, don’t take it personally. He’s just doing his job. And
it’s also good to keep in mind that, unlike a courier service, an An Post
employee, like Olly, has to hand you your package, or leave it for you at the
Post Office. That package won’t be left with an unknown neighbour or
dropped-kicked to your door. All the more reason to appreciate our local
postman.
