Waiting for the mail

Work on my next book, Spirits of Tasmania, is going well and I plan to release it in time for Halloween. Meet one of the many ghosts I have contacted and whose stories are told in the book.

Every small town has a busybody like Mrs Buscombe. Since channelling her story, I have learned that her husband owned the Richmond store and post office, plus many other buildings, in the 1830s. Mrs Buscombe has been seen many times at Prospect House, which is now a hotel, and she still travels far and wide in the town listening to gossip.

I like to be called Mrs Buscombe, as I am not a believer in being called by one’s first name. It shows no respect for one’s elders and is not considered to be good manners.

My fondest memories of Prospect House, and Richmond in general, was the mail, with letters and cards of all description arriving from locally and overseas. There would be an air of excitement when the coach pulled into our store with a lovely bag of mail and goods sent from Hobart Town.

People clustered around to collect their mail and the smell of new leather and liquorice was overwhelming.

What joy it was to see children’s happy faces when those who could afford it bought liquorice for a farthing. There was always time for a cup of tea and a good old gossip on mail days.

I remember when young Mary, the eldest daughter of one of our most prominent elders, was found to be with child. What shame to bring into one’s family. She was sent away and never returned to Richmond, and I often wondered what happened to Mary and her illegitimate child.

I like to wander through the old house, and I often come when there are visitors, as there is sure to be a bit of gossip or snippets of news.

Things are not the way I remember them, in the late 1820s and 30s when the mail was the most important thing of all.

I no longer savour the scent of liquorice, nor the smell of new leather and these delights now elude me. But there is always going to be chitchat, and perhaps the odd bit of gossip, for these are the things that will never change.

All the way, since man began and language was invented, the need for talking will never end; and just so long as I don’t miss anything of importance, then I am happy.