Category: holiday postcards

Ripple Effect

‘Greetings from…’ designs have rippled through visual culture for well over a century, telling the stories of how we see ourselves and our places.

A stone dropped into still water creates concentric circles that radiate outward. This physical phenomenon is a powerful metaphor for how cultural ideas spread through time and across media, especially visual motifs of place. Certain visual vocabularies persist, evolving with technologies while maintaining essential characteristics.

American statehood, regional identity, and natural heritage have rippled through various media over the past century. Iconic ‘large letter’ postcards, commemorative postal stamps, murals and more—all help us trace a fascinating journey of cultural transmission through the broader currents in American history, industrial development, and visual communication.

Gruss Aus… from Germany

“Greetings From…” postcards emerged in 1890s Germany. The early examples of Gruss Aus cards featured the name of a location rendered in bold, three-dimensional letters with miniature scenes of local landmarks contained within. More common postcards of the day feature detailed illustrations of castles and later photographs. This new design cleverly packed maximum visual information into the limited space, creating an instantly recognizable format that would soon spread internationally.

New American Icons

The transmission of this visual language to America came through a German immigrant named Curt Teich, who arrived in the United States in 1895. After establishing his printing company in Chicago in 1898, Teich would transform American visual culture through the mass production of postcards. Following a visit to Germany in 1904, he successfully imported the Gruss Aus style to the American market, adapting it to suit American sensibilities and landscapes.

The true flowering of Teich’s vision came in 1931 with the introduction of his linen-textured postcards. Printed on high-quality paper with a distinctive fabric-like texture, these cards employed vibrant colors and airbrushing techniques that created a hyperreal aesthetic. The technical innovation of the linen card allowed for faster drying times and more saturated colors, resulting in postcards that depicted America in an optimistic, idealized light—a stark contrast to the harsh realities of the Great Depression era in which they first appeared.

Teich’s business savvy was as important as his technical innovations. He employed hundreds of traveling salesmen who photographed businesses and worked with owners to create idealized images for postcards. This approach not only generated business but also shaped how Americans visualized their own landscapes and communities. The Curt Teich Company would eventually produce over 45,000 different linen postcard subjects in just two decades.

The visual language of these postcards—bold lettering, vibrant colors, and idealized scenes—became firmly embedded in American visual culture during the 1930s through 1950s. As automobile ownership increased and the highway system expanded, these postcards played a crucial role in shaping Americans’ understanding of their own geography and national identity. They were both records of places visited and aspirational images of places to be seen.

State Birds and Flowers

Parallel to the development of the large letter postcard, another form of state-based visual identity was taking root—the formal designation of state birds and flowers. Most American states adopted these symbols between the 1920s and 1940s, often through campaigns involving schoolchildren, women’s clubs, and conservation organizations.

These officially designated natural symbols provided another vocabulary for expressing regional identity, one rooted in the natural world rather than the built environment. While large letter postcards typically highlighted human achievements—city skylines, hotels, roadways—state birds and flowers emphasized the distinctive natural heritage of each region. Together, these complementary systems of regional representation provided Americans with a rich visual language for their diverse nation.

In 1978, the Fleetwood company commissioned father-son wildlife artists Arthur and Alan Singer to create 50 original paintings of state birds and flowers. These watercolor paintings caught the attention of U.S. Postal Service officials, who recognized their exceptional quality and decided to feature them on commemorative stamps. Released on April 14, 1982, the 20-cent State Birds and Flowers stamp collection was another big moment in the ripple effect.

Arthur Singer painted the birds while his son Alan rendered the flowers, creating unique artwork for each of the 50 stamps. The collaboration between father and son added another dimension to this cultural transmission—the passing of artistic traditions and approaches from one generation to the next.

The Fleetwood company published a complete album featuring First Day Covers of these stamps. These decorative envelopes included additional information about each state’s natural heritage, creating a beautifully bound volume that was both aesthetically pleasing and informative. The Birds & Flowers of the 50 States album is now a cherished collectible, a visual catalog of national natural heritage in a single, beautifully presented format.

Greetings from the Post Office

Twenty years later, the visual language of the large letter postcard experienced a revival through another stamp collection. On April 4, 2002, the USPS issued the ‘Greetings from America’ stamps, designed by Richard Sheaff and illustrated by Lonnie Busch. These stamps paid direct homage to the large letter postcards of the 1930s and 1940s, recreating their distinctive style for a new generation.

Each of the 50 stamps featured the name of a state in large, three-dimensional letters containing images of iconic landmarks and scenic vistas. The stamps were initially released as 34-cent denominations, but due to a rate change, they were reissued with 37-cent denominations on October 25, 2002. Here is another circular moment—a postal medium paying tribute to a postcard tradition that had itself been a popular means of commemorating places visited.

