In the autumn of 1962, my family and I were into our third year living in a stately German home on picturesque Philosophenweg, a cobblestone lane winding up the Heiligenberg from the city of Heidelberg.   My father was a diplomat with the U.S. Information Service, director of Amerika Haus, a commanding pile that  occupied a city block downtown and housed a library, other public spaces and offices. Pa managed Fulbright scholarships, cultural tours and public diplomacy programs. We lived in some luxury: Our spacious house had terraced yards, fruit trees and a garden, with a commanding balcony view of the Neckar River valley. On the hill across the river stood the 800-year-old Schloss Heidelberg, with its ornamental stone facades, towers and ruins — the latter untouched since the ravages of the Franco-Palatine wars and lightning strikes hundreds of years earlier. My twin sister Anne and I, just turned 14, were completely bilingual by this time. (Indeed, I recently had ranked second in my class — in German!) I must have been indistinguishable from the locals with my blond hair, accentless German and shiny black Lederhosen. Every morning we would head off by bicycle or Strassenbahn to the Englische Institut, a German-language school where we had advanced through the classes, from Quinta or Quarta, Unterterzia and Oberterzia to Untersekunda, the rough equivalent of eighth grade. After school we would make the return trip, mount the hill past Heidelberg University and climb the 76 steps to home. When we first arrived, I was disappointed not to be attending the American school attached to the massive U.S. military installations in Heidelberg, and missing out on life in the suburban precincts of Mark Twin Village and, a little further out of town, Patrick Henry Village. By this time, however, I was pretty well assimilated. I enjoyed friendships with German and American kids, played Little League baseball, went to the PX for American movies. I was pretty comfortable in two worlds.

By 1962 time I was already an avid stamp collector. I frequented Heidelberg’s central Postamt, as well as the stamp store, conveniently located near the Bismarckplatz transfer station for the streetcars. There I would drool over the displays, under the watchful eye of the cigar-smoking owner, and spend what few pfennigs and marks I could amass on new stamps for my collection. Among the oddities of collecting German stamps in the 1960s was the independent postal operation in Berlin, which produced  stamps identical to West German issues with the word “Berlin” added to “Deutsche Bundespost.”  Then there was East Germany, the Deutsche Demokratische Republik — DDR — whose colorful stamps seemed completely alien to their Bundesrepublik counterparts, somehow inauthentic … like the country itself, as it turned out. (An irritating feature of DDR sets was that usually, one stamp in each set was issued in smaller numbers, thus commanding a sharply higher price for collectors; oddly, the same practice was adopted by the Democratic Republic of the Congo.)

My American friend Jock Rose pursued this hobby with comparable zeal — a zeal shared by at least one of my German classmates, Jurgen Ostwald. We earnestly compared our collections, and engaged in lively trading sessions where we would barter stamps for stamps, like nerdy Bedouins in the Casbah. We reluctantly relinquished prized duplicates or less-desired items to add coveted stamps to our pages — mindful to keep the value of these trades as even as possible (or even come out “ahead” in catalog value!).

My philatelic inclinations originated earlier, when I was just past 10, at our posting to what was then Dacca, East Pakistan (now Dhaka, Bangladesh). The sensed the lure of the exotic stamps on sale at the local post office. My father and older brother Jonathan, both collectors, spurred me on. In Germany my flirtation became an infatuation. I would ascertain exactly when the next commemorative stamp was coming o
ut, then draw topical cachets on envelopes, visit the Postamt on the appointed day, affix the brand-new stamps to my custom-designed covers and drop them in the mailbox — or sometimes have them hand-cancelled by a postal clerk.I still have a bunch of these
“first-day covers,” which I expect are virtually worthless
today. It sure was fun making them,
though. (My German collector-friend Jurgen lived in Leimen, a nearby village. He picked up my practice of improvising these first days covers, and kept sending me samples for more than a year after I left town. Now that’s philatelic friendship!)

It was in Heidelberg that I began sending letters to far-flung British colonial outposts —  Ascension, Basutoland, British Guiana, Cayman Islands … — including postal money orders sufficient to cover the cost of a modest selection of stamps, purchased at face value, which obliging postal authorities would send back to me, sometimes in envelopes embellished with a variety of current issues. Some of these stamps have increased nicely in value. (One example: the 1953 Queen Elizabeth II definitive set from Ascension, which cost me less than $5, now has a catalog value of $150+.)

So there we were in Heidelberg, one of the loveliest  cities on Earth. We knew it couldn’t last. Most  USIS postings are for just two years, not three.(Pa must have been doing a great job!)  So when the news came in the fall that Pa had a new assignment, it was not unexpected. The destination, however, was a complete surprise. He told us over lunch at the PX one Saturday: We were going to Leopoldville, Congo.

The Congo! Africa! And without any home leave in between. We were expected by the end of the year. I recall my sister was distraught at the prospect of leaving Heidelberg — she had a big crush on the city, as did I. She also was worried about leaving her cat behind. My first reactions included excitement and fear. Excitement for the adventure, fear of the unknown. Somewhere in that mental process I was already curious about the stamp possibilities. A whole new country! In Africa! 

What a funny way to begin to acclimate oneself to such a major life change. From German stamps to Congolese stamps. Not much of a cataclysm, just a little philatelic stretching. But with that change came excitement, too. A new country’s stamps, after all, meant that you were in a new country. Stamps were an emblem, proof positive, a centering and focusing fact of life, established, normal, reassuring in their way. And yet, within that normality of stamps was a new world of information, design, history, politics, art, not to mention possible investment value … What a hobby!

