The pleasures of old postcards
What this Substack is all about
It may come as no surprise to you, a reader of this newsletter, that I am a lover of postcards. I still write them now and again, although I am often too lazy to post them while abroad, instead handing them to friends when I see them in person. But still they serve as little time capsules, reminders of a particular moment.
I collect postcards from most of the places I visit. Often I write down a few memories on the back, then later they serve as a basis for the posts I share online. Increasingly I find myself drawn to favourite pieces of art in museums I’ve visited, or artistic interpretations of a destination, over photo collages.
I keep postcards from friends. I always find it so meaningful when someone has taken the trouble to write to me. I am sentimental like this: for years I kept a Post-It note which I’d found on my desk after a particularly hard day at work, which read: ‘We’ve gone to the craft beer place - join us if you’re free?’
I also went through a phase of collecting other people’s postcards, which I’d find in corners of second-hand bookshops. Sometimes I just liked the pictures on the front, but more often than not I was drawn to the stories on the back. You can tell so much about a person from the way they write a postcard.
Take this one, written to someone called Joanna Littlewood by her Swedish exchange partner (also called Joanna):
‘Hello! How are you? Are Rick and Leonie still going out. Have you told Martin that I love him. How was his reaction? Have you took a photo of him? Send it to me as soon as you’ve got it, please. I miss you. Love Joanna’
Or this slightly peevish individual with mixed motives:
‘Well, hello there! What’s up? Don’t I rate a letter anymore? This is now 4 weeks 2 days & I haven’t received any post from anyone. Anyway I am having another sunny day in Paradise. The boats are holding up together better now and I am having an easier time. Give my love to everyone & write & give news to me! (Sorry about the bad grammar). Can I have some bank statements as I am forming ideas for this winter and I want to know how much money I will have to spend. Ta! Lots of love, John x’
I also collected a whole series of postcards sent to a woman named Bessie Hughes in the early 1900s. The handwriting is beautiful, if a little difficult to decipher, and the stamps show King George V’s face. The postcards smell like old books.
From these postcards, I learned a surprising amount about Bessie Hughes’ life - and yet only so much that I was desperate to know more. She lived with her sister Amy in Liverpool; I assume they were thought of as ‘spinsters,’ and someone called Jessie sent them this rather passive-aggressive postcard saying, ‘Instantly I thought of ye when beholding these.’
And yet Bessie seems to have had a lively social life, seeing someone named Em every Monday for lessons. Someone named Maxie writes, ‘This is just a pretty picture to let you know I do not forget you are alone at present. I hope you are not lonely?’
Bessie also receives several postcards from a man named Herbert, who invites her to stay with him at Christmas. I am especially intrigued by this one, which references ‘a disastrous fire at Rhyl.’
Some of the postcards are addressed to Bessie when she is ‘Nurse Hughes,’ working at the Royal Infirmary in Glasgow. This is perhaps my favourite:
‘Alas! how quickly the time has flown, & to think that Friday ends the 3 weeks, it is awful. We came back on Monday night. We had a nice day in Edinburgh. Will see you on Friday night. SCW’
I am glad SCW enjoyed their holiday in Bridgend, Lochwinnoch. For a while, I tried to piece together the relationships between all these people, but the postcards only offer fragments of their lives. Perhaps one day I will fill in the gaps myself, and write the story of Bessie, Amy, Maxie, Herbert, and the disastrous fire at Rhyl.
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