Mail at a Snail's Pace or Time was

Trawling through the BBC website this morning I read an article on the closure of India's telegram service.  It started in 1851 and survived until last Sunday which was the last day a telegram was delivered in the country.
This got me thinking (yes, I do sometimes lol) that a lot of romance has gone forever out of everyday life.

Regular readers will know that I am a voracious reader.  One of my favourite authors is Somerset Maugham, in particular his volumes of short stories set in the outposts of the Far East where those in the British colonial service spent their days. Maugham's stories are fascinating for the atmosphere of heat, sweat and isolation which they impart.  It is another world, when life was slow, a world now gone forever.  I am sure life was tough and people had to make the most of it (not so different from today, really, is it?).  It was far from romantic in real life, and no, I am not in favour of colonialism but I am interested in people.  How did these people cope? Maugham, who travelled extensively, gives us an insight into their lives.  "The Club" was the centre piece of their lives.  Everyone for miles around visited it and played bridge, danced or simply chatted.    New arrivals brought English newspapers often several weeks or even months old but still read with interest.  Visitors showed up at distant outposts on the turgid rivers of Burma bringing with them the so-called "book bag", a treasure trove for the isolated District Officer in his lonely jungle home.  And the dream of returning to England kept them all going although the reality was that many who had spent most of their lives in service in the harsh climes of the Far East could not settle down in what to them had become an alien country.  But that's another story.

Travelling meant getting on board a ship and spending weeks on your journey. When you embarked you boarded a train to your next destination.  Travelling meant having your mail forwarded to the poste restante service of one of the old-established travel agencies.  Imagine the anticipation as you collected the little bundle of envelopes waiting for you.  There was time to order afternoon tea or coffee and settle down to read the news from friends and loved ones and discuss it all over a leisurely dinner with fellow travellers.

Our habit of racing through text messages or emails or trawling our Twitter account is far more stressful and far less fun in my opinion. Sure, there are times when instant communication is a blessing.  I'm not knocking progress.  I just feel that we've lost a bit of romance in our lives, somehow, and the cessation of the India telegram service brought this home to me this week.

The Travelling Neurotic

I am writing this blog today because I am off to Germany tomorrow to visit my daughter and grandchildren. 

I'm a travelling neurotic - one of those travellers who are uneasy until they board the flight or the train or get in the car.

This morning I have checked out my ticket, my passport, my airport coach ticket and the money in my purse just to make sure I have everything.   Tonight I'll print my boarding pass, compare it with the ticket and put it with the other stuff.  And I'll check everything again before I go to bed and then again tomorrow morning just in case some mysterious troll has secretly removed my passport or airline ticket during the night.

A lot of my acquaintance are remarkably laid-back about travelling and don't see the necessity of being hours at the airport in advance of the flight.  They don't expect last minute snags such as traffic jams or long lines at security or getting lost and going to the wrong gate.  I really envy them!  I can never relax until I am sitting at the departure gate waiting for the flight to be called. 

I wonder if this is a generation thing,  like always checking your mobile for the latest tweets?  When I was growing up most people got to their destinations by train and boat.  The pace was considerably slower, you didn't have a security check, you produced your train ticket to the inspector when asked, and you had time to gaze out at the countryside as it slipped past the train window.  There was a sense of time.  Once on the boat or ship you could roam around the decks, lean over the side and watch the waves, feel free of land and its encumbrances. 

Tomorrow I am getting up very early and I won't be happy until I've checked in my suitcase and taken a seat at the departure gate.  The interesting thing is that when I am returning, I don't get half as edgy.  Does this have some deep psychological significance?  If so - I don't want to go there!  All I want is to get to my destination on time without the teeniest hitch.  Here's hoping!