Before living in the Congo, I don’t remember being aware of any stamps from that country in my collection. I may have had a stray stamp or two from the Belgian Congo in the middle years — 1920s to 1950s. The “mask” set of 1948 was striking, and quite common, so a few of them may have found their way into my collection. I certainly didn’t consider the Congo a specialty, like British Colonies. As it turned out, early Congo stamps were quite advanced. The 1894 multicolor definitives from the Congo Free State were exquisite engravings of local scenes, printed in black within exotic ornamental borders in different colors. Some stamps in this early set are quite affordable, and subsequent sets that used the same designs are cheap and easily available, both cancelled and mint. (It’s remarkable to think there was so much letter traffic from the Congo so long ago …)  Other early Congo stamps, and others later on, are valuable. Little did I know that when I traveled to the Congo in the fall of 1962, I would be launching a philatelic expedition that now, a half-century later, has produced a nearly complete collection of stamps from the Congo. That means starting with Belgian King Leopold’s Congo Free state in 1889, then the Belgian Congo beginning in 1908, continuing past Independence Day June 30, 1960. (Indeed, as I write this, I am awaiting impatiently delivery of a key stamp filling one of my few gaps — the 50f stamp of the flower series of 1953, which I found at  the Stamps to Go online store for $7.50) I am certain this collection is very valuable — worth thousands, I expect. The first set alone (pictured here) is worth hundreds. (I have it complete.) I am missing a few stamps here and there — like the first parcel post stamp in 1887 (catalog value: $400+; note empty space on page). However, less than a   handful are missing of the more than 400 stamps issued by the colonial administration.  This collection is indeed superb, and I can’t wait to tell you more about it. First, however, a word or more of historical context.

The early years of King Leopold’s rule in the Congo were dreary to say the least. Unlike other imperial monarchs, Leopold claimed his vast realm in the Congo basin and beyond not as a colony or a protectorate, but as an “independent state,” subject only to his direct rule. He was, in short, “owner” of this “property.” From the beginning, Leopold preached a doctrine of philanthropy — that his mission  was to raise up the African, abolish slavery once and for all and establish Christian hegemony in place of paganism. This was his great civilizing  goal: to build a new society in the Congo, prosperous, reverent, obedient. King Leopold schemed and maneuvered defty amid the machinations of European powers scrambling for their share of the African colonial spoils. How tiny Belgium ended up with the largest land prize — a territory half the size of the United States — is a tale of intrigue and dissembling by a masterful tactician and subtle diplomat. Whether Leopold believed all that guff about philanthropy and uplift in the Congo is a riddle I don’t believe researchers have yet solved. Remember that David Livingston, the pioneering colonial missionary “found”  by Henry Mortimer Stanley, declared his aim always was to abolish slavery in Africa and establish the “three Cs” — commerce, christianity and civilization.

Leopold’s personality was as opaque and contradictory as his motives. He built a vast Museum of the Congo amid the gardens of his royal estate in Tervuren, outside Brussels. The huge domes of the Congo glasshouses sheltered rubber trees at his castle in Laeken. Yet Leopold never set foot in the Congo. (To my knowledge, other colonial monarchs did not visit Africa, either; George VI, who paid a royal visit to Bechuanaland, Basutoland, Swaziland and South Africa in 1947, may have been the first.)  King Leopold’s high-minded principles were contradicted by the rude conduct and policies of his Congo administrators, enacted and enforced in his name. The putative “civilizers” of the Congo behaved no better than the most  brutal chiefs. They could hardly be credited with building a new, enlightened society in the Congo. The sadistic exploitation of Congo laborers in the rubber plantations and elsewhere, the savage mistreatment of families, the racial bigotry,  dehumanizing practices and cruel punishments — all were inexcusable, and not just by today’s standards. Nineteenth-century activists in England, like Edmund Morel and Ramsey MacDonald, and others who were pressing for an end to colonial racism and imperial aggression, took particular aim at the Belgian king’s African fiefdom. It took decades, but the damning evidence against Leopold’s “free state” mounted, culminating in the reports of Morel and Roger Casement. Nearing the end of his life, Leopold relinquished his hold. The “Etat Independent du Congo,” henceforth the Belgian Congo, finally would be subject to the laws and policies of the civil government in Brussels.

The new colony presented a particular, if not unprecedented, philatelic challenge. Since Belgium itself was bilingual — French and Flemish — the same duality would have to be reflected somehow on the stamps of its new overseas territory. French was the only language used on stamps from Leopold’s suzerainty. Now all stamps from the colony had to accommodate both languages of its new colonial masters. This awkward design requirement has been shared by other bilingual stamp-issuing nati
ons — Canada and  South Africa, as well as Belgium itself. The bilingual imperative played out in some unusual ways in the Congo. The first stamps from the ne
w Belgian colony, issued in 1908, were the same two-color engravings of 1894  —with a new overprint on “Etat Independent du Congo” that read: “Congo Belge.”  Imagine the fuss in Belgium’s parliament — where is the Flemish inscription? This is an insult to all Flamands! A year later, in 1909, the colony got the first set of its own — a four-stamp group that incorporated the earlier designs with the French only inscriptions. Flemish Brussels must have been in a tizzy. (Gott in Himmel! Will these pesky Walloons never show us proper respect? Congo is every bit as much ours as theirs!) Finally, in 1910, the first bilingual stamps began trickling out. The clever designers used the same engraved scenes from the 1890s — of the port city of Matadi,  the Congo river at Stanley Falls, a river steamer, hunting elephants and others. Most remarkable is a rendering of a smoke-belching engine towing cars across the M’pozo River on an elevated bridge. Remember, this design dates to the 1890s. Building the Matadi-Leopoldville railroad through the Congo was a mammoth undertaking that displayed Leopold’s relentlessness. While his stamp designers celebrated this engineering triumph, little was said about the terrible toll of this arduous railway construction project. It took three years to advance the first 14 miles, and many more years to reach Stanley Pool. Some 132 Belgian professionals and other Europeans fell victim to accidents and pestilence. But most of the victims — at least 1,800 in the first two years alone — were the poor Congolese, toiling and dying as vassals to their “roi souverain.”  The new stamps bore alternating titles, “Congo Belge” first, “Belgisch Congo” second, and bilingual references to “centimes” or “centiemen,” “francs” or “franken.” (This set remained in circulation for many years, in many permutations, as we shall see.)

