I remember my Mum’s anxiety during Christmas week waiting for our turkey to arrive in the post from my grandparents in Ireland. Amazingly it always arrived with a couple of days to spare, much to the relief of my Mum.
My grandparents plucked it, wrapped it brown paper and tied it with string for the journey. Grandpa cycled 8 miles from their small farm to the post office with the turkey on the bike carrier. It travelled from there by train and then an overnight boat journey. One year it arrived with the brown paper soggy and torn and a leg poking out!
We didn’t have a fridge in the 60’s and my Mum paid the local butcher a nominal amount to store it for us till Christmas Eve. Looking back it’s surprising we escaped a dose of food poisoning.
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Twenty five bob is what he'd paid for one.