These stamps connected with older Americans who remembered the original postcards. Younger generations encountering the style for the first time recognized both the nostalgic and contemporary appeal. The vibrant colors and bold, three-dimensional lettering still effectively communicated a sense of place and regional pride, proving again the resilience of this visual vocabulary.

Even Larger Letters

Artists Victor Ving and Lisa Beggs took the large letter postcard to a whole new scale. Starting in 2015, the Greetings Tour has produced dozens of murals that transform the two-dimensional postcard design into monumental public art.

A grand dimensional leap—a design meant to be held in the hand scaled to the size of a building. The murals maintain the core visual elements of the large letter design while incorporating contemporary references and local touchstones. In a delightful twist, these murals have themselves become tourist attractions with visitors posing for social media. The postcard mural is now a backdrop for new images to be shared globally.

The artists also create custom digital designs for corporations, events, and retail spaces, maintaining the vintage aesthetic while adapting it to contemporary contexts. This commercialization represents another ripple in the cultural transmission of the large letter design, as it moves from public art back into the commercial realm that originally produced the linen postcards.

Digital Doppelgangers

As graphic design software became increasingly sophisticated and accessible in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, the visual language of large letter postcards found new life in digital recreations. Graphic design tools enable designers to quickly recreate the distinctive three-dimensional lettering and image-filled characters of the classic postcards.

AI Generation

Online design platforms have further opened access to this aesthetic, offering templates that approximate the large letter style without requiring specialized skills. Now small businesses, community organizations, and individuals can incorporate elements of this visual tradition into their communications, expanding the reach of this design vocabulary beyond professional designers.

With a phrase like “create an image of a vintage large letter postcard from Arizona,” most anyone can generate a decent design in seconds. Like the old days of digital clip-art, the initial attempts lack craftsmanship and historical accuracy. Still, they are a new democratization of this visual vocabulary, making it more accessible to professional designers and enthusiasts alike, though perhaps for different reasons.

This latest development completes a fascinating loop—from specialized industrial printing processes that required substantial investment and technical expertise, to digital design tools requiring professional training, to AI generation requiring only the ability to formulate a design concept and the text prompt. With each technological advancement, the barriers to producing these distinctive visual representations have lowered, while the core elements of the design has persisted.

Visual Persistence

From German Gruss Aus postcards to AI-generated images—our journey demonstrates the remarkable resilience of certain visual vocabularies across time, technologies, and cultural contexts. Despite dramatic changes in production methods, from specialized lithographic presses to neural networks, the essential visual grammar of these designs remains recognizable.

This persistence has a woven quality—the ability to render and replicate a sense of place over time. Whether in linen postcards, commemorative stamps, public murals, or digital images, the large letter design and state symbol motifs combine to convey regional identity and pride over time. Their continued relevance suggests that certain visual solutions, once discovered, become an architecture that generations continue to appreciate and adapt for new uses.

We also feel the ripple effect in the broader patterns of American history— immigrants bringing skills and technology to American shores, industrial innovation creating new visual possibilities, the automobile age changing how Americans experienced nature and themselves, and digital technology transforming how we create and share images. Through it all, the distinctive visual language pioneered by Curt Teich and others continues to evolve.

What new ripples lie ahead? Perhaps augmented reality will allow us to step into these designs. Or new materials and technologies will adapt them yet again for uses we don’t yet comprehend. Whatever comes next, we know that cultural transmission does have a distinguishing mark—it ripples outward in both calculable and unexpected ways, influenced by technology, economics, and human inspiration, creating patterns that can be traced across generations.

For Additional Reading

Meikle, Jeffrey L. (2016). Postcard America: Curt Teich and the Imaging of a Nation, 1931-1950. University of Texas Press. Publisher’s page

“The Immigrant Story Behind the Classic ‘Greetings From’ Postcards.” Smithsonian Magazine. (2018). Read online

“Curt Teich & Co., est. 1898.” Made-in-Chicago Museum. (2020). Read online

“How Linen Postcards Transformed the Depression Era Into a Hyperreal Dreamland.” Collectors Weekly. Read online

“Curt Teich Postcard Archives Collection.” Newberry Library. Collection information

“1953-2002 – 1982 20c State Birds and Flowers.” Mystic Stamp Company. Product page

Singer, Paul and Alan Singer. (2017). Arthur Singer: The Wildlife Art of an American Master. RIT Press. Publisher’s page

“3696-3745 – 2002 37c Greetings From America.” Mystic Stamp Company. Product page

Greetings Tour – The Original Postcard Mural Artists. Official website

“How To Create a Vintage Style Large Letter Postcard Design.” Spoon Graphics. (2022). Tutorial

The Productive Past

Early postcards represent a convergence of innovations in printing, photography, and postal delivery—each with its own players, craft, and history. The emergence of the simple picture postcard depended on a complex international network of industries, technologies, and regulations developed in the prior century.

Art for the Masses

The development of chromolithography in the late 19th century provided the technological foundation for colorful mass-produced postcards. Though lithography itself dated back to 1796, when Alois Senefelder developed the process in Munich, the refinement of color lithography reached new heights in the 1870s-90s, with different national styles emerging.