In the 1940s, authorities tried
something new, bilingually speaking. The colony issued two identical sets of definitive stamps: one set listed “Congo Belge,” above “Belgisch Congo,” the other reversed the order. (Both sets are valued the same in catalogs; philately did  not take sides in this bilingual balancing act.)  In the 1950s, a two-set issue of four stamps did the same thing: one set was inscribed French first, the other Flemish first. Take your pick. In this case, no two stamps in either set are valued the same, but I can’t discern any favoritism of one language over another. And that is about as far into the philatelic weeds as we need to go on that subject, wouldn’t you agree?

… Except to add that when the Belgian Congo/Belgisch Congo  became la Republique Democratique du Congo in 1960, postal authorities drifted along for a while overprinting bilingual Belgian Congo stamps with “CONGO.” As the  independent nation began issuing its own stamps, however, Flemish disappeared.

END OF INTRODUCTION

 

One parlor pastime for British Colony collectors is to examine the portraits on stamps of royal family members as they age. First is Victoria, who appeared as completely different personae during her long reign: as a swanlike beauty in the early Chalon portraiture; a classically sculpted empress-in-profile in her middle  decades; finally, as the stout dowager queen, under  an elaborate headdress, gazing wistfully into the light …

The former British colony of Victoria, in southeastern Australia, indulged in a 50-year philatelic tribute to its eponymous queen. Victoria postal authorities issued more than 200 stamps with portraits through the years, starting with a crude rendering in 1850 of a simply dressed monarch sitting demurely on her throne. (SInce I don’t make a specialty of collecting Australia, I cannot offer a worthy sampling here.  But you can find wonderful, full-color renderings of all the Victoria stamps you’d want to see — or buy — on eBay and other sites.)

The Canadian province of Newfoundland was a big-time producer of stamps bearing portraits of royals during its 90-year postal history that ended in 1947. There were three portrayals of the future King Edward VIII — as a stripling laddie in 1868, a bonnie  prince in 1880, and the plump, bearded embodiment of the “Edwardian age” in 1897. Isn’t it  interesting to examine contemporaneous depictions of this particular Duke of   Wales through the years, starting long before he began his 10-year reign at age 59 in January, 1901.

Below are more portrayals of future British monarchs before they ascended the throne.

George V 

George VI  (Prince Albert, Duke of York)   

Elizabeth II

Bidding was brisk at the latest auction for dozens of lots at the Syracuse Stamp Club. But no one seemed interested in the stock page of German commemorative stamps from the 1980s. The asking price was one dollar, and I raised my hand. I am not an active collector of German stamps, but since I lived there for nearly three years in the 1960s (my father was director of America Haus in Heidelberg), I had accumulated a semi-decent collection. Since I had almost no stamps from the 1980s, I was fairly confident that while these commemoratives may not be worth much (despite the alleged catalog value of $24.25), at least they didn’t duplicate stamps already in my collection.

There were no other bidders, so I got the whole page for a buck. (“Going once … going twice … SOLD to Mr. Fiske!” shouted the cheerful volunteer auctioneer.) I brought home my prize and it sat for several days on my desk. Last night I was about to add the stock page, without more than a glance, to my loose-leaf album of post-1960s German stamps — when I paused. Should I just snap in the page, shelve the stock book and go on to other business? No! I determined to take a closer look at these commemoratives. After all, each one was a minor work of art, or illustration, or example of graphic artistry.

As I drew one stamp after another out of the slotted strips on the page, I noticed most of them had small inscriptions. With a magnifying glass, I began to decipher the lettering, using my rusty but still serviceable German. Some commemorated old German cities — 1,000-year-old Wallsroede, 1,250-year-old Bad Hersfeld, and the almost unimaginable 2,000 years of the city of Trier. (Actually, it seems Trier was founded by the Celts in the late-4th century BC as Treuorum, which would make it more than 4,000 years old. It is considered among the oldest cities in Germany, needless to say.) Other stamps marked anniversaries of events  and/or institutions — the centennial gathering of the association of Catholic student unions,  the centennial of the German “skat” card-playing congress, the 450th year of German beer sanitation laws (“Reinheitsgebot fuer Bier”). There also were stamps honoring noted Germans, including Bach, Brahms and Kafka (was he really German?). I began to notice stamps in this latter category that paid tribute to individuals who lived from the later part of the 19th century through the 1960s. It occurred to me that all these folks had to make their way through the years of Hitler’s rule, from 1933 to 1945, as mature adults. How did they cope? How did they manage to navigate the mined waters of the Nazi era and emerge  as distinguished Germans, worthy of a posthumous postage stamp in their
honor?

Since I wasn’t familiar with some of these names, I turned to Wikipedia for help. Here is a brief rundown of these worthies, and the differing ways they dealt with the
rise and rule of the self-styled Third Reich.

Romano Guardini (1885-1968) — This Italian-born Catholic priest was a prominent theologian who in the 1930s criticized Nazi doctrine
and was forced to resign from his prominent academic post in Berlin. He withdrew to a rural parish until the war ended and he could resume his career. He died in Munich.

Egon Erwin Kisch (1885-1948) was a dashing communist j
ournalist born in what is today the Czech Republic. He traveled widely and wrote popular accounts of his adventures, calling himself der Rasende Reporter (the frenzied journalist). After 1933 he was driven out of journalism by the Nazis, who arrested d briefly jailed him before expelling him and burning his work. Bouncing from England to Australia to Spain, France and the United States, he finally found a welcome in Mexico. After the war he resumed his career in Prague, though he died three years later.

