Sir Rowland Hill: The Story of a Great Reform

by Eleanor C. Hill Smyth

In 1862 he was able to make important alterations in the registration of letters. Allusion has already been made to the ancient quarrel between a former Postmaster-General and my father over the amount of fee, the political head of the office wishing to keep it at 1s., Rowland Hill to reduce it to 6d., a reduction easily obtained when in 1846 the latter entered the Post Office. A largely increased number of registered letters had been the result. The fee was now still further reduced, the reduction being followed by an even larger increase of registered letters; while the registration of coin-bearing letters was at last made compulsory. Before 1862 coins had often been enclosed in unregistered letters, at times so carelessly that their presence was evident, and abstraction easy. As a natural consequence, misappropriation was not infrequent. After the passing of this necessary enactment the losses diminished rapidly; the number of letters containing money posted in the second half of that year increased to about 900,000, and the number of those which failed to reach their destination was only twelve.

While it is undeniable that occasionally a letter-carrier or sorter has been responsible for the disappearance of some articles—at times of great value—entrusted to the care of the department, the public itself is frequently very far from blameless. As has already been shown, carelessness that can only be called culpable sometimes throws temptation in the men's way. In the course of a single twelvemonths, nearly 31,000 letters entirely unaddressed were posted, many of which contained money whose sum total amounted to several thousands of pounds.

The number of things lost in the post through negligence to enclose them in properly secured covers, or through placing them in covers which are imperfectly addressed or not addressed at all, so that sometimes neither sender nor intended recipient can be traced, is very great. In one twelvemonths alone the accumulations at the Dead Letter Office sold at auction by order of the Postmaster-General comprised almost every description of wearing apparel from socks up to sealskin jackets and suits of clothing, Afghan, Egyptian, and South African war medals, a Khedive's Star, a pearl necklace, some boxes of chocolate, a curious Transvaal coin, and several thousands of postage stamps. Did none of the losers dream of applying for repossession of their property ere it passed under the auctioneer's hammer; or did they resign themselves to the less troublesome assumption that the things had been stolen?

Simply to avoid payment of the registration fee—whose present amount can hardly be found burdensome—people will hide money or other valuables in some covering material that is inexpensive, or that may be useful to the recipient, such as butter, puddings, etc., which are sent off by the yet cheaper parcel post. One of the most flagrant cases of deception was that of a lady living in Siam, who dispatched to the old country several packages said to contain stationery and walking-sticks, and valued at £7, 10s. 0d. Suspicion was aroused—perhaps by the odd combination of treasures—and the parcels were opened, when the “stationery and walking-sticks” of modest value resolved themselves into a superb collection of diamonds and other jewels worth about £25,000.

The Post Office is often reproached for slowness or unwillingness to adopt new ways; and, as a rule, the accusations are accompanied by brilliant and highly original witticisms, in which figure the contemptuous words “red tape.” For the apparent lack of official zeal, the reproaching public itself is often to blame. Its passion—dating from long past times, yet far from moribund—for defrauding the department which, on the whole, serves it so well, yet with so few thanks and so many scoldings, is one chief bar to possible reforms. When, for example, the book-post was established in 1846,[219] all sorts of things which had no right to be where they were found used to be hidden between the pages. In one instance, a watch was concealed in an old volume, within whose middle leaves a deep hole had been excavated which was artfully covered over by the outside binding and by several pages at the beginning and end of the book. To the casual observer it therefore presented an innocent appearance, but fell victim to post-official, lynx-eyed investigation.

“With every desire to give the public all possible facilities,” wrote my father in his diary, “we were often debarred from so doing by the tricks and evasions which too frequently followed any relaxation of our rules.”

Even the great Macaulay transgressed strict postal regulations, being in the habit, as his nephew tells us in one of the most delightful biographies ever written, of sending him, when a school-boy, letters fastened with sealing-wax, the seal hiding the welcome golden “tip.” As the use of seals has almost entirely died out, and sealed missives, even in Macaulay's time, were coming to be looked at with suspicion—as probably containing something worth investigation—by those through whose hands they pass, the boy was fortunate in that his uncle's letters reached him safely.

Very unreasonable, and sometimes downright absurd, are many complaints made by the public. A lady once wrote to the authorities saying that whereas at one time she always received her letters in the morning, they now only reached her in the evening. The fact was that, through the making of better arrangements, the letters which used to come in with the matutinal tea and toast were now delivered over-night.

The following is a rather curious story of theft. The cook in a gentleman's family residing at Harrow one day received an unregistered letter from Hagley, near Birmingham, which, when posted, contained a watch. On reaching its destination the cover was found to enclose a couple of pebbles only. She at once went to her master for advice. An eminent geologist was dining at the house. When he saw the enclosures, he said: “These are Harrow pebbles; no such stones could be found at Hagley.” This showed that the letter must have been tampered with at the Harrow end of the journey. The postal authorities were communicated with, and an official detective was sent to Harrow to make enquiries. Something about the letter had, it seems, attracted notice at the local post office—perhaps the watch had ticked—which proved that the packet was intact when handed to the letter-carrier for delivery. He had not, however, given the letter to the cook, but to the butler, who passed it on to the cook. The delinquent, then, must be either the letter-carrier or the butler. The letter-carrier had been long in the postal service, and bore an excellent character. Suspicion therefore pointed to the butler. He was called into the dining-room, and interrogated. He denied all knowledge of the watch, and declared he had given the packet to the cook exactly as he had received it. But while the interrogation was proceeding, his boxes were being examined; and, although no watch was found in any, the searchers came upon some things belonging to his master. Taxed with their theft, the man pleaded guilty, but once more disclaimed all knowledge of the watch. On some pretext he was allowed to leave the room, when he retired to the pantry, and there committed suicide.