German printers particularly mastered the technique of creating separate limestone printing plates for each color, allowing for vibrant multi-color images that previously would have required expensive hand-coloring. A typical color postcard might require five to fifteen separate printing runs, with perfect registration between colors. This level of precision required specialized equipment and highly trained craftsmen.

German chemical industries produced superior inks and dyes, giving their postcards more vibrant and stable colors than competitors. Companies like BASF and Bayer, originally founded as dye manufacturers, provided innovative colorants specifically formulated for printing applications.

The German city of Leipzig emerged as a center of printing excellence, with firms like Meissner & Buch establishing international reputations for quality. German chromolithography was so superior that even American publishers would often have their designs sent to Germany for printing, then shipped back to the United States for distribution—at least until tariff changes in 1909 made this practice less economical. Publishers like Raphael Tuck & Sons maintained offices in Germany despite being headquartered in London, simply to access German printing expertise.

While Germany led in technical quality, French postcards developed a reputation for artistic sophistication. Paris publishers like Bergeret and Levy et Fils produced cards featuring Art Nouveau styles and artistic photographic techniques. The French market also developed distinctive “Fantaisie” postcards featuring elaborate designs with silk applications, mechanical elements, or attached novelties. These cards pushed the boundaries of what a postcard could be, turning functional communication into miniature works of art.

British publishers like Raphael Tuck & Sons, J. Valentine & Co., and Bamforth & Co. showed particular commercial acumen. While they didn’t match German printing quality or French artistic sensibility, British firms excelled at identifying market opportunities and consumer trends. The British pioneered specialized categories like the seaside postcard and led in developing postcards for specific holidays and occasions.

Photographic Reality

While lithographic postcards dominated the market, photography increasingly influenced postcard production. The collodion wet plate process (1851) and later the gelatin dry plate (1871) made photography more accessible. The development of halftone printing in the 1880s allowed photographs to be reproduced in print media without manual engraving, creating more realistic imagery.

A revolutionary moment came in 1903 when Eastman Kodak introduced “Velox” postcard paper. This pre-printed photographic paper had postcard markings on the back and a light-sensitive photo emulsion on the front. Combined with Kodak’s 3A Folding Pocket camera, which produced negatives exactly postcard size (3¼ × 5½ inches), this innovation created the Real Photo Postcard (RPPC).

The acquisition of Leo Baekeland’s Velox photographic paper company in 1899 for $1 million provided a crucial technological component. Velox paper could be developed in artificial light rather than requiring darkroom conditions, had faster developing times, and produced rich blacks and clear whites—all critical qualities for postcard production.

The RPPC format found particular success in America, where the vast geography meant many small towns would never appear on commercially printed postcards. Local photographers throughout the country created RPPCs of main streets, businesses, schools, and community events, documenting American life with unprecedented comprehensiveness.

International Postal Agreements

Even the most beautifully produced postcard would be meaningless without an efficient system to deliver it. The standardization of postal systems in the late 19th century created the infrastructure necessary for postcards to flourish.

A watershed moment for international mail came with the Treaty of Bern in 1874, establishing the General Postal Union (later renamed the Universal Postal Union or UPU). This organization created the first truly international postal agreement, initially signed by 22 countries, primarily European nations. The United States joined the UPU in July 1875, connecting the American postal system to the standardized European networks. The U.S. had introduced its own government-issued postal cards in 1873, but joining the UPU meant these could now be sent internationally under consistent regulations.

Several key UPU Congress developments shaped the postcard’s evolution. The 1878 Paris Congress renamed the organization to Universal Postal Union. The 1885 Lisbon Congress standardized the maximum size for postcards (9 × 14 cm). The 1897 Washington Congress set new international regulations for private postcards. The 1906 Rome Congress standardized the divided back format internationally.

Perhaps the most crucial postal development for postcard popularity was the divided back. Great Britain introduced this format in 1902, with France and Germany following in 1904, and the United States in 1907. Before the divided back, the entire reverse of a postcard was reserved for the address only, with messages having to be squeezed onto the front, often around the image. The new format allocated half the back for the address and half for a message, dramatically improving postcards’ utility as correspondence tools.

European Delivery Systems

European railway networks proved ideal for postal delivery, creating a remarkably efficient system. By the 1870s-80s, most European countries had developed comprehensive rail networks. Germany alone had over 24,000 miles of railway by 1895, despite having a land area smaller than Texas.

Railway mail cars (“bureaux ambulants” in France, “Bahnpost” in Germany) sorted mail en route. These mobile sorting offices made the system highly efficient, with mail sorted by destination while in transit. Railway timetables were coordinated to allow for mail transfers at junction points, creating an integrated system even across national borders.

