Origin And History Of
pp. 43-45 · Read in the full issue
The Tin-Can Mail
Letter to the Editor 1 REFER to Mr. H. E. L. Friday’s letter in your August issue under the title of “Origin of the Tin Can Mail.” One might slangily retort: “Why bring that up?”—for the Tin Can Mail has been dead since 1931. By this I refer to the real Tin Can Mail, or, to give it its proper title, The Swimming Mail.
For over 16 years I have derived quiet enjoyment from the effusive efforts of imaginative writers, and the gullibility of philatelists. The Swimming Mail was alone unique, and was perhaps—to use the over-worked adjective—romantic.
There is little more novelty or romance in receiving mail in sacks from, and delivering to, a canoe, than from a wharf. Yet it was the Canoe Mail which brought the shekels to my old friend George Quensell, and “covers” into the albums of half the collectors of the world.
As Mr. Friday states, sporadic attempts had been made prior to my advent at Niua Fo’ou to deliver mail by rocket.
Also on occasion natives had swum out with packets of mail. I commenced swimming, with one or two native com panions. regularly each month to the “Tofua” in September, 1921, and con tinued to do so until the native lad Folau was killed by a shark in 1931. We swam day or night, according to the “Tofua’s” arrival. I was twice away for periods of three months on leave. From 1931, until I left in 1932, we used a canoe when the seas would permit.
The method of our swimming is, or should be by now, well known. The out ward mail was in paper packets, tied to
a 3 in. stick. The 7 ft. to 8 ft. Fau poles were used as floats, and the inward mail was in sealed tins from the “Tofua.”
The joke of the matter—and the joke is also on me—is that apart from those who actually witnessed it from the “Tofua,” the Swimming Mail was prac tically unknown to the outside world. It was during those ten years that the covers of letters would have been a real acquisition to a collector’s album, had they been franked with the rubber stamp later used by Mr. Quensell. Their num bers were of necessity small, from the method of carriage—which would have enhanced their value. But I was the unimaginative fool who failed to realise he was swimming in a potential goldmine.
Wide publicity started when I emi grated to the US in 1932. A former assistant purser on the “Tofua,” who had been transferred to the “Niagara” set the press sleuths on to me at Honolulu.
Cabled press-news brought the Van couver gentlemen of that ilk to the wharf. This was repeated at San Fran cisco, Los Angeles, and Beverly Hills.
Thence the story went via the Associated Press all over America. Letters then commenced to pour into Niua Fo’ou in ever-increasing quantities, and George Quensell reaped a golden harvest from the crop I had sown.
I should like to correct Mr. Friday on a few points. His statement that Ton gans (I expect he means the Tongans he met in the Solomons, and not Niua Fo’ou people) “give pride of place as postman to Mr. Quensell” will leave George as unimpressed by the unexpected honour as am I at being denuded of it.
Mr. Quensell will also corroborate the fact that he was never “postman,” as he has never swum with the mail. Under Government permission he acted as un official postmaster when the monthly
tidal-wave of correspondence inundated the island and drowned the native clerk.
In this he was not “succeeded by his son Dugald.” He continued right through until the Canoe Mail became another war casualty.
Mr. Friday makes yet another error in saying “Dugald used to swim out regu larly with the mail from the time he was 10 or 12.” At that tender age he was with his father on the island of Ha’afeva, in the Ha’apai Group. They moved to Niua Fo’ou in 1920, preceding me by about a year, Dugald and I have swum together with mail on many occasions, by day. I do not recollect his swimming at night, but may be wrong in this. He left for New Zealand not so long after my arrival, where he remained, until 1930 or 1931. He was at Niua Fo’ou when Folau was killed in ’3l.
Also, steamers did not “anchor half a mile out.” They simple “hove-to” for the mail’s receipt and delivery. And here is a tip to the “good Australian life savers.” Use a Fau pole as float, and you will need no great prowess as a swimmer to save life. We have frequently been early at the rendezvous and awaited the steamer’s arrival literally sitting on our poles as on the top rail of a fence, with our legs dangling above the blue-black depths, and our chests and heads above water.
The difficulty of the swim lay in entering and leaving the water in rough weather—especially the latter. We were usually ignominiously hauled out at the end of a rope, which meant invariably leaving skin on the jagged rocks. The essential asset was a somnolent imagina tion in the daytime, and-a totally defunct one at night. Even so there was always the disquieting conviction that one’s legs were dangerously and superfluously long!
(Continued page 43)
I was later to swim with cans of mail at Niua Fo’ou from the Matson Com pany’s luxury tourist-ship “City of Los Angeles” on each of her two cruises around the Pacific in 1934. As Assistant Cruise-director I gained the Company’s permission to do so as a stunt for the passengers, but only after signing on the dotted line relieving them of any respon sibility. On the first cruise I swam in to meet canoes from shore, with 2,000 letters. On the second voyage the num ber was enormously increased.
For a year or so after this the “Mari posa” and “Monterey” made monthly calls at the island, pouring letters in by the sackfull; then suddenly cut Niua Fo’ou out of their itinerary, ' So, we have the Tin-can-paper-packet swimming mail, and the Mail-sack-canoe mail. Philatelists, take your choice!
I am, etc.,
Ha’apai, Tonga.