James Franck (1882-1964) and Max Born (1882-1970) were brilliant physicists,   close collaborators and good buddies (hence their joint appearance on the same stamp.) Franck won the Nobel Prize in 1925 for his study of electrons. Born, who won in 1954, was considered a father of quantum physics. As soon as the Nazis came to power in 1933, Franck resigned his post at the University of Goettingen in protest, and helped Jewish physicists find jobs abroad before decamping himself. After a stay in Denmark he moved to America, where he worked on the  Manhattan Project. He issued a report urging that the atom bomb not be dropped on Japan without prior warning. Born wrote dozens of groundbreaking papers in Germany, but because he was Jewish, he  skedaddled in 1933. He resumed his remarkable career in England, and returned to Germany in 1952.

Josef Kentenich (1885-1968) was a Pallotine priest and founder of the Shoenstatt Movement, emphasizing service and sacrifice. Protesting against the Nazis (“I see no place where the water of Baptism could run there …”) he was arrested by the Gestapo and spent three years in the Dachau concentration camp, where he continued his work. Somehow he survived and was able to resume his benevolent work.

Oskar Kokoshka (1886-1980) — now there’s a name I recognize. The Austrian artist, poet and playwright was a prominent member of the expressionist movement in art. Naturally the Nazis branded him a “degenerate,” and he fled Austria under the shadow of the Reich in 1934, settling in Scotland. After the war he lived in Switzerland.

Otto Warburg (1883-1970) was a  physiologist and doctor who won the Nobel Prize in 1931 for his study of the respiratory enzyme. Although his father was Jewish, Warburg was spared by the Nazis because of his key ongoing cancer research. He was officially listed as “one-half  Jewish,” or maybe “one-quarter,” since the Nazis placed more emphasis on the matrilineal line. He was granted equal rights with gentiles, and stayed put — even though the Rockefeller Foundation offered him a post if he emigrated. After the war he did explore moving to America, but was turned down.

Karl Barth (1886-1968). Born in Switzerland, Barth is considered among the great Protestant theologians of the 20th century. As a professor in Bonn, he challenged the Nazis’ effort to establish a state religion. He was sacked in 1935 for refusing to swear an oath to Hitler, and returned to Switzerland for good. After the war he published an influential statement promoting both German penitence and reconciliation.

Pope Pius XII (1876-1958) may seem an odd choice for a German tribute. Considered by some “Hitler’s pope” for not sufficiently resisting the Nazis after taking over the Vatican in 1939, the former Eugenio Pacelli nevertheless is honored on this stamp marking the 88th commemoration of Catholic Day in 1984.

Edith Stein (1891-1942) was a Jewish philosopher who converted to Catholicism and became a Carmelite nun.  After Hitler’s takeover, she had a premonition she would not survive the Nazis. Fearing for her safety, her order transferred her to the Netherlands. But after the Nazis occupied Holland, and  Dutch bishops publicly condemned Hitler’s racism, the German occupiers rounded up all Jewish converts, like Stein, who previously had been spared.  A Dutch official, impressed by her faith,  offered an escape route, but she refused him, declaring her intention  to “share in the fate of my brothers and sisters.” She perished in a gas chamber at Auschwitz in August, 1942. In 1987, she was beatified as St. Theresa of the Cross.

This compilation of thumbnail biographies is the kind of mini-history lesson that makes stamp collecting such an intriguing and rewarding hobby. I come away from this particular exercise with a new appreciation of how some prominent Germans managed to maintain their values and integrity despite the rise of Hitler — and for the most part, survive intact.

The final stamp pictured here demonstrates how Germany atoned for its past. The inscription on the stamp includes the word “Widerstand”  — resistance to Nazism  between 1933 and 1945. The other word, which I had to look up — “Verfolgung” — means pursuit and persecution.  Verfolgung und Widerstand — pursuit and resistance. By such  redemptive acts — commemorating resistance to the Nazis, and acknowledging its trespasses and persecutions — Germany has long since reaffirmed its place of honor in the community of nations.

Page One: Issues of 1933-37

Basutoland/Lesotho is a small, somewhat improbable country. Its high, arid plains are entirely surrounded by South Africa. It owes its existence as much as anything to its remoteness, and to its tribal king.  Moshoeshoe was a charismatic leader and skilled diplomat whose reign extended from 1820 some 50 years, three decades-plus into the Victorian era. Basutoland was variously claimed and manhandled by the British, the   Cape Colony, the Boers from Orange Free State and Griqualand, the Zulu and other warring neighbors. Basuto tribes fought among themselves but somehow, emerged intact as a nation under King Moshoeshoe. They resisted incorporation into South Africa in 1910, rejecting the apartheid model, and survived as a protectorate and colony of Great Britain. British rule was relatively light and supple. Central administration was under a  resident commissioner. Tribal leaders ran things legislatively under a paramount chief, with a high court convening when needed. Basutoland got its first elected legislature in 1959, and became the independent state of Lesotho in 1965. (Don’t confuse Basutoland — or Lesotho — with those phony-baloney South African “homelands.” The vassal states of Transkei, Venda, Ciskei and Bophutatswana were bogus from Day One — though they did issue some beautiful stamps that continue to be listed in the Scott catalog.)