Major routes often saw multiple mail trains per day. The Berlin-Cologne line, for example, had four daily postal services by 1900. This meant that postcards could be delivered between major cities within a day, creating a communication speed previously unimaginable.

For urban delivery, European cities developed even more innovative systems. Perhaps most remarkable were the pneumatic tube networks installed in several European capitals. Paris launched its “Pneumatique” in 1866, Vienna’s “Rohrpost” began in 1875, and Berlin built an extensive pneumatic network from 1865. These systems used compressed air pressure to propel cylindrical containers through networks of tubes. The carriers could hold several postcards or letters and traveled at speeds up to 35 kilometers per hour. Paris eventually developed a pneumatic tube network extending 467 kilometers, allowing for delivery times of under 30 minutes across the city. A morning postcard could receive an afternoon reply—creating a nearly conversational pace of written communication.

American Adaptations

The United States faced different geographical challenges. The vast distances between population centers meant that the same-day delivery common in Europe was impossible between major cities. Nevertheless, the American postal system developed impressive efficiency given these constraints.

The U.S. Railway Mail Service, officially established in 1869, became the backbone of American mail delivery. By 1900, more than 9,000 railway postal clerks were sorting mail on trains covering more than 175,000 miles of routes. While European countries measured mail routes in hundreds of miles, American routes stretched thousands of miles across the continent.

American cities also experimented with pneumatic tube systems, though they were less extensive than European counterparts. New York City’s system, operating from 1897 to 1953, eventually covered 27 miles with tubes connecting post offices in Manhattan and Brooklyn. At its peak, it transported 95,000 letters per day, or about 30% of all first-class mail in the city.

Within cities, frequent delivery became the norm. By 1900, many American urban areas offered at least four daily mail deliveries, with some business districts receiving up to seven deliveries per day. This made postcards a practical means of daily communication within city limits, much as they were in Europe.

The efficiency and economy of postcards made them ideal for routine business communications. Companies developed pre-printed postcards for order acknowledgments, shipping notifications, payment reminders, meeting confirmations, service calls, and appointment reminders. These standardized communications reduced clerical costs while providing a paper trail of business interactions. The divided back format was particularly valuable for business purposes, allowing for both a standardized message and customized details.

Perhaps no industry benefited more from postcards than tourism. Hotels, resorts, transportation companies, and local chambers of commerce all commissioned postcards that served as both souvenirs and advertisements. Visitor bureaus coordinated with publishers to ensure their destinations were well-represented in the marketplace. The economic impact was substantial—a scenic view postcard might cost a penny to produce, sell for a nickel, and generate hundreds of dollars in tourism revenue by inspiring visits. This multiplication effect made postcards perhaps the most cost-effective tourism marketing tool ever devised.

On the personal side, postcards fulfilled a spectrum of communication needs. In an era when the telephone was still a luxury and telegrams were expensive, postcards filled the gap between costly immediate communication and slower formal letters. Their affordability and efficiency made them ideal for routine messages. At half the postage rate of letters in many countries, postcards democratized written communication for working-class people who might otherwise limit correspondence due to cost. The postcard’s format encouraged brevity—a perfect medium for quick notes without the formality or length expected in a letter. In urban centers with multiple daily mail deliveries, postcards functioned almost like text messages, allowing people to make arrangements within hours.

Sending postcards from vacation destinations served as tangible proof of travel experiences. “Wish you were here” cards from resorts or tourist locations signaled social status and mobility. Recipients often displayed postcards on special racks or in parlor albums, using them as affordable decorative elements and evidence of their social connections. For people who rarely traveled, receiving postcards provided authentic glimpses of distant places through real photographs rather than artistic interpretations.

Perhaps most significantly for historical purposes, postcards—especially RPPCs—documented aspects of community life that would otherwise have gone unrecorded. Local events, buildings, streetscapes, and everyday activities were captured on postcards, creating a visual record of ordinary life at the turn of the century that has proven invaluable to historians. When natural disasters or significant events occurred, local photographers would quickly produce RPPCs documenting the situation. These cards spread visual news of floods, fires, celebrations, or notable visitors throughout the region, serving an early photojournalistic function.

While American postcard production initially lagged behind Europe in quality, US companies excelled at entrepreneurial adaptation. When the 1909 Payne-Aldrich Tariff Act increased import duties on foreign postcards, American firms rapidly expanded domestic production capabilities. When World War I cut off European imports entirely, American manufacturers stepped into the gap, developing new techniques and styles.

Beyond the Golden Age

Behind every seemingly simple postcard lies a complex history of industrial innovation, international cooperation, and social transformation—a paper-based predecessor to the digital networks that connect us today.

The Golden Age of postcards waned after World War I due to disruption of European production centers, rising postal rates, the growing popularity of telephones, and the emergence of new forms of mass media.

The era when postcards emerged was a crucial moment when ordinary people gained access to new visual communication tools. The democratization of image sharing pioneered by postcards foreshadowed later developments in visual communication. This visual history reminds us, from personal photographs to social media posts, the impulse to share visual snippets of our lives is a constant across time.

