It could take from Monday to Thursday and three horses. The ink was unstable, the characters cramped, the paper tore where it creased. Stained with the leather and sweat of its journey, the envelope absorbed each climatic shift, as well as the salt and grease of the rider who handed it over with a four-day chance that by now things were different and while the head had to listen, the heart could wait. Semaphore was invented at a time of revolution; the judgement of swing in a vertical arm. News travelled letter by letter, along a chain of towers, each built within telescopic distance of the next. The clattering mechanics of the six-shutter telegraph still took three men with all their variables added to those of light and weather, to read, record and pass the message on. Now words are faster, smaller, harder ...we're almost talking in one another's arms. Coded and squeezed, what chance has my voice to reach your voice unaltered and to leave no trace? Nets tighten across the sky and the sea bed. When London made contact with New York, there were such fireworks, City Hall caught light. It could have burned to the ground. - Lavinia Greenlaw, 'A World Where News Travelled Slowly'