Cork nostalgia: Legends and tales from my time working at the post counter 

It was very busy pension day (Friday). A colleague, working a little away from me, had no single one-pound notes left and asked me to transfer a bundle to him. You had a hundred notes in a bundle and they were held together by a simple paper band. 

Whatever possessed me - I decided to kick the bundle down to him instead of walking the four yards. The ‘football’ of notes flew up into the air - hit the lights - and broke open. Pound notes came down like rain and most landed outside of the counter. It was like confetti - only this time it was real money. 

The queues of pensioners broke ranks and started to collect the notes. They were handed back in to us within a few minutes - and believe it or not - when they were counted - we had all of the hundred notes back. Pensioners were lovely to deal with and were so honest.

An unforgettable encounter was the day in 1970 when a pensioner - who was well known to me - appeared with a paper bag full of cash notes. He then produced an old savings book to lodge the money into. Normal procedure was to ask the customer how much money in total was presented so that we could agree. When asked how much - he just smiled and said “You count it for me”. The notes had to be straightened and sorted - some were of the old ploughman type of the 1930s - and there was a smell of bed from them. The total came (if remembered properly) to four-hundred and thirty pounds and he was told that. “You are right” he said - and it was deposited into his savings book. There is no doubt but that the poor old pensioner could not count money - and put his trust in me.

One day a man asked me why his neighbour had a bigger pension than he had. I explained that the neighbour had the addition of the ‘Lonely Money’ as he lived alone - while this enquirer lived with his wife. It sank into his brain after awhile. To finish off the encounter - I told him the good news that when he would die - his wife would get the ‘Lonely Money’.

‘Hurry up Hackett’

Another day, shortly after An Post began paying the ‘dole’, we encountered big queues out the door. My position at the time was counter duty with two girls. As we paid out the ‘dole’ to those in the queue, I heard from the back of the queue “hurry up Hackett”. I was paying out the cash as fast as I could. Then again “Hurry up Hackett”. Everybody could hear this guy who had no patience. His third shout was more meaningful - “Hurry up Hackett - I’m late for work”. He forgot that he was drawing the ‘dole’ and he was admitting to a packed house that he was late for work. He received no cash that day - but he returned the following day to apologise.

Going back to the abuse suffered – at times given in jest – at times in frustration – another one comes to mind. It was a children’s allowance payment day and the line of mothers was out onto the street. From the back of the long queue came the shout “Hurry up Mr. Hackett – it’s very hot in here”. Everyone laughed. Then again “Hurry up Mr. Hackett – we’ll be here all day - I’m toasted and roasted”. More laughter. And lastly “Mr. Hackett – I don’t know if it’s the menopause or the hot flushes – but I’m really roasted”.

Beyond the counter

In the good old days –one postman used to get a free newspaper from the Cork Examiner van driver every morning – and then having glanced at the front page – he would give it to a woman who lived on his route away out in the country. In return, he would get his breakfast. They were both very happy with the deal. Then one morning – before he left – his comrades (behind his back) took the middle out of the newspaper – and replaced it with pages from the week before. He suspected nothing and duly presented the paper to the country woman. She read the front page and was doing alright for a while – until she went inside it. She then started to turn the pages at a fierce rate. She suddenly gave a roar “Do you think that I’m an idiot – take that egg out of your mouth and clear out of here”. She frightened him so much - with the mad stare in her eyes - that he ran away out without question. It was years afterwards before any comrade had the nerve to tell him what had really happened.

‘Get me my trousers’

When working up the Midlands with P&T in my young days – the following tale was told. In many a household of long ago – the bread-winner liked to keep his exact amount of pay a secret from his wife. There was one such man – a postman – who lived in town – feeding his family well and still having his few pints at night. His wife never questioned anything. But this man got sick one week and was off work for a few days. 

When Friday came (pay-day), the messenger boy of the firm was sent up to the house with the man’s wage packet. The boy’s knock was answered by the wife and she accepted the wage packet on behalf of her husband. 

Above in bed – the ‘sick’ man recognised the voice of the young lad - and he suspected the worst. Holding his night shirt in place with one hand and waving madly with the other - he rushed out onto the landing - just in time to see the eyes popping from his wife’s head as she counted out the money. “Quick – he shouted down – get me my trousers – I must return that money – I got the Postmaster’s wages by mistake”

Sweet tooth

One old couple – operating a small sweet shop – were not getting on very well, and for peace sake – the postman (who knew the problem) would try to give any letter to the person named on it. 

One day he had a request from the woman about a registered letter that was due, to be sure to hold it for herself only. Right enough – the registered item arrived the following day. Then going into the shop – the postman knocked loudly on the counter – but out from the back room came the husband. So he pretended nothing and bought a Mars bar.

In those days – you had two deliveries in town – and in the afternoon – the postman encountered the husband again – and had to buy another Mars bar.

On the next morning he bought a bar of chocolate. The shopkeeper must have thought that this postman had suddenly developed a mad craving for chocolate. It was many bars of chocolate later - before the wife appeared out to sign for and accept her registered letter. If you’re wondering, P&T did not pay for the Mars bars.

Special delivery

Three postmen were delivering parcels at Christmas time in the city. One was driving the van while two ran up and down the walkways and avenues with the goods. One postman spotted a woman jump up from her chair inside a window with excitement as he approached. 

She joyfully accepted the parcel and asked him to wait a moment while she went inside. Appearing again, she gave the postman a five-pound note saying “Happy Christmas Postman”. 

He looked at the fiver and announced, “There are three of us working together, Mam – and what is a fiver divided by three”. “Oh, I’m sorry – hold on,” she said - taking back the fiver and going back into the house again. The postman was smiling quietly - how much would he now get? She arrived out to present him with three single-pound notes. “Now Postman” said she, “Happy Christmas to the three of you.”

This article originally appeared in the 2025 Holly Bough.