THE FACT OF THE MATTER
BY PAUL HOPKINS
When I was a young journalist in Rhodesia/Zimbabwe in the late ’70s, I would regularly write home to my parents of my adventures in a country at war — and that I was okay. They were more like missives: a dozen foolscap pages every other week, typed on my proudly owned, sturdy Remington black-and-yellow portable typewriter. My stock in trade.
My mother would write back. Just one page, half of which said: ‘Rushing to catch the post, will write with more news soon…’ She never did, of course. My father, on the other hand, was a prolific writer of letters — long and detailed, and in the finest calligraphy I had ever seen. My own grown son and daughter have the same purposeful penmanship.
My father started his work as a civil servant at 16, first as a motorbike dispatcher of telegrams, which in those days were more often than not the short-worded, wired document that someone had died. This bearer of such sad news then moved on to be a sorter of letters on the Post & Telegraphs mail trains — down day, up night, as it were. I’ve often wondered if my father, in sorting through the letters and reading the address of the recipient and most likely the sender, built in his vivid imagination the stories of what the letters might hold: the one from the emigrant son away in Boston; the sister who was a nun and helping the black babies in Africa; the daughter who was coming home, for the first time in years, and with the never-before-seen grandchildren. Perhaps all that gave my father his love for letters and what stories they might tell.
It seems in this digital age we have fallen out of love with the written letter.
In Denmark, it is the end of an era which has endured for centuries, dating back to King Christian IV’s 1624 decree to create one of Europe’s first modern post offices. Ten days ago, with minimal fanfare, Denmark’s national post office ceased the delivery of letters, and its famous red post boxes will soon vanish from the streets. PostNord, the Danish postal service, says it took the momentous decision to stop delivering letters after usage fell by 90 per cent in the past 25 years. The demise of the service was a “difficult” moment, but there was scarcely any demand left for posting letters and the company needed to focus its efforts on parcels.
Ireland may not be far off the Danes’ move — if not tomorrow, then someday soon. The sending of letters has fallen dramatically in the last 10 years, by about seven to 10% annually, according to An Post. Fewer write letters these days; we text, we leave voicemails, we do WhatsApp video. It’s far more convenient and instantaneous than putting pen to paper and then having to go and get a stamp, price up next month, at the post office — the few that remain, that is and where once the post office was a focal place for rural communities.
Similarly, suppliers of goods and services don’t send you a bill by letter anymore — they email you. At least, one could argue we are saving the trees.
However, there is more to letter writing than the felling of trees. There is a personal and emotional value attached to a letter. Unlike fleeting digital messages on Instagram, a physical letter is a permanent, tangible object that can be held and reread years later. The act of taking the time to handwrite and post a letter shows a deep level of care and effort, which can make the recipient feel loved and valued. Also, old letters can preserve personal stories, family history, and the unique voice and personality of the writer long after they are gone.
When my parents died 10 weeks apart in the Millennium year and we cleared out the house to sell it, I found, stored away in a small cardboard box at the back of the wardrobe, a telegram addressed to my father, who was down day, up night on the sorting mail train the day I was born. The faded slip of paper simply said: ‘Baby son. Mother doing well.’
Almost 50 years on, here was part of the unique personality — the voice, almost — of my parents, from an age where once the telegram was brief but urgent and the long, handwritten letter a mark of how the recipient was valued and loved.
Today, I still have that telegram… and some of those Africa letters my father had kept.