Happy New Year and Love to You, Dear

Each year, simple messages usher us into the new and next. Like Auntie Mary a century ago, I’m sending lots of love to each & every one.

I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year with just lots of love to each & every one. Lovingly, Auntie Mary

Seasons Greetings from Posted Past

Enjoy this album of Christmas greetings from the Posted Past. Wishing you peace and prosperity in the years ahead.

It’s Christmas Day and maybe you have a stack of Christmas cards – not just from this year, but from many seasons past. Each one is a thread in the tapestry of your life, too precious to discard. Like treasured ornaments, they tell stories that span generations.

Christmas cards aren’t merely paper messengers of the season – they’re artifacts of connection, physical reminders of the hands that chose them, the words written inside, the relationships that flourished across years and miles. Each card is a small time capsule, preserving moments of joy, celebration, and remembrance.

It’s fine to recycle your greeting cards, let’s not be too precious. But why not try something new? String them into a garland, tuck them into a memory box, or preserve them in an album. Let them be your Christmas story, told in paper and ink, holly leaves and winter scenes, building year by year into a cherished archive of holiday memories.

For today, take in all the love and laughter enclosed, and enjoy this album of Christmas greetings from the Posted Past. Wishing you peace and prosperity in the years ahead.

Held to the Light: A 1943 Postcard’s Hidden Meaning

When held up to the light, this 1943 wartime postcard reveals a play on names and a hidden orchestra – but that’s just the beginning of its secrets.

On a dark December day in 1943, someone in Chicago mailed an extraordinary postcard. At first glance, it appears to be a silver gelatin photograph of sheet music and a pair of scissors, artfully arranged and lit. But when held to the light, the card transforms – silhouetted orchestra members emerge from the shadows, and the scissors become a conductor’s upraised arms, creating a miniature theater of light and shadow. The message at the top reads MAY THE MUSIC BE JUST THE WAY YOU WANT IT ALL THROUGH ’44, signed playfully by Glen Shears – a silly pun referencing Glenn Miller, America’s most popular bandleader, and the scissors in the image.

The technical sophistication of this artifact presents an intriguing mystery. Its foundation is a silver gelatin photographic print, created using the same process that Eastman Kodak had popularized with their 1903 postcard camera. But the card’s creator went further, adding to the photograph a second iridescent overlay to create the hidden orchestral scene – a remarkable innovation combining two distinct images. During wartime rationing, when the War Production Board strictly controlled access to photographic papers and printing supplies, the mere existence of such an experimental piece raises questions about its origins.

Two theories emerge: The card might be the work of an individual artist-photographer, one of the creative practitioners who had embraced Kodak’s democratization of the postcard medium. The careful composition, masterful lighting, and precise registration of the overlay suggest someone with both technical expertise and artistic vision.

Or, it could be an experimental piece from the American Colortype Company of Chicago (or one of a handful other production houses) known for innovative printing techniques and possessing both the technical capabilities and wartime authorization to access restricted materials.

But as we look closer, deeper historical resonances emerge. The card was postmarked December 15, 1943, and addressed to Staff Sergeant J.M. Ellison of the 937th Engineer Aviation Combat Battalion at Barksdale Field, Louisiana. The sender’s casual inquiry – “Does it look as if you’re going over?” – hints at the imminent deployment of Ellison’s specialized unit.

The 937th was part of the Army Air Forces’ engineering force tasked with rapidly constructing and maintaining combat airfields. These Aviation Engineer Battalions could build a 5,000-foot runway in as little as 15 days, creating the infrastructure that would support the Allied advance across Europe. Following D-Day, units like the 937th pushed forward with combat operations, often working under fire to establish the forward airfields necessary for tactical air support and troop transport.

The card’s musical theme and playful signature unknowingly connected to another Army Air Forces mission. By December 1943, Glenn Miller had transformed his career from civilian bandleader to Captain in the Army Air Forces, modernizing military music through his Training Command Orchestra. In June 1944, Miller brought his band to England, where they performed hundreds of concerts for Allied forces preparing for the invasion of Europe.

As Allied forces advanced across France in late 1944, Miller became determined to bring his music to the troops at forward bases. He began planning an ambitious series of concerts at the very airfields being constructed by the Aviation Engineers. The precise coordination required for these performances – ensuring runways were operational and facilities ready – meant that Miller’s musical mission and the work of units like the 937th were deeply intertwined.

Here the card’s hidden theater of light and shadow takes on new meaning. The sender could not have known that exactly one year after posting this cheerful greeting – on December 15, 1944 – Glenn Miller would board a small Norseman aircraft in England, bound for Paris to arrange performances at forward bases. His plane disappeared over the English Channel in poor weather, creating one of World War II’s enduring mysteries.