Why didn’t Basutoland get its own stamps until 1933? (I don’t yet know.) Whose stamps did local folks use to mail their letters before then? Stamps of South Africa, for sure, and from Cape of Good Hope and elsewhere. All the surrounding postal authorities of earlier years— Natal, Transvaal, Orange River Colony, Zululand, Cape Colony — were using stamps of the South African “union” after 1910. Basutoland, a separate and distinct British colony, continued to borrow its stamps for 23 years. How odd. As it happened,  older stamps from Cape of Good Hope, Transvaal, Natal and Orange River Colony remained valid for  postage throughout South Africa until 1937, so Basutos could take their pick. This envelope from Maseru (right, above),  postmarked in 1933, shows stamps from, left to right:  Basutoland, Transvaal, South Africa, Orange River Colony, Natal and Cape of Good Hope.

Basutoland’s first set is strikingly exotic — engraved, with a profile portrait of George V above a stylized scene of a crocodile basking by a river with mountain peaks behind. I’m missing the higher values, but the seven-stamp partial set still makes an attractive display, don’t you think?

Notice that I have the “universal” set of stamps rom Basutoland commemorating George V’s jubilee in 1935. As promised, they are handsome engravings of the king and Windsor Castle in regal colors: carmine and blue; gray black and ultramarine; blue and brown; bright violet and indigo. These are very familiar stamps for British Colony collectors, but still pretty.

Page Two:  Issues of 1938-47

You see at once the contrast and similarity of the George VI definitive set and its predecessor. The  design is the same: crocodile, riverbank, mountains. The portrait changes from George V to George VI, and the stamps take on a more modern cast. What makes this limited change in design interesting to a stamp collector? It relates to  stately transitions and continuity. In the case of the monarchy, the lament “The King is dead!” that sounded throughout Britain in January, 1936, as George V expired, was followed in the same breath with, “Long live the King!” (Never mind that the Duke of Wales, a/k/a King Edward VIII, only stuck around for a few months before skedaddling with Wallace Simpson …) By 1938, there was a new set of stamps for sale in Maseru, Basutoland’s capital. It looked the same, but there was a fresh new face on the stamps. George VI looked handsome, resolute; very white, to be sure; very much the image of a king, under a crown, ruler of the colony.

Consistency is a profound value in philately. Art and meaning flow through order. Philately is deeply conservative in its reverence for a certain kind of order. It quietly celebrates vitality, artistry, decoration, contrast — within strict confines of stamp design,  utility, sequence and value. Letter carriers  on their appointed rounds are a sign of an orderly, peaceful nation; so, too, stamps on the envelopes they deliver are emblems of order and normality. (There are exceptions, of course, which make the hobby even more fun!)

The similarity and contrasts within and between stamps, as well as between sets, provide visual pleasure as well as social, cultural and political clues. In this case, the smooth transition from George V to George VI (after the unpleasantness over young Edward) is reflected in these two subtly different definitive sets. Together, they signal an unbroken bond of colonial protection (and dominion) — adroitly managed by the mandarins of the colonial office at Whitehall.

The other two sets on this page deserve notice. The first consists of South African stamps overprinted for use in Basutoland, commemorating the end of World War II in 1945.  Similar overprinted sets appeared in Bechuanaland Protectorate and Swaziland. This looks like an economy move for a depleted empire at the end of a brutal and costly conflict. Imagine the mixed feelings of the Basuto man-on-the-street when he discovered a new set of South African stamps (albeit overprinted) on sale at his local post office. To add insult to philatelic insurgency, the stamps are printed se-tenant (attached) both in English and Afrikaans, the language of the Boers — and apartheid.

In 1947, the British royal family paid a visit to Africa and stopped in Basutoland. A four-stamp commemorative set was issued there and in other colonies the Royals visited. The stamps display a handsome group  — King George, already looking aged but still handsome both in uniform and coat-and-tie; Queen Elizabeth, the future “Queen Mum,” elegant in her pearls; and the girls, Elizabeth and her kid sister Margaret. Not yet 21, the future queen is a pretty young woman, already striking in her composure. (Yes, these are flattering engravings, but they are excellent likenesses all the same.)

 Page Three: Issues of 1948-54  

Note the empty spaces for the Silver Wedding set, another “universal” issue throughout the colonies. I don’t have many of these sets, for a couple of reasons: 1) The set is freakishly priced, with a cheap and virtually valueless low-denomination stamp, and a top-value companion — a deterrent to this young stamp collector. 2) The stamps are pretty boring, even though the high-value one is a handsomely engraved double portrait of George VI and Elizabeth in profile (the lower value is usually lithographed).  3) Notwithstanding their high combined face value, the sets are not hard to find or prohibitively expensive, suggesting they are not widely popular or in demand. 4) Even in his engraved portrait, George can’t hide how poorly he’s doing, which is kind of a downer. In short, this set seemed dull, even a bit creepy. I tended to avoid it, spending my precious savings elsewhere.

The next set celebrates the International Postal Union’s 75h anniversary in 1949. At first glance you may dismiss this as a rather ho-hum; each stamp is mono-color, kind of busy-looking. None of these “universal” UPU sets are worth much. That said, they do merit a closer look. There are four detailed, expert engravings of allegorical scenes: Two show Mercury on his rounds; another depicts a plane and steamship circumnavigating the hemispheres. The most fanciful design has a queenly figure sitting amid a throne of rocks, while a band of seraphim join hands around a globe that is being mysteriously propelled through space, trailing a thick cloud. (This last design is a rendering of the UPU monument at its headquarters in Bern, Switzerland. Check it out online.)

The obligatory Elizabeth II coronation stamp appears at the top of the page. Notice how  queenly she looks, transformed from the vignettes of her pre-royalty days to the same kind of Swanlike beauty of Victoria’s Chalon portrait.

