A rural New Brunswick mailman and his mare Peg go beyond the call of duty, connecting the people inside his community as well as to the world outside.

Mail has provided an invaluable link between people and places since colonial times. Originally delivered by horse and rider, then horse and wagon or sleigh, parcels and letters connected communities and protected their residents from the ills of isolation.

By the 1950s most of Atlantic Canada's mail had moved beyond the horse and buggy era and into the world of planes, trains and automobiles. Not so in Tabusintac. In this small, rural northeastern New Brunswick community, Edgar Hierlihy and his mare Peg were just starting their Canada Post careers. Beginning in 1954 and continuing for the next 13 years, Edgar and Peg would be a welcome sight along the 15-mile Tabusintac River route six days a week.

Dedicated to his responsibility, Edgar headed out to work each morning, no matter what.

"There was no backup for Dad," Edgar's son Frank remembers. "No sick days or anything like that. Dad delivered the mail no matter how he felt. In winter he wore an old fur coat with a parka and woolen mitts with leather covers. He always wore a tie pulled up tight to help keep him warm and had a couple of buffalo robes to throw over his knees.

"I remember him delivering the mail the day his mother died," Frank says. "The only compensation was that someone drove him in a car."

Edgar's son-in-law Boucher Palmer recalls one year when spring breakup turned much of his unpaved route to a mass of mud and ruts. "Edgar had to borrow a second horse from his neighbour. He hitched her up with Peg to a sled and never missed a day."

At 15 miles, Edgar's route took time. He not only delivered the mail, he picked up outgoing material, brought it back to the post office where he purchased postage (sometimes with his own money, especially during the Christmas season) and licked, according to Boucher, "More stamps than anyone could imagine."

In the 1950s and '60s, before malls and Wal-Marts had sprouted across the Atlantic landscape, a good portion of mercantile shopping was done by catalogue. Eagerly awaited merchandise ordered from Eaton's frequently formed a major portion of the mail. In December, Christmas gifts filled Edgar's sled and when spring rolled around, outfits destined for weddings and graduations crowded into his wagon. Edgar knew that in a little community like Tabusintac the arrival of the mail was a much-anticipated event, and he wasn't about to disappoint his customers.

His diligence to duty was rewarded with a salary of $2.50 a day. Later, under contract, he got a raise to $20 a week. This salary included the expectation that the mailman would provide his own means of transport and fuel. It couldn't have been easy. Edgar and his wife, Maude, had eight children.

"When oats went up to $3.20 a bag, Dad didn't know how he could afford to continue," Frank recalls. "He took good care of Peg and wouldn't see her working without proper feed."

Edgar's treatment of his mare was indicative of his concern for others. In addition to the mail, he and Peg delivered pints of cream, pounds of butter, jugs of milk, dress and quilt patterns and, in season, dahlia bulbs and rhubarb from house to house along their way. They also drove the teacher to one of the single-room schoolhouses along his route, and delivered lunches to any of the children who'd forgotten their midday meal at home.

The mailman and Peg always made a few stops en route to give the mare a well-deserved rest and allow the mailman time for a cup of tea, a bite of lunch and a bit of catch-up conversation. Edgar brought the local news to residents of the spread-out little farming, fishing, and lumbering community, and was never too tired or hurried to be a sympathetic listener.

Combined with his regard for the community's residents was Edgar's kindly sense of humour. He loved a good joke, even if it was at his own expense. One yarn concerns the day the minister asked Edgar for a drive across the Tabusintac Bridge.

With his usual alacrity, Edgar immediately replied, "Sure, sure."

What Edgar didn't know was that while he and the minister had been chatting in the post office, some of the local wits had fastened a large, provocative picture of a lady inside the front of his wagon. It had been intended as an innocuous bit of humour-they had no way of knowing the clergyman would ask for a lift. Realizing it was too late to remove their handiwork, they watched as Edgar and his unexpected passenger proceeded out to the wagon and climbed aboard.

Although history hasn't recorded what happened next, anyone who knew Edgar could predict his reaction. He'd mutter a few startled, "dear, dears," flap the reins to put Peg into motion and proceed to view the incident in the way it was intended…an affectionate joke on a man everyone knew was capable of appreciating it.

Edgar retired from delivering the mail in 1964 at age 65. When he passed away on September 4, 1976, everyone in Tabusintac turned out for his funeral. He'd been the spirit that for so many years had connected the community with dedication, goodwill and humour. Everyone knew there'd never be another like him.

Today the steel mailboxes that mark his route offer cold comfort in the wake of a man who'd faithfully delivered the mail-and so much more.