Stroll through a sleepy British village or wander along a suburban street and you may well notice that some of the post boxes wear a rather snazzy hat. Don’t worry, you’ve simply stumbled upon one of Britain’s most quietly bonkers yet utterly wholesome pastimes: crocheted letterbox toppers.
Yes, really. All across the UK, perfectly ordinary red Royal Mail post boxes are being topped — quite literally — with woolly tributes to everything from a crocheted Anne Boleyn outside the shop at Hever Castle in Kent to a crocheted full English breakfast. If you didn’t grow up with a grandmother who could knit a jumper for a labrador in under an hour, this may seem baffling. But to many of us Brits, this kind of yarn-based mischief is as comforting as a cup of tea and a dunked digestive.
There’s no denying it — this is peak British eccentricity. We already talk to Magpies, say sorry when we get bumped into and turn queueing into a competitive sport. These quirks are pretty well known and discussed by visitors to our shores. But what possessed anyone to one day look at a naked post box and think: “What this needs is a crocheted pigeon in a flat cap.”
The craze — often referred to as “yarn bombing” — began as a form of gentle, subversive street art. There are claims that it originated in the US in the early 2000s. But even if that’s true, us Brits have taken the idea and run with it. On our shores, it’s evolved into a community-minded, joyful form of expression — part public art, part therapy, and part gentle anarchy or even protest… with a crochet hook!
So who are the mysterious stitchers behind these cheerful confections? Secret societies? Guerrilla grannies? Stealthy stitchers lurking behind privet hedges?
Well, kind of. Most of them are everyday people — often women, but not exclusively — from local knitting or crochet groups, community clubs, and online forums. They call themselves names like “The Secret Crocheters” or “Yarn Ninjas,” and they’re more than happy to rise before dawn to affix a work of art to the top of their local letterbox. Often, the toppers change to suit national occasions or to make a statement.
Visit the lobby of Eastbourne General District Hospital in Sussex and you’ll find a topper that portrays a selection of women’s breasts! It’s not a nod to anything pornographic. It’s there to raise awareness of the Breast Cancer Care provided in the hospital.
Many crafters began topping letterboxes during the pandemic — a way to bring joy, colour, and connection to communities when hugs and pub nights were temporarily off the table. Some toppers have commemorated national events: VE Day, Remembrance Day, and even Eurovision. Others are simply… delightfully random. The plainest one I ever saw was just a flat cover in the colours of the Ukraine flag, but it made its support clear without unnecessary fanfare.
Ask a yarn bomber why they do it and you’ll likely get an answer involving three parts love, two parts mischief, and a generous dash of boredom-turned-brilliance. It’s creative, it’s anonymous (unless they’re outed by, or out themselves on the local Facebook group), and it makes people smile — which, let’s face it, is increasingly valuable these days.
Talking of Facebook, the UK Postbox Toppers and More Group on Facebook had over 134k members at the last count, so this is far from a niche fad. Pay a visit and you’ll see a fine selection of toppers.
There’s something deeply satisfying in cheering up cold metal infrastructure with woollen whimsy. It’s like putting a cosy on a traffic cone. Utterly unnecessary. And utterly brilliant.
And when I say this is national, I mean it. I snapped this Christmas themed topper while travelling home from my parents in the Scottish Borders. Very intricate indeed.
So the next time you spot a post box topped with a frog in a tutu, don’t worry — you haven’t entered a fever dream. You’re simply in the presence of a very British kind of magic: crafted by hand, installed in secret, and guaranteed to make you grin.
Long may the letterboxes wear their woolly crowns.