The card’s wish for music “all through ’44” became both prophecy and elegy. Somewhere in France, Sgt. Ellison and his fellow engineers might have been preparing the very airfields where Miller hoped to perform. The innovative combination of photography and theatrical lighting effect, created in Chicago a year earlier, had unknowingly captured the intersection of American technical ingenuity, cultural influence, and the human tragedies of war.

Today, this hold-to-light card stands as both artistic innovation and historical artifact. Whether created by an individual photographer or a commercial outfit, it demonstrates the creative adaptation of pre-war techniques to serve wartime needs for connection and morale. In its transformation from simple photo to magical light-show, it embodied the same spirit of innovation that characterized both Glenn Miller’s military music and the rapid-deployment airfield construction of the Aviation Engineers.

More than just a technological curiosity, the card captures a moment when American creativity – musical, photographic, and engineering – was being mobilized for war. The coincidence of the postmark date and Glenn Miller’s final flight reminds us how individual stories weave together to create the larger narrative of history, sometimes in ways that only become apparent when held up to the light.

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Heads & Tails: Redcar a Century Ago

Four children are astride donkeys walking on the beach, clothed in Edwardian-style white blouses and all wearing caps. A century away (and still there today) kids on a delightful donkey ride near Redcar’s legendary seaside.

This real photo postcard with a memorable image bears the hand-scripted titled “Heads & Tails at Redcar.” One can still feel the April 18, 1910 embossed postmark on the card a century later. Addressed to Nurse Aird in Darlington from Redcar, the message is pragmatic.

Expect to arrive about 6.30 to-morrow evening. Love from Rennie

The seaside town of Redcar was transformed from a modest fishing village into a bustling resort town by the arrival of the railway in the mid-19th century, and became a beloved destination for working and middle-class families from throughout Britain’s industrial northeast.

In the 1910s, Redcar embodied the height of seaside grandeur. The impressive Coatham Hotel, built in 1871, dominated the seafront, its architecture expressing the optimism and ambition of the age. A pier stretched into the sea, its 1873 construction a testament to the engineering confidence of the era. Along the promenade, ornate gas lampposts cast their glow over evening strollers, while elaborate wooden shelters provided refuge from sudden showers.

The seafront architecture told a story of careful planning and civic pride. Victorian terraces, built of local sandstone or sturdy brick, were elegant facades looking at the sea. Behind them, a grid of streets housed seasonal workers, fishermen, and the growing permanent population drawn by the town’s prosperity. The Central Hall, opened in 1895, provided entertainment, while Methodist and Anglican churches with their reaching spires reminded visitors and residents alike of Victorian moral values.

Yet Redcar was never merely a tourist trap. The town’s proximity to mining linked it inextricably to Britain’s industrial might. The discovery of workable iron ore deposits in the Cleveland Hills in 1850 had sparked an industrial revolution in the region. By the 1910s, mines dotted the landscape, and the sight of industrial chimneys on the horizon reminded visitors of the region’s working heart. Many local people split their lives between seasonal tourist work and the demanding labor of the mines or ironworks.

This distinctive mixing of leisure and industry is part of Redcar’s character. Unlike some of Britain’s more exclusive seaside resorts, the community remained proudly connected to its working roots. The donkey rides captured in our postcard—a quintessential British seaside tradition—were an affordable pleasure for working families. The donkeys themselves, chosen for their gentle temperament and sturdy build, paralleled the town’s way: reliable, hardworking, and ready to provide joy to all comers.

On April 18, 1910, Rennie dashed off a quick note from Redcar to Nurse Aird, using one of Rapid Photo Company’s popular seaside postcards to announce a return to Darlington the following evening at 6:30pm. Such precise timing speaks to the reliability of the North Eastern Railway’s service between the coastal town and Darlington, where regular daily connections had become the lifeblood of the region.

The journey home would begin at Redcar’s Central Station, its Victorian architecture still relatively new and imposing in 1910. The late afternoon departure would catch the changing light over the North Sea, before the steam locomotive began its hour-long journey inland. As the train pulled through Middlesbrough and then west toward Darlington, the spring evening would be settling in, with the Cleveland Hills silhouetted against the dusk. Fellow passengers might have included ironworkers heading to night shifts, businessmen returning from coastal meetings, and perhaps other daytrippers who had enjoyed the seasonal pleasures of the seaside.

By evening, Rennie would step onto the platform at Darlington’s Bank Top station, the time at the coast already feeling like a distant memory. Perhaps a deliberate choice of train, selected to arrive after Nurse Aird’s duties were complete or to catch the end of visiting hours. Whatever prompted the journey, the postcard captures the easy mobility that the railway enabled, allowing residents of these northeastern towns to move between coast and country with a regularity that would have seemed remarkable just a generation earlier.

