Picture Book Of The Week: The Postcard Age

The golden age of postcards, in pictures.

The above image is taken from The Postcard Age by Lynda Klinch and Benjamin Weiss (Thames & Hudson, £19.95). All the images in this book come from the collection of Leonard A Lauder, recently donated to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.

In his preface, Lauder explains his fascination with postcards.

Postcards open countless windows on to a broader collective past,” he writes. “An individual card makes a specific moment come alive in a vividly intimate way.

According to Klich and Weiss, the golden age of the postcard was the first decade of the 20th century. In 1909, for example, 833 million stamps for postcards were used in the UK alone. The postcard “craze”, they argue, was a phenomenon of the first great age of globalisation.

The international post system “smoothed the path for commerce and intellectual exchange and helped foster a broader sense that the cultures of Europe were entwined”. However, some observers at the time took a more jaundiced view of the popularity of postcards. In 1906, the American writer John Walker Harrington published an article entitled “Postal Carditis and Some Allied Manias”.

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[All images from the Leonard A. Lauder Postcard Archive—Promised gift of Leonard A. Lauder/courtesy the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, via Imprint]

 

The Postcard Maintains Friendship, from The Postcard Age [Credit: Thames and Hudson]
Val Doone/Getty Images
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“The Hole-Up”: a poem by Matthew Sweeney

“You could taste the raw / seagull you’d killed and plucked, / the mussels you’d dug from sand, / the jellyfish that wobbled in your / hands as you slobbered it.”

Lying on your mouth and nose
on the hot sand, you recall
a trip in a boat to the island –
the fat rats that skittered about
after god-knows-what dinner,
the chubby seals staring up,
the sudden realisation that a man
on the run had wintered there
while the soldiers scoured
the entire shoreline to no avail –
you knew now you had been him
out there. You could taste the raw
seagull you’d killed and plucked,
the mussels you’d dug from sand,
the jellyfish that wobbled in your
hands as you slobbered it.
You saw again that first flame
those rubbed stones woke in
the driftwood pile, and that rat
you grilled on a spar and found
delicious. Yes, you’d been that man,
and you had to admit now you
missed that time, that life,
though you were very glad you
had no memory of how it ended.


Matthew Sweeney’s Black Moon was shortlisted for the 2007 T S Eliot Prize. His latest collection is Inquisition Lane (Bloodaxe).

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt