Oh Bronwyn, dear girl (what a delightful name!), I'm afraid that this is what we have been talking about, my child.
One never uses a 'post'. How vulgar. Simply unthinkable. Not the English Way, I'm afraid.
Poles, dear. Poles!
And as Reggie is The Provincial Grand Master, a more worshipful master you have never met Bronwyn, I can tell you, I think, perhaps, you may be thinking of some sort of other Lodge.
Although I can't for the life of me think what that might have been.

Oh, well.
I was saying this very thing to Cecily, wife to Sir John Bishopton-Hogworth, last morning at the 'Dog and Charles' just before The Master of the Hounds sounded the Off.
Can't think what that was, now either. But it did start with a 'J'.

Sorry for any confusion caused, Richard. I naturally assumed that this date was engrained in all of our collective psyches.
Reggie's great Uncle Cuthbert, who often had the ear of dear Queen Vic., used to gather us round the fireside in the evening. And as he would bounce me on his lap, up and down, he would often tell of the evening that grave news reached the shores of old Blighty concerning events in nether parts of the world.

Indeed, Richard, grave news. Grave news indeed, Richard!
We had time, though, to prepare, and by the time the blasted thing hit, somewhere around 1350, anybody who was anybody, had hopped off to more clement climes to ride out the storm, as it were.
Oh, we were a resourceful family, Sir Cuthbert used to say. Ended up in Tierra del Fuego, or some such outlandish place, for a while, just to get the breath back, you understand. Took a few savages back for good measure, if I'm not mistaken. Sold them at a profit as well, if memory serves me correctly.
And when we returned, it was all as before. And England was once again great.
As for who? English folklore historians? Who the devil are they? And what the duece do they know about anything? Bloody load of communists. Or irish, or something!
Nothing but a bunch of troublemakers, Richard! The whole blasted lot of them. Don't you listen to them, there's a good chap.

Well, I do like our little chats, Richard. And now Bronwyn. How splendid!
Well I'm expecting Lady Alice (one of the Wingfield-Urquarts), and Felicity, her neice, around for a rubber or two at 9.15, and I see that Fortesque has just brought in the Port. I think it is past sunset, don't you?

:) H H-S