In 12 historic pictures: a day at the seaside at Redcar from The Northern Echo

The subsequent century would bring profound changes to Redcar. The pier, once a symbol of Victorian confidence, fell victim to storm damage and was demolished in 1981. The grand Central Hall disappeared. Many Victorian hotels were converted or demolished as tourism patterns changed. Most significantly, the industrial base that had provided much of the region’s wealth underwent dramatic transformation. The 2015 closure of the SSI steelworks marked the end of an era, dealing a devastating blow to the community.

Modern Redcar presents a complex picture of a community in transition. The Redcar Beacon opend in 2013 (locally dubbed the “Vertical Pier”) reaches skyward, its contemporary design contrasting with the Victorian architecture that remains. Victorian terraces continue to face the sea, their sandstone facades weathered but dignified. The Clock Tower, dating from 1913, remains a local landmark. The town center struggles with empty shops, a challenge faced by many British high streets. The loss of heavy industry has forced difficult economic adjustments.

The community’s response to these challenges reveals much about Redcar’s character. The Palace Hub, housed in a former amusement arcade, provides space for local artists and craftspeople. Local groups organize beach cleaning and heritage walks, maintaining the town’s connection with its past while protecting its future. Locally run kitchens and groceries address modern challenges of food poverty while building community connections.

Most remarkably, the donkeys still plod along the beach in summer months. The same gentle animals that carried kids a century ago now delight a new generation of visitors. Modern care standards ensure rest periods, weight limits, and veterinary checks, but the essential experience remains unchanged. Children still laugh with surprise at their first encounter with these patient beasts, parents still snap photographs (will box cameras make another comeback?) and the donkeys still take their slow and careful steps, connecting past and present.

Redcar reminds us that progress isn’t linear and that community change involves deep dynamics of loss and renewal. The town that grew wealthy on iron ore and Victorian tourism now seeks new paths forward in renewable energy and cultural heritage. What has remained is both quirky and reliable: a donkey ride on the beach on a summer’s day.

While the grand Victorian hotels and ore industries of the region have largely passed into history, the humble donkey ride endures. Sometimes the most modest traditions prove the most durable, and the true character of a place resides not only in grand achievements but also in simple, timeless pleasures.

Who indeed would have guessed that of all Redcar’s attractions, it would be the donkey rides we couldn’t live without? Perhaps it is fitting that these patient animals, who witnessed the town’s rise, decline, and ongoing reinvention, continue to reliably entertain (and endure) new generations.

Halloween Greetings: From German Craft to American Commerce

Against a star-strewn midnight sky, a girl in white stands fearless in front of a gleaming full moon while impish red devils perch on bat wings around her. This whimsical scene, printed in Germany in 1913, captures the magic of Halloween’s golden age, when postcards were miniature works of art and All Hallows’ Eve still balanced precariously between spooky and sweet.

The story of Halloween postcards mirrors the evolution of both holiday celebrations and the printing industry through the 20th century. Through these distinctive cards, we can trace changing artistic styles, printing technologies, and cultural attitudes toward this magical and mysterious holiday.

This century-old collection opens a window into an era when German printers, American artists, and local publishers like Salem Paper Company competed to create the perfect Halloween greeting. From dramatic witch flights to cheerful pumpkin-peeking children, these cards tell the story of a holiday—and an industry—in transformation.

A Starry Halloween in the Golden Age of Postcards

The John Winsch-published “A Starry Halloween” (1913) represents a pinnacle of German chromolithography and American holiday marketing. The card’s verse playfully describes “black Bat aeroplanes.”

“Hallowe’en’s a starry night, You’ll see the Goblins in flight, Perched on their black Bat aeroplanes, They flit about the weather vanes!”

This aeronautical reference demonstrates how postcards of the era incorporated modern technology into traditional Halloween imagery. This whimsical text combines traditional Halloween motifs with early aviation enthusiasm, placing the card squarely in the 1910s zeitgeist.

The card’s detailed execution showcases why German printers dominated the global market before World War I. The deep blue starry sky creates a dramatic backdrop, while the precise color registration and subtle shading of the figures demonstrate the technical excellence of German printing houses.

The postcard’s personal inscription—”From your Teacher, Dee Seaton, 1913-14″ to “Georgia Long, Pleasant Hill, Mo.”—reveals how these cards served as important social connections, particularly between teachers and students. The one-cent domestic postage rate, clearly marked on the divided back, reminds us of the affordability of this medium for everyday communication.

Frances Brundage’s Gentle Halloween

The Frances Brundage Halloween cards present a markedly different approach to the holiday in the same era. Known for her sweet-faced children and gentle compositions, Brundage brings her characteristic style to what could be frightening subject matter. The large orange pumpkin dominates the compositions, while a cheerful child with curly hair and a red bow plays with a black cat. The clean white background and red border create a bright, appealing presentation that contrasts with darker Halloween imagery.

Brundage (1854-1937) was among America’s most successful illustrators of children, and her distinctive style—rosy-cheeked, innocent-looking children with expressive faces—is immediately recognizable. Her work appeared on postcards, in children’s books, and in advertising, published by major companies including Raphael Tuck & Sons and Samuel Gabriel & Sons. This Halloween greeting card demonstrates how her gentle artistic approach could make potentially scary holiday themes appropriate for even the youngest children.

