“Pat is the Greensdale postman. Every day he drives his red van up the valley. Twisting along the twining roads, up and over the hills, far away; down narrow lanes and tracks to farms and cottages. He brings letters and cards; newspapers and magazines; football-pools and catalogs and bills and birthday-cards and parcels full of who-knows-what? He also brings a smile, a joke, a chat; news of the valley and who’s-doing what. He has a little black cat, called Jess.”
″ I have been up and down the stairs all day. I cooked a big dinner for them tonight: two poached eggs with beans, and tinned semolina pudding. (t is a good job I wore the green lurex apron because the poached eggs escaped out of the pan and got all over me.)”
“But his eyes grew tired, and more and more tired. His eyelids grew so heavy that they would keep tumbling down over his eyes. He kept lifting them and lifting them. But everytime, they were heavier than the last. It was no use! They were too much for him. Sometimes before he got them halfway up, down they went again. At length, he gave it up quite, and the moment he gave it up, he was fast asleep!”
“He glanced up and down the street. A bus had just stopped at the corner, and for no reason at all he remembered how he had once waited every evening, swinging on this same gate, for the sight of his mother getting off the bus.”