Farming Breeds: Bob – the postman
Join us for a funny, irreverent look at some of the characters that make the British countryside what it is. Our tongue-in-cheek guide puts characters such as the retired Major, the “perfect” next-door farmer and the young tearaway under the microscope. Here we meet Bob the postman, stopping for a cuppa on his morning rounds…
Bob gets up at 4.30am and spends the next eight hours driving around country lanes and farm tracks in his van, whistling along to the radio.
He even gets out from time – mostly to call into people’s kitchens for a cuppa, although he does deliver the occasional letter.
He’s got regular refreshment stops. He stops with Jeff at 5.30am just before he starts milking, at Harold’s at 7.10am as he’s unlocking the farm workshop and at Betty’s Bakery for tea and a bun at 10.
Between 10am and getting back to the depot, most of his stops are to attend the call of nature. Bob, like a badger, has his favourite spots for this.
The residents love him. He’s so cheerful so friendly. Always got time to stop for a chat. Always makes sure the parcels are delivered undamaged, the letters uncreased.
He closes gates and rings the farmer up if he sees a dead sheep. He’ll lend a hand if a cow’s escapes and needs rounding up. He feeds the cats for Mrs Baraclough when she goes away to her daughter for the weekend.
He’s even been known to get up a ladder and replace a tile for the widow – and local gossip is that it’s not all he’s replaced for her.
Even the dogs like Bob. Hounds that otherwise go straight for the jugular sidle up to him and rub against his legs, their tails wagging. That scatty spaniel at the Browns’ place has even stopped cocking its leg against his van now.
The residents love him. He’s so cheerful so friendly. Always got time to stop for a chat. Always makes sure the parcels are delivered undamaged, the letters uncreased.
“Get away, that’s Post Office property,” he used to yell at the small, awkwardly balanced animal as it went about its business.
Bob’s been doing this job for 10 years now, ever since he came out of the Services. The pay’s not brilliant but OK. And you should see the tips at Christmas – not just money, but food and booze too. The widow gave him a bottle of expensive whisky. “He’s been delivering more than letters to her,” they say in The Wheatsheaf.
He knows the route inside out. He could do it in his sleep. Which is just as well because he sometimes does virtually do it in his sleep after a late night. A late night, for Bob, means 9pm.
“What’s it like having to get up in the middle of the night?” people always ask him.
“Never mind that,” he replies. “I’m finished by 2pm – all the afternoon is mine.” But that’s academic. He never does anything in the afternoon except to go fishing.
“I pulled a 20-pounder out of Mill Pond on Friday,” he tells everyone he meets on his round. One or two of them are even interested in fishing. “You should have seen it fight,” he says. “Put the kettle on and I’ll tell you about it.”