The Salem Witch: Local History Meets Holiday Trade

“The Salem Witch” postcard, published by the Salem Paper Company of Massachusetts, represents a fascinating intersection of local history, holiday celebration, and tourist commerce. The dramatic nighttime scene features a witch in traditional pointed hat and flowing cape, riding a broomstick across a turquoise sky filled with pink-tinged clouds and a crescent moon. A black cat balances behind her on the broomstick, while a bat flies nearby. Below, a small village with lit windows and a church spire creates a sense of scale and setting.

The publisher’s choice to produce this card in Salem was no accident. The city’s notorious witch trials of 1692-93 had by the early 20th century become a tourist draw, and the Salem Paper Company cleverly capitalized on this connection. The card’s dark, moody color palette of deep blues, blacks, and browns creates an appropriately spooky atmosphere.

The card’s reverse reveals additional historical details through its markings: PUBLISHED BY SALEM PAPER CO., SALEM, MASS., card number 105355, and the TICHNOR QUALITY VIEWS designation. Tichnor Brothers of Boston was renowned for high-quality postcards, particularly New England scenes, making them an ideal partner for Salem Paper Company’s locally themed Halloween products. The technical quality suggests it was likely also printed in Germany, as were many premium postcards of the era, even those designs that were distinctly American and regional.

The Spooked Kid: From Original to Reproduction

The final card, showing a startled child in white nightclothes against an orange-lit room, represents a later reproduction of Halloween imagery. Produced for Lillian Vernon and printed in Hong Kong, this card likely dates from the 1970s-1990s. But, it draws heavily on early 20th-century artistic conventions. The scene’s elements—a black cat in a window pane, yellow crescent moon, candlestick holder with lit candle, and fallen GHOST STORIES book—all reference classic Halloween postcard motifs. This card’s production history tells the story of significant changes in the postcard industry.

When Lillian Vernon, born in Leipzig, Germany, used her $2,000 wedding gift to launch a mail-order handbag business from her kitchen table in Mount Vernon, New York, in 1951, she could hardly have imagined she would revolutionize American gift retail. That first offering—a matching monogrammed handbag and belt set for $6.98—established the winning formula that would define her business: personalized items at affordable prices. The company name itself, taken from her new hometown, would become synonymous with accessible luxury and thoughtful gifting for generations of American shoppers.

Through the boom years of the 1980s and 1990s, Lillian Vernon catalogs were a fixture in American mailboxes, eagerly anticipated by parents and children alike. The company mastered the art of “catch-penny” items—small, impulse-buy treasures that seemed irresistible at their price points. Their most beloved offerings included personalized school supplies (from pencil cases to lunch boxes), holiday decorations, monogrammed doormats, and children’s toys. The company’s success made history in 1987 when Lillian Vernon became the first woman-owned company to be listed on the American Stock Exchange, a milestone in American business history.

By the time the company began sourcing products like Halloween postcards from Hong Kong printers, Lillian Vernon had transformed from a small mail-order business into a retail empire that included multiple specialized catalogs, retail stores, and eventually an online presence. The company’s choice to have the card printed in Hong Kong reflects the late 20th-century shift of printing operations from Europe and America to Asia, prioritizing cost-effective production over the artistic merit and technical excellence that characterized the German chromolithography era.

Though the company would ultimately close in 2016, unable to fully adapt to the digital age, its influence on American retail culture remains significant. The Lillian Vernon story represents both the American dream and the evolution of modern commerce—from kitchen-table startup to national brand, from personalized service to mass-market appeal, from mail-order catalogs to the small business opportunities of the internet era.

The Evolution of an Industry

These postcards trace the evolution of Halloween greetings from the golden age of German printing through the modern reproduction era. The Winsch card represents the height of pre-WWI German chromolithography and original holiday artwork. Frances Brundage’s contribution shows how established American artists adapted holiday themes for children. The Salem Witch card demonstrates the growing commercialization of local history and holiday traditions. Finally, the Lillian Vernon reproduction reveals how these vintage designs found new life in the mass-market retail era.

Together, they tell a story not just of changing printing technologies and business models, but of the evolving relationship with Halloween itself. From the elaborate artistic productions of the 1910s through the mass-market reproductions of the late 20th century, Halloween postcards have both reflected and shaped how Americans celebrate this fascinating holiday.

The Halloween postcard industry’s journey from German printing houses through American publishers to Asian manufacturers parallels larger trends in American commerce and holiday celebrations. These cards remain valuable historical documents, preserving not just artistic styles and printing techniques, but also the personal connections and social customs of their eras. Whether sent by a teacher to a student in 1913 or purchased as a souvenir in more recent decades, each card represents a tangible link to the holiday and shared heritage.