Tales From The Village

    It was a day like any other, the village postman was already on his rounds and he made something of a jolly sight riding his Penny Farthing bicycle. Something of a bygone age, until one morning when he came a cropper!

    “What a contraption” said one onlooker.

    “He should never have to ride such a thing!” said another.

    “The very idea, after all we’re not living in Victorian times!”

    Two medics arrived in an ambulance to help the postman, who wasn’t really hurt that bad.

    “What are you going to do with him?” asked lady in a blue trilby hat.

    “We’ll take him to hospital, he’ll get the very best treatment” said one of the medics helping the postman onto a stretcher.

    “What about his Penny Farthing?”

    “Someone will come and collect it” said the second medic.

    The Postman’s injuries were slight, but he was kept in under observation. And he was questioned as to why he was riding the Penny Farthing in the first place.

    “Why were you riding that Penny Farthing bicycle in the first place? Who told you to ride it? Why were you riding that Penny Farthing bicycle in the first place? Who told you to ride it? You shouldn’t have been riding it, the idea is for you to push it, push it, push it about not ride it, look what happened when you did ride it, you ended up in here.”

    “I….I…..”

    “Speak up man.”

    “I thought I was supposed to ride it.”

    “Whatever gave you that idea…..come on man speak up, whatever gave you that idea?”

    “I did it by my own initiative.”

    “Your own initiative, you mean you thought for yourself…..we have warned you before about that No.191, you must not think for yourself. And while we are about it, why does it take you such a long time to complete your postal round?”

    “I…..I…..have to knock on everyone’s door and wait for them to answer.”

    “Why, why do you do that?”

    “None of the front doors have letter box flaps fitted!”

    “There’s no answer to that.”

    “No Number 2.”

    “The Postman is right of course, there are no letters flaps in the front doors. Come to think of it, why should anyone write to someone else in the village, let alone send someone a picture postcard! But then a Postman is as much a part of village life as anyone, but why he has to wear a Royal Mail cap I don’t know. Perhaps that’s the job he did before arriving the village.”

    “He probably did Number 2.”

    “Take a note Number 12.”

    “A note sir, yes sir” he said taking pencil and notebook from his jacket pocket.

    “The Postman is no longer to be supplied with a Penny Farthing bicycle, besides he’ll be quicker on foot. Also letter box flaps are to be installed in all front doors.”

    “Yes Number 2.”

    “Picture Postcards!”

    “Picture Postcards Number 2?”

    “Where can one purchase picture postcards?”

    “I believe they sell them at the kiosk.”

    “Really, how interesting.”

    Later that day.

    “Good afternoon 143.”

    “Good afternoon Number 2, what can I do for you?”

    “I would like to purchase a picture postcard please.”

    “We have a nice little selection on the stand at the end of the counter sir.”

    “Ah yes, good.”

    Turning the stand slowly No.2 began to peruse the picture postcards “Are these all you have?”
    “How do you mean sir?”
    “I mean do you have any others?”
    “Are you looking for something specific sir?”
    “No, no” is all he said and selected a picture postcard of the Bell Tower.
    “That will be one credit unit please sir.”
    Why No.2 wanted the picture postcard, and what he did with it is unknown, perhaps he posted it to someone. Why the kiosk holder should be selling picture postcards of the village in the first place is anyone’s guess. But perhaps it’s all to do with the seaside holiday resort atmosphere of the village. And when people are at the seaside they like to send picture postcards to friends and family back home, telling them what they have been doing with the addition of the greeting or sentiment “Having a wonderful time, wish you were here!”
   

Be seeing you