A semi-nomadic tribe, neither Brit nor Boer, black nor white, ruled the veld and river valleys of the Cape Colony’s northwestern frontier — until its homeland became a diamond field.
Annexed by Great Britain: 1871
First stamps: 1874
Busiest stamp-issuing years: 1877-8
Joined Cape Colony: 1880.
In 1867, the first diamond in southern Africa was recovered from the veld and river diggings in Griqualand. Among the stones was one weighing in at 21 1⁄2 carats — the Eureka Diamond. Although the excited prospectors in Colesberg tried to keep it quiet, the news immediately leaked to the Advertiser, which rushed into print the same day with this breathless account:
“THE WONDERFUL SOUTH AFRICAN DIAMOND
There is a story this morning afoot in the village. It has just been told us by a lady and we give it just as we have heard it. A Mr. John O’Reilly, a hunter, explorer etc., something of the Dr. Livingstone stamp but not quite so well known, in his travels in the North Country -– somewhere about the Orange River -– picked up a stone two or three months since which he thought had something remarkable about it and brought it down with him. It was shown to several persons here and was at length sent to Dr. Atherstone in Graham’s Town to be examined and, as the lady told us, a letter has come by this morning’s post from the doctor saying it is a diamond and worth £800. Now we quite expect the Great Eastern (ED: A rival newspaper) will have a great laugh at us about the South African Diamond as he did some time ago about the Orange River Serpent but we have stated the report just as we have heard it. Stranger things have come to pass in the world than the Discovery of Diamonds in South Africa.”
A pudding-shaped hill 20 km from the Vaal River became the boom town of Kimberley. Diggers streamed in from all over, and the diamond mine grew to be the biggest hole in the world. The Colonial secretary, addressing the Cape House of Assembly, said: “Gentlemen, on this rock the future success of South Africa will be built.” He was right, in that diamonds and other minerals have made fortunes, enriched many, provided employment and tax revenues and indeed helped to build a booming t economy; unjust, unfair, racist for more than a century; yet South Africa, for the most part, has been a money-maker.
Isn’t it about time I got around to stamps? Well, there weren’t any to talk about in this part of southern Africa. Everyone basically used stamps from the Cape of Good Hope. Depending on what far-flung outpost you inhabited, you might find stamps at the post office from the ZAR (South African Republic), or the Orange Free State, both of which started issuing their own sets in the late 1860s. Every conceivable stakeholder made territorial claims to the diamond fields — the Brits, and Boers from the Cape Colony, Orange Free State and Transvaal, as well as Griqua leader Nicolaas Waterboer — though none of them bothered to consider the rights of the aboriginal Black people who were living there to begin with.
Amid the jousting between Boers and Brits, uitlanders, Afrikaners and others, Griqualand threatened to become Africa’s “wild west.” I promise to get to stamps shortly, but first I must pause to explore at greater length what “Griqualand West” means. Why “west”? Is there a Griqualand “east”? And what does Griqua mean anyway?
So many questions! One at a time …
Griqualand West was a large territory on the Cape Colony’s northern border. It was home to the Griqua people, a semi-nomadic group that occupies a unique niche in south African history and demography. This
population is descended from Boer settlers of the 1600s. With few caucasians available, strapping young Boers settled down with indigenous women, mostly from the Khoikhoi tribe, but also Tswana, San,
Xhosa and others, including Bushmen (Bushwomen?). Their children were raised speaking Dutch, distinct from their indigenous cohort. The mixed-race offspring intermarried, traditions were passed down, and a population emerged that was neither Boer nor Bantu, neither white nor black — a tribe of its own, named Griqua after a Khoi ancestor. Much later, under South Africa’s apartheid regime, the Griqua were classified as “coloured,” to distinguish them from both whites and blacks.
In the crude parlance of the early days, the Griquas were first labeled Bastaards, though the authorities eventually promoted more dignified terms like Korana, Oorlam, or Basters. Trained horsemen, many Basters earned their living and reputations by serving the Cape Colony as commandos against Khoi and San adversaries. Eventually, Griquas chafing under Boer bigotry and British imperialism migrated into the border lands. The story of Griqualand went on, including tensions between leaders and a migration in the 1860s that has been called one of the great epics of African
history, though it is little noted in these parts. The survivors settled in land offered by Natal far to the east — Griqualand East (see map). Depleted by their travails, these Griquas restored their herds and other resources, and managed their semi-nomadic affairs in this new homeland.
While Griqualand East never issued stamps, it did produce a supply of one-pound bank notes — which were never officially issued, and ultimately destroyed. (You may be able to find a rare example, but it likely will cost thousands. The image below is from the Internet.) By 1874, the Griquas had decided to throw in with the British, and Griqualand East was annexed by the Cape Colony.
Just a word about some of the Griqua personalities involved. Among the most notable elites were the Koks and the Waterboers. Andries Waterboer (c.1789—1852) was a descendant of Bushmen, described as “fiercely ambitious.” He prevailed over rivals
and maintained his territory from all comers, passing on leadership to his son Nicolaas when he died in 1852.
Adam Kok was the original “Kaptein” or ruler of Griqualand, but his heirs were displaced by the Waterboers. Adam Kok II moved east from original Griqua lands, presiding over a region called Philippas (a/k/a/ Adam Kok’s Land). The
last migration took place under Adam Kok III. Starting in 1861, the Griquas crossed the Drakensberg mountain range, at great cost, finally reaching their destination, south of Natal, called Nomansland (I kid you not).
In ensuing years, the Waterboer regime to the west enlisted the services of David Arnot, a Griqua and Cape-trained lawyer. Handsome and impeccably dressed, the biracial agent proved instrumental in protecting the interests of the Griquas. One biographical database describes him as “emotional, ostentatious, unscrupulous and highly intelligent.” He is credited with
successfully navigating the Griquas toward a safe harbor with the British and away from the covetous Boers of Transvaal and the Orange Free State. Arnot was said to favor the British over the Boers, despite his ancestry. Incidentally, he was a noted botanist and naturalist. Four desert succulents are named for him, along with a land snail
and a bird, Arnot’s Chat (Myrmecocichla arnoti).
By 1870, numerous sides in and around the diamond fields of Griqualand West were appealing for Queen
Victoria’s protection. Amid the lawlessness and disorder, a foppish artist and miner named Stafford Parker stepped forward to proclaim a “diggers state,” which he dubbed the Klipdrift Republic. No stamps, as far
as I know, though he did have a flag, in keeping with the heraldic passions of the times. President Parker made modest-sized plots available to diggers — as long as they were white-only. The republic was in business for several months, until the British arrived in Kimberley, at which time President Parker and his cabinet promptly resigned.
The British finally took charge in Griqualand West in 1871. Somehow, the region had gone deeply into debt, despite the diamonds sparking in the veld. Bad weather, drought, the failure of crops had something to do with it. Then there was all the unrest and conflict over land and diamonds.
Now, at last, stamps began to appear that were specially designated for use in the new “province” or colony of Griqualand West. Griqualand East under Adam Kok III went its own way, using stamps of Natal or the Cape of Good Hope until it joined the Cape Colony in 1874. Griqualand West was annexed in 1880, thanks in part to the efforts of that skilled attorney/naturalist David Arnot, who held off the Boers and won a legal judgment for his Griqua boss, Nicholaas Waterboer. In 1871, Waterboer placed his Griqua territory under the protection of the British, and in the following years the busy colony became a stamp-issuing country.
During a two-year span, 1877-78, Griqualand West made use of a variety of overprints, always using Cape of Good Hope stamps. The Scott catalogue has more than 100 entries, nearly all of the stamps bearing the single
overprinted letter “G.” All except No. 1 (1874), which is a scrawled “1d” surcharge and very pricey; and Nos. 2 and 3 1877), which are overprinted “G.W.” (Griqualand West, get it?) They also are expensive (you get the idea from the empty spaces in my album, above) .
Let me interject: Griqualand West did issue more than just overprinted Cape of Good Hope stamps. There are official labels inscribed “Province of Griqualand West.” But they are revenue stamps, not valid for mail and thus off the radar for postage stamp collectors like me. I include below examples (from the Internet) of the set issued in 1879, just to share their exquisite design: a fine (and flattering!) side portrait of the mature Queen Victoria, in a circular border with a belted frame, a crown above and floral fans in the corners. I pause to speculate: Why design and issue original revenue labels, but not original postage stamps? Could it be because there was less letter-writing than revenue-sharing going on in the diamond fields of Griqualand West? (By the way, these stamps aren’t cheap — apparently people do collect revenue stamps!)
An idle question also occurs: Why did the overprints change from “G.W.” on the two early stamps, to just “G” on the rest? I suppose the answer is that by 1877, Griqualand East had ceased to exist, having merged with the Cape Colony, so the authorities realized that Griqualand West was the only “Griqualand” left — hence the “G” stands alone.
As for all those “G” overprints, some are not costly or hard to get. I picked up six so far for my collection through Internet purchases, most of them for under $10 (see illustrations below).
In stamp after stamp, the allegorical figure of Hope is resting by her anchor, while the letter “G” dances and sparkles somewhere on the stamp — a rounded capital, thin or thick, narrow or angled, in black, red or blue, like a diamond in the rough.
This has nothing to do with stamps, but rather with the meaning of Griqua. I include some images from the web depicting “basters,” or mixed-race South Africans descended from unions between Boer settlers and Khoi, San, or other tribal partners. I found it fascinating to study the faces in Griqua images from the Internet, It’s fun to try and identify features that might go back to a Dutch ancestor, or a Bushman; a Boer, Khoi, San — or an Englishman. Many of these Griquas today are settled in Namibia. My essay dealt with the Griqua dynasties of the Koks and Waterboers in the 1800s, in territory that today is
part of South Africa. Remember how David Arnot, the anglophile Griqua lawyer, helped arrange for Great Britain to “protect” Griqualand West from the Boers? Did he really do the Griquas a favor by joining with the Cape Colony? For a while there was a nonracial “qualified franchise” that would have allowed land-owning Griquas to vote. But after the Boers and Brits joined forces in the Union of South Africa in 1910, the Griquas became subjects of the new, racist state. Under apartheid, they were marked “coloureds” and denied civil rights. The die was cast by 1894, when David Arnot died in Cape Town, age 74. His death was little noted in the press, even the Advertiser in Colesberg, the diamond-mining town he had served in many capacities. A local historian concluded with some ambivalence: “Thus died a man who fundamentally altered the course of history and in his person, compounded his country’s problems and its aspirations.”
Although denied full civil and political rights in pre-1994 South Africa, the Griqua people apparently were fruitful and multiplied. The “coloured” population of South Africa today calls attention to the fact that “race” is an arbitrary human construct, but even more so, “racism.”
TO BE CONTINUED
First Issue: 1868
Is anyone else tiring of my lengthy, meandering trek through the postal history of southern, central and east British Africa? Is it starting to feel like a slog, after three essays on ZAR/Transvaal? Although I count 21 separate stamp-issuing authorities between 1857 (Cape of Good Hope) and Basutoland (1933), I am certain I can cover the territory in just a few more chapters, combining postal upstarts like Stellaland, Griqualand West and the New Republic. In any case, I shall feel free to divert from this expedition, should another interesting topic draw the attention of the FMF Stamp Project.
I’ve traced the postal path from the first colonial stamps of southern Africa— the Cape of Good Hope triangles (1857) — onward, through hundreds of pages (profusely illustrated, to be sure), and we’ve only reached 1868. Well, riveting stories had to be told, and some of the stamps are downright cute, remarkable, certainly puzzling, even valuable! Of course, other stamps are quite dull — like those ZAR/Transvaal sets, all bearing the busy Boer coat of arms, varying only by size and rendering, color, printing quality, denomination and whether the occupying British had managed to stamp Queen Victoria’s initials on them. (Not to mention the counterfeiting conundrum.) OK, so they’re boring — which only makes the other stamps more interesting, right?
Wrong. The Orange Free State’s stamps are even duller than those of ZAR/Transvaal. At least the Boers across the Vaal River (Trans-Vaal, get it?) redesigned their coat-of-arms stamps over the years; they even issued one commemorative in 1896. Both ZAR/Transvaal and the Orange Free State began issuing its stamps at about the same time. But the smaller Boer republic to the south chose one design — an orange tree, the “tree of freedom” — and stuck with it for 32 years. (As an aside, this habit of keeping the same design going for years remained popular in the Union of South Africa after 1910. A definitive set first issued in 1926 went through several minor updates and printings, with the final stamps issued in 1954 — 28 years later.)
A word about that orange tree. Kind of makes you think the Orange Free State was named after the fruit, doesn’t it? Wrong. Tricked by a stamp! The name actually comes from the south African river Orange, named for the royal family of Holland, Valhalla of Boer legend. Incidentally, the coat of arms of the Orange Free State (left), similar to the badge of the House of Orange, includes bugle horns around a tree, like the stamp; NOT an orange tree. but a small tree with planed branches, like a cedar. On the stamp, however, there’s no doubt it’s an orange tree. For one thing, the Scott catalogue describes the design as “Orange tree.” For another, after the Boers and Brits formed the union of South Africa, the 6d definitive stamp featured the same orange tree — this one with full-color fruits. (see below)
Do you really want me to run through the long boring history of the Orange Free State? Well, maybe not so boring, but not that interesting to this stamp collector, anyway. There was lots of conflict — between Boers and Basothos, Boers and Brits, also occasional unease between the two neighboring Boer republics — Orange Free State and Transvaal/ZAR. After the British imperialists and Boer settlers reached their various agreements, they went their respective ways and pretty much prospered — that is, until they came to blows again. The discovery of diamonds in the rocky reefs of the high tableland contributed to the state’s fortunes — and tensions. The self-governing Orange Free State lasted from 1854 to 1902 — quite a record. A number of state presidents presided, of varying abilities. One of them was the son of Boer hero Andres Pretorius. Marthinus had the misfortune to have the Transvaal/ZAR capital city of Pretoria named after his dad. It was a tough act to follow, and he bombed. The guy who really pulled things together was Johannes Brand, who presided for a remarkable 24 years, during which he continued to be re-elected and achieved satisfactory economic growth. I have not made a close study of him. What I do now is that he seemed perfectly content to keep issuing the same set of stamps, over and over, year after year …
Over the years the Orange Free State and Transvaal/ZAR existed in harmony — most of the time. There were continuing efforts to unite them into a singular, powerful Boer republic to stand up to the Brits in Natal and the Cape Colony. The ZAR’s Paul Kruger was a Boer chauvinist who mistrusted the British. (Kruger created an international scandal in 1897 when he called Queen Victoria a kwaage Vrou — angry woman.) Orange Free Staters tended to be less anti-British — though by the time the test came in October 1899 with the Second Boer War, the two states were allied by treaty to do battle together. British Lord Roberts occupied Bloemfontein and claimed victory within four months, but Orange Free State Boers fought on — with the Volksraad meeting in the field as needed — until the Treaty of Vereniging was signed May 31, 1902. During the interval between the British annexation claim in 1900 and the signing in 1902, two parallel governments were operating, with occasional hostilities breaking out. It must have been a nightmare for the inhabitants, black and white; no to mention there were two sets of orange-tree stamps in circulation, one overprinted “V.R.I,” one not. Confound it!
At first, the stamps issued under British occupation were no more interesting than the original Orange Tree set. The Brits simply added the overprint V.R.I. which stands for Victoria Regina Imperatrix — Victoria Queen Empress. Cute. The Scott catalogue lists two distinct sets of overprints, based on whether the periods between the initials are “Level with Bottoms of Letters” or “Raised Above Bottoms of Letters.” The set with “level” periods is scarcer than the set with “raised” periods, but it’s tricky. The catalogue lists many varieties, including “No period after V” … “Missed periods” … “Pair, one with level periods” … “Thick V” … You could spend a small fortune, accumulating a collection of these boring stamps and varieties. If you put the whole thing together, and explained it, would it be less boring?