Rounding out the page is the definitive set of 1954 (above). This is a beauty, even though I’m still missing the top values, which would cost me upwards of $30 these days. You’ll notice that the colonial stamp producers did not choose to continue the set with the alligator for Elizabeth, even though they kept up a common design for definitives in Bechuanaland Protectorate, to the north, and in other colonies. Maybe they considered a sharp-toothed croc an inappropriate companion, lurking beneath the comely young queen. It’s not like the crocodile is the colony’s badge or anything. So they broke with  tradition and gave Basutoland a brand-new set. And look what they came up with! Even this short set is gorgeous. I have had many happy moments mooning over the finely engraved scenes that peek out through the decorative borders. In each stamp there is an engraved cameo profile of the queen under her crown, presiding with benign attentiveness.  The contrasting colors are daring: orange and deep blue; carmine and olive green; deep blue and indigo …

I sent a money order to Maseru from Heidelberg in 1962, and narrowly missed receiving these definitive stamps by return mail. (The short set I display here must have come from a stamp store.) Here’s what happened instead. In 1961, Basutoland abandoned sterling currency for decimals — cents and rands — along with South Africa and other neighbors. What the postal authorities sent back to me from Basutoland, in an official brown envelope marked ”On Her Majesty’s Service,” was a new set, one that heralded a new adventure for me in stamp collecting.

Page Four: Issues of 1956-61

Before I address the main excitement of this page — the definitive series surcharged in decimal currency — I will comment briefly on the other sets on the page. In addition to the two “postage due” stamps (which I don’t have) and a single 2d stamp surcharged 1/2d (there must have been a shortage of the 1/2d definitive), there is a nicely engraved, three-stamp set commemorating the creation of Basutoland’s new legislature, the National Council, in 1959. The first stamp recognizes the “Laws of Moshesh 1854,” with a likeness of long-reigning King Moshoeshoe. (There seem to be numerous spellings of his name.) The second depicts a modest building and the caption “Basutoland Council 1903,” referring to what passed for a local deliberative assembly more than a century ago. The third stamp shows a pipe-smoking Mosotho tribesman on horseback, with his distinctive robe and peaked hat (Is that a dove with an olive branch flying behind him? A swallow with a twig for its nest? An airplane?) In case you are wondering, none of these stamps is valuable.

Now, on to the decimal overprints. Why did I go wild with (muted) excitement over a set like this? Partly because it seemed so … provisional, so … well, wild. Surcharging stamps was an awkward process that marred the purity of the design and created  confusion as to its correct value. The surcharge defaced  the original stamp, rendering it instantly obsolete. When the surcharge included a change from British sterling to decimal value, things could get particularly confusing. In Canada, the Seychelles and elsewhere, the transition came in the 1800s. A few early (and valuable) Canadian stamps are denominated both in “cents” and the old “st’ling.” Another wave of conversions to decimal came before World War II in Caribbean colonies. The nadir of the surcharge business came with those hapless stamps that received two surcharges, one supposedly cancelling out the other — thus leaving the poor customer (and postal clerk) to contend with three separate values on a single stamp. Surcharges were a confusing bother to postal officials and the general public, and were yanked as soon as a new, “proper” set of definitives could be printed. Once the surcharged stamps were taken out of circulation, they sometimes jumped in value to collectors.

Examine the surcharge on these stamps closely: Some of numbers appear thicker than others. It turns out three distinct types of surcharges were used in this set. Which to my mind, makes these stamps even wilder! Type I was thicker than Type II; Type III, used only for the 1-rand stamp, consisted of tall, narrow figures. Some of these varieties now command a premium, though most are affordable. A few stamps carry  “inverted” (upside down) surcharges. These “errors” occurred on the 2 cent stamp (costing hundreds of dollars today) and the 2 1/2 cent (worth more than $1,000). Alas, there are no rare varieties among  the stamps I received from Maseru in 1962.  Nor have I tried to find surcharge varieties — though I’ve often thought it would be fun. This “surcharge” adventure continued with stamps from Bechuanaland (where I also sent a money order) and Swaziland; both countries adopted decimal currency the same time as Basutoland and South Africa.

Page Five: Issues of 1961-3

Sure enough, along  came the “new” definitive series with decimal currency. In this case, Basutoland got the same splendid Elizabeth II set first issued in 1954, with decimal values in place of pence and shillings. The brilliantly etched vignettes and borders are restored to their full glory. My set is complete. A pencil note states I bought it in 1991 for $11.50. Today, the set goes for $45 on zillionsofstamps.com. Not a bad investment, eh?

Also on this page is the “universal” Red Cross centenary set.  Above it is space for the “freedom from hunger” universal stamp. The five-cent surcharge on an old (1930s era) postage due stamp costs several dollars today, if you could find it.

Basutoland would issue a few more stamps through 1965, including a set oddly inscribed with both “Basutoland” and “Lesotho,” marking the attainment of self-government. (How can a country have two names?) In contrast to the stately march from one colonial monarch to the next, the transition of British colonies to independence was seldom  smooth — politically, economically socially or symbolically — and this was  reflected philatelically,  in unforeseen developments and awkward moments, odd stamp issues, false starts, dramatic turns, printing errors, other calamities and incongruities to match the times.  — as you will see …

Before departing from Basutoland, enjoy a few last closeups of that artful set, first issued in 1954.

Here are some examples of the joy of putting stamps in their spaces, completing a set, or just filling gaps.  Look right and notice the black-and-white picture at the bottom of the page depicting  the missing top-value stamp in the Malta set of George VI definitives (1938), inviting the collector to “paste” the actual stamp on the space (below right). What is the mystical pull to address the space? Is the same impulse involved in children’s stickers, or advent calendars … who knows?  And what a pleasure it is, to complete a set …

 

 

 

 

 

Below, left to right, is the inaugural set from the island colony of Seychelles, located in the Indian Ocean far off the coast of east Africa. The set from the 1890s depicts British Queen Victoria, who was marking 60 years on the throne. Noice how simply adding two stamps to the set makes the page more attractive.

