My Great Aunt and Uncle had a rural mail route when I was a child. They enjoyed the summer because in the '50s everyone sent postcards. Aunty Kate would read them out loud whilst Uncle Josh drove. Fond Memories.
Maybe my aunt's fears were justified. Mind you, at the time, I couldn't decide which was greater, her touching faith in her inscrutable encryption method or her pride in thinking that a report on a middle-aged couple's two-week vacation in Frinton-on-Sea made irresistible reading, even for its intended recipient.My friend Rhys Bowen, whose first mystery series was about a Welsh detective called Evan Evans, included a local postman who opened and read all the mail as a public service to the householders on his route, giving them a quick summary as he dropped off the letters. She swears this is based on reality.