With the official launch of the Orange River Colony in 1902, postal authorities issued a n original, country-specific set, bearing a portrait of the new monarch, the late Victoria’s elderly son and heir, Edward VII. The small stamps were intricately designed with a springbok on one side and a wildebeest on the other. (I think I have those animals right.)
The stamps printed in two colors are attractive enough, if a bit garish. In any case, there wasn’t much time to complain: In 1910, South Africa took over.
Back in 1902, as Viscount Milner assumed the post of governor of the Orange River Colony, he gathered around him the ablest of the executive and consular service, including Marthinus Steyn and Christiaan de Wet, respectively the last presidents of the Orange Free State. Another key adviser was Abraham Fischer (1850-1913), a Capetown-trained lawyer and skilled Boer statesman. Let’s stay with this suave, skilled, successful leader for a moment.
By the time the Orange Free State became the Orange River Colony, Abraham Fischer had become a key player in government. Both presidents Steyn of the Orange Free State and Kruger of neighboring Transvaal had relied on his counsel and judgment, and he was widely considered one of the Boers’ most adept strategists. When Lord Selbourne moved in 1905 to establish self-government in the Orange River Colony, the governor, by then Sir Hamilton Goold-Adams, asked Fischer to form a ministry. The self-governed Orange River Colony operated for only three years, from 1907 to 1910, and the colony itself existed for less than 10 years total; but they were years of peace, prosperity and effective governance. Despite having to cope with swings in business cycles, agricultural drought and political dissension, the regime and its diligent civil service managed to produce a surplus each year without raising taxes. (The diamond mines helped.) The railways expanded and schools (for whites) were improved. After the union, Fischer was appointed interior minister of the new South African government, though he only served three years before his death in 1913 at age 63.
As a Boer, Fischer could have been expected to harbor similar racist views as compatriots like Brand, Kruger and Smuts. Fischer and Smuts were suave diplomats who played a key role in reconciling Boers and Brits — no mean feat after a century of antagonism and occasional bloodletting that culminated in Cecil Rhodes’ failed Jameson Raid of 1896 and the confrontation between Kruger and Lord Kitchener in the Second Boer War of 1899-1902. By 1910, thanks to the efforts of Fischer, Smuts and others, the two “white tribes” of southern Africa had figured how to lay down their arms, make peace and enjoy the spoils in a new, bilingual state.
Fischer and Smuts helped bring Boers and Brits together, but they were less enthusiastic about reconciling whites and blacks. During Fischer’s short Orange River Colony mandate, he did manage to organize a Department of Native Affairs. Whether or not this was a promising development I don’t know. But blacks would never vote in the Orange River Colony, any more than they did in the Orange Free State.
The reason I pursue this matter of Abraham Fischer and black south Africans is because of his progeny. His son Percy became a judge, and I know little about him. However his grandson, Abraham Lewis (“Bram”) Fischer, was a horse of an entirely different hue. Get ready for this story.
Bram Fischer was born in 1908, studied at Oxford and became a lawyer. During a trip to Europe in 1932 he visited Russia. The 24-year-old wrote to his father that he saw similarities between the abuses of Russian peasants and South Africa’s blacks. Now, here was a sentiment you would not expect to hear, coming from a scion of Boer aristocracy. Yet Bram Fischer would not be eterred. Somewhere along the line, he had picked up the idea that South Africa’s racism not only was wrong, but would destroy the nation unless it changed. (Remarkably similar views were expressed decades earlier by F.X. Merriman, aide to the Cape Colony Gov. Molteno, who warned: “The greatest danger to the future lies in the … vain hope of building up a state in a narrow, unenlightened minority.”) These convictions led Bram Fischer to join the South African Communist Party, where he became a leader and key strategist. He collaborated with a young man named Nelson Mandela of the African National Congress, a fellow graduate of the racially inclusive Witwatersrand University in Johannesburg. Fischer forswore the racist Boer ideology, was shunned by friends and colleagues, and continued to wage the good fight over the years. His proudest moments may have come in 1961, when he successfully defended Mandela and others against charges of treason; and In 1964, when the ANC leader was tried again, convicted and sentenced to life in prison — another victory for Fischer’s defense team, since the prosecution had called for the death penalty.
