Certain individuals possess an inherent knack to enhance a nation’s cheerfulness. Richard Huddy, come forth. In 1795, as per An Post’s chronicles, Mr Huddy assumed the position of Lismore’s postmaster.
He toiled away inconspicuously, performing routine tasks a postmaster would do, until he undertook an extraordinary endeavour in 1821, 26 years after his appointment, which was penned by numerous British publications.
In January of that year, the postmaster transitioned from Lismore to Fermoy, a fairly standard 25km commute, except for the method of travel and his accompanying partners. Richard Huddy chose an odd vehicle for his journey, a Dungarvan oyster tub, which was guided by an uncommon collection of animals — a pig, a honey badger, a pair of felines, a goose, and a hedgehog. An oversized crimson nightcap adorned Mr Huddy as he maintained a pig-handler’s whip in one hand and a cow’s horn in the other. He intermittently generated sounds with the horn to prompt his unique travel consortium.
It was reported that this notable voyage was implemented as part of a bet, but it remains unknown what Mr Huddy attained when he triumphantly made his way into Fermoy. Furthermore, it adds to the unusualness of his accomplishment, he was allegedly in his 97th year of existence.
Intriguingly, though, this exceptional journey was barely noticed in the press. It was often confined to a paragraph or two, nestled amongst local news. The Royal Cornwall Gazette was one such example, placing it in between an article concerning Frederick Wall’s colossal 13¼ pound potato and a grim story related to the Insolvent Debtors’ Court.
I corresponded with An Post in an effort to uncover further specifics regarding this single remarkable event. Stephen Ferguson, the institution’s archivist and historian, was familiar with the tale and could add to my understanding by indicating that the postmaster was receiving an annual salary of £42 in 1823, two years post the remarkable journey.
However, there was no evidence of this extraordinary undertaking in the official postal service documents, leading us to assume that Mr Huddy
had allocatd his time off to this venture. He undoubtedly merits recognition for this outlandish approach to Fermoy, an unprecedented feat in Cork county. A remarkable claim considering the peculiar motorist behaviour around the Dunkettle roundabout.
It raises the question as to why Lismore and Fermoy residents haven’t joined forces to re-stage the journey and create an annual celebration around the event. At least one would assume a monument honouring Mr Huddy and his reliable partners in travel would be established with immediacy. Mr Huddy’s efforts confirm yet again, if required, that Ireland’s post service is staffed by heroes.
Indeed, who else but our tried-and-tested postal employees would tolerate the absurdities they face daily? They’re reluctantly cast as novice detectives when recipients only provide a bare minimum hint of an address on their parcels, counting on them to decipher the riddles.
Notable was an episode nine years in the past, involving a letter simply addressed to “That Henderson chap, the spectacle-wearing lad doing his PhD up at Queen’s in Belfast. Buncrana, County Donegal.” Amazingly, successful delivery of the letter was achieved.
Additionally, there was the curious case of a postcard originating from Germany, picturing a beloved dog on a wall in Westport, intended for the dog’s family. The postal service’s very own Hercule Poirot managed to resolve that particular enigma.
In 2015, blogger Dave Curran, via his “Me Versus An Post” blog, elevated the challenge for postal workers. He employed tactics such as inscribing fragments of the address on each side of a dice and hiding the address within a fragmented jigsaw puzzle. A diligent postal worker reconstructed the puzzle and consequently delivered the package. He also attempted the resurrection of pigeon post, using a fluffy toy pigeon christened Percy holding the address. An Post took precautions by wrapping Percy in plastic before ensuring his safe delivery.
However, even An Post has its breaking point, which came about when Curran endeavoured to mail a concrete block. Informed that the block required packaging, Curran conceded and discontinued that pursuit.
In 2020, the blog displayed an image of a significantly elongated and physically distant Christmas cracker intended for posting, before it went silent. An Post validated through electronic correspondence that the endeavour had ultimately lost steam. A spokesperson pondered if it was due to how the postal workers proficiently handled all encountered challenges.
“While somewhat amusing at the time,” the spokesperson wrote, it is assumed with a partial grin brimming from between tense lips.