Finally, below are two more sets of “before and after” pages, from Transvaal. This was a British-occupied territory in the northeast of South Africa. My, how nicely that first set of typographed, two-color definitives of King Edward VII (1902-3) is coming along! Below that are shots of the next page of the album, with stamps ready to mount, then mounted, for yet another Edward VII set from Transvaal. The two sets, above and below, look identical, don’t they? Actually, the second set has a few more color varieties. But why collect both sets? In a word: watermarks. The first set was issued  shortly after Victoria’s death at the start of Edward’s reign; the second came along in 1907-8, toward the end. The main difference between the sets is the paper’s watermark, a pesky philatelic critter I promise to elaborate on in good time  …

Page one: Issues of 1922-33

This is quite a spectacular page. The two sets feature George V and vignettes — one of “The Wharf” (actually on St. Helena), the other portraying a three-master at harbor amid rock columns.

Oddly, Ascension’s first set consists of stamps of St. Helena, another British possession 800 miles to the southeast, overprinted “Ascension.” One wonders how local inhabitants reacted to stamps depicting a faraway island, intended to represent them in the wide world. How humiliating … Mercifully, it took only two years — from 1922 to 1924 — for colonial stamp designers to come up with an original set for Ascension, displaying the Badge of the Colony.

My copies of Ascension’s first and second sets are mint/hinged. They are expertly drawn and lithographed stamps, often in two colors with delicious descriptions in the catalog — ultramarine and black, olive and lilac, violet and gray … One partial set is complete to the one shilling, seven stamps. The other set is complete — 12 stamps from a half-penny through three shillings. The catalog value of the page tops $270. This is a splendid way to start off on my British Africa collection, and the Ascension pages just keep sparkling. (Read on!)

By the way, I inherited most of these from my father. The exception is the five-pence stamp from the second issue, which I bought online to complete the set — filling an inside straight, as it were —  thereby increasing the overall value.

Page two: Issues of 1934-37.

This classic pictorial set is from late in the reign of George V, who wore the crown from 1910 through 1935. The stamps are wide and tall, with artistic engravings of Georgetown, Long Beach, a map of the remote South Atlantic island and other scenes. The vignettes are printed in black, as is the profile of the king. The borders are intense colors — violet, green, ultramarine, orange … The contrast is striking, and the fine designs of the engraver’s art resonate back and forth between the dark centers and portrait on each stamp and the succession of bright colors on the borders. This set is cancelled, missing the higher values —an attractive work-in-progress.

The four-stamp commemoration of George V’s silver jubilee, which came months before the popular old king expired, is one of the first Common Designs throughout the British Colonies. (I don’t happen to have this set yet; just the spaces on my album page, inviting me to fill them.) You could argue that the very first “common design” was the series coinciding with Queen Victoria’s 60th year of rule in the 1890s. Each  stamp of the handsome George V set is engraved in two royal hues, displaying Windsor Castle in the center, surrounded by a cameo of a majestic king in full regalia and an intricate border. The sets were available at colonials post offices in Antigua and Fiji, Gibraltar and Gambia, British Guiana and Hong Kong during 1935. George V died at age 70 in January 1936.  Just wait till you see a set in full colors (coming right up, in Basutoland).

The three-stamp set celebrating the coronation of George V’s son and heir, George VI, in 1937, were also issued universally.  (Historical footnote: Edward VIII was on the throne for such a short time before abdicating that no stamps with his portrait were issued in any of the British Colonies — with the exception of the four-stamp GB  definitive set of Edward VIII portraits that was on sale briefly in Great Britain, and issued with overprints in the British territories of Tangiers and the Morocco Agencies.)

The George V jubilee sets from some colonies command surprisingly high prices ($46.50 at stamps2go.com for the Ascension set). The George VI coronation set, however, is hardly worth the paper it’s printed on. Why? The jubilee set must have been pulled after George V’s death, making it rarer. The George VI coronation set had low denominations, three pence and under. Maybe there was a glut of coronation sets. They are pretty boring stamps to begin with: single-color, featuring sober frontal portraits of the young king and his queen, Elizabeth, separated by a crown and other royal regalia (the Crown Jewels?)  At least the stamps are engraved.  One could speculate that George VI’s father was the more popular king, ditto with “his” stamps. But as we know from “The King’s Speech” and other sources, George VI rose to the occasion. After steadfast wartime service, he enjoyed a short postwar span of popularity and public affection. A heavy smoker with a weak heart, he died at just 56, in 1952.

Page three:  Issues of 1938-46.

But oh! This is what a stamp collector lives for: Feast your eyes on this vision saturated with rich color and contrast, engraved artistry and design integrity. The stamps are  laid out in orderly rows, set off by their black protective mounts. They hint at considerable value even as they please the eyes  and stimulate the imagination. This is the George VI definitive set, mint and complete. In this case, “complete” means a full complement of 15 stamps, from a half-penny to 10 shillings. (Never mind the blank space on the page of the Minkus album; the authoritative Scott catalog affirms the set’s completeness, ignoring the suspect “yellow orange & lilac” 1 1/2d value cited by Minkus.)

You will notice that the center landscape designs are drawn from the 1934 George V set. But somehow, replacing the portrait of George V with a new engraved close-up of George VI transforms the stamps into something altogether different, more modern. The new king, just 41 in 1938  is clean-shaven, immaculately groomed in his high, gilded collar. He half faces the viewer from a simple oval frame.