In saving the life of South Africa’s future president, Fischer sacrificed his own freedom. Soon after the trial, Fischer was arrested and put on trial for his activities with the South African Communist Party, long outlawed by the government. There was never any doubt about his “guilt” — the party was illegal, and Bram Fischer was one of its pillars. Somehow, Fischer had kept his ”subversive” activities out of view — up to now. As friends urged him to take Mandela’s case, Fischer knew the public spectacle of a treason trial would expose him. Nevertheless, he persisted. One friend who had urged him to take the case, not knowing of Fischer’s risk, said later: “He deserves the Victoria Cross.”
I know I should move on, but this story is just too good to leave at this point, so please bear with me. Before his trial, Fischer was allowed to travel to London to handle a patent case. The judge let him leave South Africa because upon his promise to return. “I am an Afrikaner,” Fischer said. “My home is South Africa. I will not leave my country because my political beliefs conflict with those of the Government.” Return he did — but not to sit in a courtroom. Instead, Fischer went underground to continue his fight against apartheid. He wrote to the judge:
“… (My) absence, though deliberate, is not intended in any way to be disrespectiful. Nor is it prompted by any fear of the punishment which might be inflicted on me. Indeed I realize fully that my eventual punishment may be increased by my present conduct …
“My decision was made only because I believe that it is the duty of every true opponent of this Government to remain in this country and to oppose its monstrous policy of apartheid with every means in his power. That is what I shall do for as long as I can. …”
Fischer was found guilty in 1965 in absentia and disbarred. Later that year he was arrested and put on trial again for trying to overthrow the government. He was convicted and received a life sentence. Before long the personable and dynamic inmate became a prison leader, popular even with the warden. While prisoners in South Africa at the time usually were released early, political prisoners were singled out for harsh treatment, compelled to serve every day. Fischer’s life sentence was shortened only by fate — he died of cancer in 1975. The authorities punished him to the end, neglecting his treatment. Only in his last weeks did the regime — pressed by the public and international outcry — allow him to die at his brother’s home in Bloemfontein. Unlike Mandela, Fischer would not see apartheid fall in 1991.
Since his death, Fischer’s reputation has been restored. In 2002, he became the first South African reinstated to the bar posthumously. The airport in Bloemfontein was renamed Bram Fischer International Airport in 2012. Oxford hosts an annual Bram Fischer Memorial Lecture.
Mandela counted Fischer among the “bravest and staunchest friends of the freedom struggle that I have ever known.” He noted that with his pedigree and talents, Fischer could have become South Africa’s prime minister. “As an Afrikaner whose conscience forced him to reject his own heritage and be ostracized by his own people, he showed a level of courage and sacrifice that was in a class by itself,” Mandela said. “No matter what I suffered in my pursuit of freedom, I always took strength from the fact that I was fighting with and for my own people. Bram was a free man who fought against his own people to ensure the freedom of others.”
I am left wondering — without answers as yet — whether the spark that led to Bram Fischer’s awakening was kindled somehow by the judicial integrity of his father, and before that by his grandfather Abraham Fischer, the one and only president of the Orange River Colony. (I wish someone would find out …)
I will end this tale with more from Bram Fischer, because I think his words resonate today as well as when they were written more than half-a-century ago. In his letter to the court, Fischer declared that he and his co-defendants were being punished “for holding the ideas today that will be universally accepted tomorrow.” More of his words:
“What is needed is for White South Africans to shake themselves out of their complacency, a complacency intensified by the present economic boom built upon racial discrimination. Unless this whole intolerable system is changed radically and rapidly, disaster must follow. Appalling bloodshed and civil war will become inevitable because, as long as there is oppression of a majority, such oppression will be fought with increasing hatred.
“… when the laws themselves become immoral and require the citizen to take part in an organized system of oppression — if only by his silence and apathy — then I believe that a higher duty arises. This compels one to refuse to recognize such laws.”
