There’s an awful lot of letters that drop onto my door mat which aren’t posted with the Royal Mail. Credit card bills, bank statements and utility bills all seem to be posted by one of Royal Mail’s competitors and overall almost half the letters delivered by Royal Mail last year were posted with one of their competitors. Royal Mail still do most of the work walking the mail to every door in the country, but they’re not getting the credit for their part in the delivery process.
It appears that Royal Mail are about to stand high and be proud of the universal delivery service that they provide and stamp their mark on our post. Their delivery employees have said they’re proud to deliver our post with comments such as “It would give us the credit we deserve. Without Royal Mail, there would be no postal service” and “A Royal Mail mark on each letter would make me feel proud.”
Each letter which goes through Royal Mail’s automated sorting equipment and delivered by postmen and women will start to carry the “Delivered by Royal Mail” mark from mid September this year.
This is something the CWU are in favour of, Dave Ward, CWU deputy general secretary, said: “As competition increases, stamping the post delivered by Royal Mail will help the public understand they still deliver the final mile. Postal workers deserve recognition for the job they do and this exercise will help.”
Moya Greene, Chief Executive of Royal Mail added: “Our people have often asked why we don’t put our mark on the post. It is rightly important to them that their role in delivering the mail to communities throughout the UK is fully recognised. We have listened to our people and responded.”
Why not, after all its free advertising
Maybe this will stop them proudly thieving from my Signed For deliveries… or maybe a different slogan ought to be applied for that service –
“Contents Stolen by The Royal Mail”
I’m never ever sending anything “Signed For” delivery again, I’ve lost several customers and several hundred pounds as a result…
Sorry just had to
lol lol lol
by W H Auden
This is the Night Mail crossing the border,
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,
Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner and the girl next door.
Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient’s against her, but she’s on time.
Thro’ sparse counties she rampages,
Her driver’s eye upon the gauges.
Panting up past lonely farms
Fed by the fireman’s restless arms.
Striding forward along the rails
Thro’ southern uplands with northern mails.
Winding up the valley to the watershed,
Thro’ the heather and the weather and the dawn overhead.
Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,
Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.
Birds turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from the bushes at her blank-faced coaches.
Sheepdogs cannot turn her course;
They slumber on with paws across.
In the farm she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in the bedroom gently shakes.
Dawn freshens, the climb is done.
Down towards Glasgow she descends
Towards the steam tugs yelping down the glade of cranes,
Towards the fields of apparatus, the furnaces
Set on the dark plain like gigantic chessmen.
All Scotland waits for her:
In the dark glens, beside the pale-green sea lochs
Men long for news.
Letters of thanks, letters from banks,
Letters of joy from the girl and the boy,
Receipted bills and invitations
To inspect new stock or visit relations,
And applications for situations
And timid lovers’ declarations
And gossip, gossip from all the nations,
News circumstantial, news financial,
Letters with holiday snaps to enlarge in,
Letters with faces scrawled in the margin,
Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,
Letters to Scotland from the South of France,
Letters of condolence to Highlands and Lowlands
Notes from overseas to Hebrides
Written on paper of every hue,
The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,
The chatty, the catty, the boring, adoring,
The cold and official and the heart’s outpouring,
Clever, stupid, short and long,
The typed and the printed and the spelt all wrong.
Thousands are still asleep
Dreaming of terrifying monsters,
Or of friendly tea beside the band at Cranston’s or Crawford’s:
Asleep in working Glasgow, asleep in well-set Edinburgh,
Asleep in granite Aberdeen,
They continue their dreams,
And shall wake soon and long for letters,
And none will hear the postman’s knock
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?
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