Tag Archives: Horse

One Day O.H.M.S.

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Here’s a lovely, wry letter to the editor of the Charlottetown Guardian, printed February 27, 1926, about the joys of being a mail carrier in wintery rural Prince Edward Island.

I think that “breaking a road” meant creating a path with horse and sleigh over newly-fallen snow so that it would be easier for other travellers, and I believe it was up to each landowner to do the section of road that ran in front of their property. I would guess this might have included knocking down tall banks by shovelling. People being people, not everyone would get around to breaking the road early enough after a storm, or at all, as the mail carrier finds out.

In some spots, where winds would regularly leave substantial drifts in the road, section of fencing would be taken down in late fall so folks could travel through a flat field over the winter, so when the writer talks about “going over tree tops, on the road through fields, dodging a fence here, a post there, and a barn some place else,” they weren’t exaggerating.

ONE DAY O. H. M. S.

Sir.— As I was sitting enjoying a good “home fire” this evening, I decided I would get my pen and paper, and write a few lines concerning “One day O. H. M. S.”

This winter especially we have to contend with an immense lot of snow, and storms mostly, every second day. However when the storm eases and the sun shines again, we make ready for our journey (over an unbroken road.) We wait awhile and it’s soon shovelled out, after the men go home with frozen feet, hands, etc. After going to the P.O. we bundle up the mail that has arrived the night before (or what’s left of it) and start our journey with a good, faithful horse that’s not afraid of a few feet of snow. The old horse will wade along stopping at the boxes, some are on sticks, some on snow-banks, and some on posts. Nevertheless we get along a few miles.

“Are you cold, come in, come in—rest your horse—and get warm.” You will welcome the voice of a farmer calling from his barn door.

“Thank you but I must keep on. I am not cold, since the roads are bad the travelling is slow. Good day.”

After going some distance, a man will meet you.

“Glad to see you—you must have had a bad road.”

Farther on a woman will appear.

“Isn’t it cold, if you can’t get through the rest of the way call in and have a cup of tea.”

“Thank you” but on we go. Then comes a turn to the right.

“Whoa—Hello Mr. Snowbank you are in a very convenient place, right on the middle of the road, huh.”

“A step ahead old horse—whoa wait that won’t do, can’t get through that, lay still till I get you unharnessed and the sleigh back—good job I took the shovel, old horse, comes in pretty handy sometimes—all clear come around now if you can. I’ll get you back in the sleigh again and we’ll go back to the P. O.—This won’t make our Route any shorter, old horse, although we have to turn back.”

“Oh good-day sir—yes, yes all right now—thanks—bad roads, bad roads, yes a lot of breaking done on that road this winter—well good day.”

All right, old horse we will go right back home, perhaps “Mrs—“ will be insulted for not calling for that cup of good tea, but we must get back.”

“Hello there” comes a voice like a clap of thunder. “That road broke”—

“No” then some words too numerous to mention.

“Come on old horse never mind h’m”—

“Funny for a man to drive a mile or two out of the way if that’s a passable road, and another man drive a mile or two out of his way for a Doctor if that is a passable road.”

“Too bad we Mail Couriers didn’t have Reindeers, or a few St. Bernard dogs, that could go over those “Passable Roads” then some of our box holders wuld have more time to make false statements.”

Sir.— would you consider a mile of road solid snow banks passable? I find that the individual who has the longest portion of the road to break alone, grumbles the least.

After going over tree tops, on the road through fields, dodging a fence here, a post there, and a barn some place else, we get back to the Post Office.

“Road not broke, had to turn back Post Master.” Now in the sleigh and home again where a good supper is waiting for both.

“Ahem—But its glorious too, to be On His Majestys Service.”

I am, Sir, etc.,

MAIL COURIER.

Feby 24th. 1926.

“Speak up, me son!”

My mother and I were talking about the characters that she knew years ago, funny friends and neighbours, customers at her general store. One fellow was George Palmer, who lived just up the road from the store with his wife, Dora. I don’t remember either of them, but have heard lots of tales.

Even into the 1990s, we had a party telephone line that was shared with other people. By the end, there was just one other family on our line, but there would have been dozens on the line at one time. Each telephone subscriber had their own distinctive ring that would alert them to an incoming call, so you had to know your pattern and were only to answer if it was yours. George, though, would listen to every call that came on his line, but his hearing wasn’t great in later years, so he would occasionally blurt out “Speak up, me son!” if he thought he was missing some juicy news.

Mom said George loved to play April Fool’s jokes. One April first he pulled up in his horse and wagon to deliver eggs to their store, which was having a very busy day. The eggs would be in a little crate on the back of the wagon and my father would go out and take them in to the store, grade them, and credit the amount to George’s account. George pulled up and yelled “Phillips!” and my father went out to get the eggs. Just as he neared the wagon, George slapped the reins, geed up the horse and yelled “April Fool’s!” as he drove away.

I have 40 hours of 8mm film my father took starting about 1960, and I remembered a short clip of a man in a horse and buggy on the road in front of our old house. It’s the only film I have of someone in a horse and buggy, so it’s a short but important memory of a time when horses were still the main source of transportation for some. George would be one of the last men in our area who never owned a car or truck. I showed the clip to my mother, and she is pretty sure it is him, the jokester, and at the end of the clip, you can see his house off in the distance as he drives down the road past my grandfather’s house.