And: “All the conduct with which I have been charged has been directed towards maintaining contact and understanding between the races of this country. If one day it may help to establish a bridge across which white leaders and the real leaders of the non-white can meet to settle the destinies of all of us by negotiation, and not by force of arms, I shall be able to bear with fortitude any sentence which this court may impose on me. It will be a fortitude, my Lord, strengthened by this knowledge, at least, that for the past 25 years I have taken no part, not even by passive acceptance, in that hideous system of discrimination which we have erected in this country, and which has become a byword in the civilized world.”
Dear reader, we have wandered far indeed from the world of stamp collecting. Isn’t it marvelous? I searched in vain for a stamp commemorating Bram Fischer or his grandfather Abraham. Too bad. Bram Fischer surely ranks as one of history’s great champions of equality and freedom.
TO BE CONTINUED
Into the tall grass of philatelic esoterica! This is where stamp-collecting gets interesting — to stamp collectors. This short essay is for general readers, though. By embarking on this brief expedition into the high veld of ZAR/Transvaal philately, you can glimpse varieties of design and printing, amid other oddities that delight the collector, invite speculation and excite the imagination! Imagine, being excited by printing varieties. That’s part of stamp-collecting. Well, this won’t take long, and I believe you, General Reader, will have a bit of fun coming along on this quick tour, presented as several addenda.
The Pietersburg issues of March-April 1901 are fairly expensive, but very exotic. Consider: they were on sale for only a few weeks, during the desperate last days of the Boers’ ZAR (Zuid Afrikaansche Republiek). ZAR President Paul Kruger had already left the country. The provisional government in Pietersburg was running low on stamps — a truly dire circumstance! — so the authorities came up with this crude, type-set design. There are three design varieties. I have multiple examples of each type, all with the same value of 4 pence. Each stamp is hand-signed/cancelled, and catalogs at between $25 and $40. I recall I paid about $40 for the lot. Quite a deal, eh? Below are enlargements clearly illustrating the differences. (Remember, we are in the tall grass, so stay close.)
VARIETY ONE (left): The date is large. The “P” in Postzegel is large.
TWO (left): The date is smaller. The “P” is still large.
THREE (right): The date is small. So is the “P.”
Can you spot the differences? Isn’t this fun? (For more about the Pietersburg issues, see FMF Stamp Project blog post of 3/17/17.)
B. Why were so many overprinted stamps released in 1900? The Scott catalogue lists 49 varieties with “V.R” or “VRI” overprints — or “E.R.I.” after Victoria died and Edward VII took over in 1901. Come to think of it, there were an awful of of “VR” overprints back in 1878-9, during the first British occupation — 46 varieties listed in Scott. It was efficient to use up existing stocks of stamps, I suppose. But it looks kind of sloppy.
The early overprints of 1900 were issued under military authority in Lydenburg, Rustenburg, Schweizer Reneke and Wolmeransstad. Stamps from Schweizer Reneke carry a handstamp, “Besieged” (left, below). These are very rare stamps indeed. Remember Baden-Powell and “Mafeking Besieged”? (See blog post, December 2019, for the whole story in brief, with stamps.) In his history, “The Great Boer War,” Bryon
Farwell writes: “The sieges of Kimberley, Ladysmith and Mafeking, avidly followed while they were in progress, widely celebrated when they were raised, have been given their place in history. Rarely mentioned, however, is the siege of Schweizer Reneke, a small town in the western Transvaal which was invested on 19 August 1900 and not relieved until 9 January 1901. No one remembers the name of George Chamier, the garrison’s commander. The gallant defenders of Schweizer Reneke had the misfortune to be besieged at a time when the people at home were bored with sieges; they had had enough; besides, there were no newspaper correspondents there. And the British public, which exhausted itself cheering for plucky B-P and the relief of Mafeking, raised not a single cheer for the relief of Schweizer Reneke.”
This proliferation of “VIctoria” overprints invites speculation, if not further research. Was it because the military authorities didn’t have a supply of the old Victorian Transvaal stamps on hand in the field? Perhaps by 1900, that profile from 1878 would no longer be age-appropriate for the tottering Dowager Queen. Why not just keep using local stamps? Was it necessary to declare philatelic victory so fast? It certainly seems the Brits wanted to establish their supremacy toot sweet. So they cobbled together crude overprints and gave existing ZAR stock the royal brand. Take that, you uncouth Boers!
