Postcards from the past

I've never been one to throw postcards in the bin, I know how much effort it takes to write them, and cherish the thought that others have bothered to do the same for me. Over the years the numbers exchanged have diminished, but they now serve as interesting insights into social history. The first one from Paris describes the price of drinks in 1983. We know it's 1983 because of the perfect frank on the reverse, it couldn't be more aesthetically placed! So the price of a coke in Paris was £2, I wouldn't want to pay that now, let alone 30 years ago. It's nice that 
the message relates to the front image, something that I try to do, to show the image was specifically chosen for you, rather than just some random choice.   
The second card is a handmade version of our holiday 'so far' in the Vendée, June 1991. I always thought it would be a good idea to take your own and draw them, and having a one year old meant we weren't doing a great deal, so this little narrative is a more personal insight into life sent home to an eager Grandmother.

An image of the (work) self

One of the disadvantages of working on a short term contract is that you aren't included in the company pension scheme and end up investing in dodgy companies like Equitable Life. One of the advantages is that you get to have your photo taken officially on an annual basis. What pleasure is derived then on looking back and trying to understand the decisions behind the fringe / no fringe styling issue ... the truth of course is that angst still persists.

Reflecting further there is something very familiar in these small plastic items that were handled many times a day for 12 months, yet the oldest is 19 years old. What happened to 1987-1991 I'm not certain. But what connection do I have with the person in the photos, even the name has changed? Yet these objects do remind me of who I was and what I did on a day to day for years and years, the stuff that gets lost in the dark corners of the mind as time passes by.

What value if any will these kinds of items have to future anthropologists sifting through the waste of contemporary life; maybe these still contain chemical traces, the smear of a chicken sandwich consumed on the last day of use; will there be anything to be learned in the grade of plastic that encapuslates them; what does the blue signify, is this referring to gender, or grade, employment sector or contract length; why were they issued so regularly; why did they change shape and the logo transform; why was the background colour different; why was the subject smiling on some and not on others?

Other issues we cannot anticipate will no doubt consume future generations, but will they have the same interest in such items as we have in war time identity papers, ration books or clocking in cards? By having magnetic strips on our work passes, login codes and virtual identities we will soon lose the traces of our day to day working lives and in some way life will be diminished.

Souvenirs

These next objects have been on my mind for some time now, and I deliberately rooted (or should I say mudgered?) about to find in them in the drawers this weekend to see if they were just as fascincating as I remembered.

I've always liked to have souvenirs from my holidays and have done some work in the past with students and the objects that they brought home with them from field trips to New York. It's proved to be an interesting exercise, some seize the opportunity to swell existing collections, some want a unique marker of their visit, and some want to bring home a trinket that sums up New York through a more obvious 'tourist' souvenir. I remember our trip to Tallin, Estonia in 2005 fondly, as it was our first foray into the former Eastern Europe, a charming and relatively unspoilt, uncommercial place. Wandering around the small streets I came across a shop selling old soviet items, medals, posters, bank notes and oddments. It seemed a wonderful opportunity to take home something a little different.



And so reader, I found them. 15 Estonian kroon (I think around £2 or so at the time) secured the bag of old watch mechanisms, 15 in total with 3 watch faces. Nothing special in this you may think, and you would be right, a minature world of cogs but quiet unremarkable and commonplace.



However for me the little details of Russin letters, the shapes, colours and general patina of the faces evoke a time before liberation for the good folks of Estonia, when they were obliged to use Russian currency, learn the Russian language and distance themselves from their European cousins. I would recommend a trip to the Baltics, lovely people, but don't bother with the wine, when we were selecting a local bottle from the menu the waitress said "no, really, chose something else, it's not nice!"

1970s postcard

One delight of keeping endless piles of old correspondence is that you occasionally come across artistic gems. This postcard was sent in the early 70s to me and my sister from our Dutch grandfather telling us, in the hand of his second wife, that he would be writing to us on sunday, thanking us for our letters and wishing us and our cat all the best. I wonder how many children write to their grandparents these days? Most likely they Skpe or even text. But this is a lovely reminder of the relationship that we had. The image, although a clog wearing child, was published in West Germany. The publisher's name is obscured, but it's typical of it's time.

From the tantalus

We all have those special places for keeping buttons that we mean to sew on later, or stamps that are too interesting to throw in the bin with the rubbish. During my childhood the tantalus was one such spot. The bottles were rarely filled with alcohol except at Christmas, but it was a nice object and took pride of place in the middle of the dresser next to the dining table. All manner of items would be locked away, and so they resided for year upon year. I was lucky enough to become the keeper of the tantalus when my mother died, and it has been kept, mainly unopened for around 14 years, until today when I decided to see what was there to take me down memory lane.



I could be accused of being over sentimental, but I was surprised and a little upset by some of the things that I found and had forgotten that I had. The Dutch flag was one that she had brought over with her when she came to England way back in the 1940s after the war to be with my father. The small photo booth picture was from just before she started to decline with the lung cancer that was to take her life. The wristband was from her oncology appointment, 3 years before she died and the Ritalin (empty) was obviously some medication that she was taking to help her to cope with the anxiety of her illness. This small arrangement is not only a reminder of her past, her appearance and her suffering, but an acknowledgement that no matter how tidy a person you are (and make no mistake my mother was such a woman), small vestiges of the past squirreled away can leave a big impact on those who are left behind to remember you. Take heed you compulsive, neurotic types a little slippage now and again is not a bad thing.

Hiker Corn Salve

There is no doubt about it, old medicinal preparations make me shudder. I can't open this tin incase I find the imprint of some ancient finger embedded in the cream, but the graphics on the lid make it worthy of keeping. I can't imagine that my grandparents were hikers, but it has a distinct pre war feel. The instructions are very specific, not only does it take 4 days to improve your corns, but you also have to bathe in hot water and soda after. No good if you are out in a tent on the Pennine Way. I wonder if I may have bought this myself in a second hand shop. It's non the less a lovely item, 1" across. Apparently Carter Bros. of Shipley disappeared in the early 1970s. It shall remain unopened for the foreseeable future.

Australian safety matches

Funnily enough, I've never been to Australia. I don't even know many people who have. So why on earth I should have found this match box (empty) in a drawer is beyond me. I did once have a minor collection of match boxes, but they were mainly from bars and hotels, the thin fold over type. Looking a the back it's definately post 1973, what constitutes an award winning match I'm not sure. As for the illustration, well Forestry looks like a gripping career choice, if this is number 22 in a series it could be worth 5 minutes of your time to wonder what the other 21 would constitute - if you were the pub quiz type.