The catalogue prices for these sets rise into the hundreds — they must have been quite limited issues. But what truly deters a casual collector like me, in addition to the daunting prices, the rather boring differences between the overprints, not to mention the dull stamps underneath, is the following:
C. The catalogue warns: “Nos. 202 to 213 have been extensively counterfeited.” … ”Beware of counterfeit.” … “Excellent counterfeits of Nos. 246 to 251 are plentiful …”
What is it with all this counterfeiting? Was there a fad for collecting these dull and wacky Transvaal stamps, all of them with the same design? Was the see-saw history of Transvaal a spectator sport in jolly old England, such that collectors competed to
show off their sets of Victorian overprints on ZAR stamps from battleground towns in the veld? This is sheer speculation, folks, but by the end of the 19th century, stamp collecting had become quite a fad, so I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if there was some titillation in GB as Transvaal and ZAR swung back and forth in their bloody joust for white supremacy.
Some sets are questionable as “reprints,” then are listed with overprints as “counterfeit.” Which makes one wonder — are we looking at a counterfeit overprint on a counterfeit stamp? Is the overprint counterfeit and the stamp genuine, or vice versa? Seems like a long shot that you’d actually get a real stamp with a real overprint.
D. Actually, the counterfeiting started much earlier — in fact, right at the beginning of ZAR postal history in 1869. Scott catalogue editors note that “So-called reprints and trial impressions of the stamps in types A1 and A2 are counterfeit. This applies to Nos. 1 to 96.” Sometimes the only way to tell genuine from forgery is by the color shade. How discouraging!
Nevertheless, I persisted and succeeded in getting this couple of early beauties — Nos. 21 and 31, illustrated here. The Scott catalogue helped a lot in distinguishing tell-tale signs of forgery, leaving me fairly confident that the stamps I bought are the genuine article. Allow me to accompany you a bit further into the philatelic weeds while we pick our way gingerly past the telltale signs of forgery in search of the real and the true — as best we can.
One clue is in the motto, “Eendragt Maakt Magt” — Oneness Makes Might. In the genuine stamp, the “D” in the word “EENDRAGT” is outsized, touching the ribbon. In forgeries, the “D” is the same size as the other letters inside the ribbon.
Look for the “D” in “EENDRAGT” — notice how it is outsize and touches the top line of the ribbon. This is a sign of authenticity.
A second clue: In the genuine stamp, the eagle’s eye is a dot in a white face. In forgeries, the eye is a blob and the beak is hooked.
Please examine these extreme close-ups. What do you think? Are they real, or counterfeit? (I should point out that the stakes are not that high: No. 21 has a catalogue value of $17.50, while No. 31 catalogues at $40.) My claim is that I did due diligence in researching and buying these stamps online, and I think the evidence is fairly solid that these are the genuine article.
E. While we are here in the weeds, let’s examine another philatelic oddity — sets from the ZAR’s restoration after 1884. Paul Kruger’s administration put out set after boring set featuring the ZAR’s coat of arms. (Many of these stamps also were counterfeited, for reasons I find inexplicable but am not sufficiently interested or prepared to pursue.)
This particular oddity involves sets featuring a “wagon with two shafts,” and a later set depicting a “wagon with pole.” The extreme close-up illustrations below should give you a clear idea what we’re talking about.
Before anyone gets excited over the distinction, let me point out that both sets can be had for under $30. This is not a matter of rarities, just oddities. Why change from two shafts to a single pole? Is the pole more historically accurate? Is the pole truer to the formal depiction in the ZAR coat of arms? Most fervently, it is hoped that the pole is well-suited to help the Boer oxen haul the trekker’s wagon out of the philatelic weeds so we can get back to the narrative!
THIS IS THE END OF ZAR/TRANSVAAL ESSAYS, BUT THE FMF STAMP PROJECT IS TO BE CONTINUED …