Updating portraits on the same central stamp design was a frequent recourse in British colonial stamp production through the years, particularly for the sets issued late in the reigns of both Georges. More than a few colonies issued attractive definitive series after 1950, apparently expecting that the ailing George VI would carry on for at least enough years to  make the effort worthwhile. After the King’s untimely death, a number of colonial post offices simply reissued the same sets with new portraits of the dewy-eyed  Queen Elizabeth replacing those of the gaunt but stoic king. This seems eminently practical. Recycling serves another purpose as well. From the very beginning, British Colony stamps were “universal,” in the sense that similar designs turned up in post offices all over the world, from Victorian times. In the 1890s, the colonies issued definitive sets with profile portraits to mark Victoria’s 60th year on the throne. (Now Queen Elizabeth II has broken Victoria’s record. Imagine!) After Edward VII was crowned in 1902, the designers replaced Victoria with Edward, but kept the general border design of the sets consistent. The border designs were “recycled” again after 1911, when George V became king.  Indeed, a few colonies continued to produce sets with the same Victorian-era frame for George VI in the 30s thad 40s, and even Elizabeth in the 50s (see Leeward Islands).  Hong Kong’s distinctive definitive stamps maintained similar border designs, from Victoria through Elizabeth. Northern Rhodesia  and Bechuanaland issued similar sets for George V, George VI and Elizabeth. Not only did this practice save the designers effort, but it signaled dependability, predictability, solidity. In this way, British colonial philately served the interests of empire. As one benign monarch succeeded another, there was philatelic continuity; purely symbolic, but a symbol to rely on, something to trust.

Please indulge a little esoterica here — a comment on the unusual number of color changes in this set. There were

two each for the one penny, two pence and three pence. Why the changes? Who knows. One three-penny stamp has a black center and intense ultramarine border. (This is the rarest stamp of the set, selling online for
upwards of $50 — I got mine for $22.50). Another 3d stamp is all black. One can imagine a bit of confusion when the black-only 3d stamp replaced the black-and-blue 3d in 194
0; then in 1944, when another ultramarine-and-black stamp was issued, this one for 4d instead of 3d.

Or perhaps it wasn’t that confusing after all. Let’s not get carried away.

You may notice if you squint that below some stamps on the pages of my albums there are tiny penciled inscriptions: date and amount paid, for the most part. I began doing this a decade or more ago, noting prices paid above $2. (The most I have paid so far for a stamp is $105 for an embossed stamp from Natal, circa 1857.) This notation system should help me or my heirs when it comes time to tote up the cash value of my collection, at least from the standpoint of my own expenditures. I’m sure it’s already in the thousands …

The page rounds out with another Common Design set, this one to commemorate the end of World War II. The two mono-color stamps contain a new, face-on portrait of the king, looking calm, resolute, well-turned-out and handsome as ever. Next to him is an impressive engraved rendering of the Houses of Parliament reflected in the Thames. While this set, like the coronation set, never became valuable, it’s easy to imagine what an important purpose the stamps served. At the end of this punishing war, it announced that Britain was still a commanding presence — solid, secure, orderly, reassuring, a monumental edifice firmly planted at the center of the empire.

Page four: Issues of 1948-56.

The 25th wedding anniversary of George VI and Queen Mary in 1948,  the coronation of Elizabeth II in 1953, and the four-stamp set commemorating the 78th anniversary of the Universal Postal Union (see below), were occasions for more “universal” issues. (I will say more about the Silver Wedding and UPU sets later). The same designs were in circulation in virtually every colony. The engraved portrait of HM Elizabeth II brings out her youthful beauty. Barely out of her teens, she seems serene and confident as she begins her reign over the final incarnation of “a greater empire than has been.”

A personal aside: I began collecting stamps before I was a teenager. My father and older brother also were collectors, so I was around stamps from an early age. I was drawn to stamps by dint of growing up a “foreign service brat.” Between the ages of nine and 17, I lived in Asia, Europe or Africa. I found it thrilling to go into local post offices and find exotic-looking stamps that I could buy for the price on the stamp — “face value,” just like back home. On our travels, I would insist on a visit to a local post office in each new country, so I could stock up with all I could afford of the latest stamp issues. (My father was an easy sell, since he picked up some choice items himself during these visits.) My postal forays entered family legend after the episode when our plane landed in Monrovia, Liberia, circa 1962. During our brief stopover, I set off to find the post office, on what proved to be a fruitless search — I think it was Sunday. By the time I gave up and started back, everyone was back on the plane. It nearly left without me.

While living in Heidelberg, Germany, I came up with the idea (maybe I read about it in a stamp magazine) of sending money orders to foreign post offices, asking the postmaster to use the money, after deducting for return postage, to buy current “definitives” — that is, the set of stamps regularly in use at the moment.  I consulted my catalog and map and settled on faraway places like Ascension Island, Bechuanaland Protectorate, Basutoland, the Cayman Islands, Sierra Leone, Sabah … in short, all around the globe. Never mind that I couldn’t afford to buy the complete set. For me, it was a fun project, connecting me in a new way to the wide world.

Try to imagine the thrill of receiving an official philatelic letter from one of these exotic realms, replete with multicolored stamps and an  envelope marked “On Her Majesty’s Service,” addressed to 13-year-old me! Here is a rare photo recording the arrival of one such packet — perhaps from Ascension. The household gathered at the front door of   Philosophenweg 9 in Heidelberg to bear witness as FMF received and opened his postal letter. It was such a memorable event, the postman  stuck around for the occasion. Mother served cookies and lemonade for the occasion.

FMF diary entry for June 6, 1962: “ M.S.A.U. (morning school as usual). Out 1, after making goal in sport! (some soccer reference) Aft. fun at tennis club. Played pretty well. LETTER FROM ASCENSION! WONDERFUL. 10 stamps on the cover! Bed 9:30.”

This big lead up is to introduce the gorgeous set of Queen Elizabeth Ascension definitives pictured above. Somehow, I managed to scrape up enough money to buy a money order that covered the cost of the complete definitive set, issued in 1956 — from a half penny through 10 shillings. I won’t try to estimate how much time I have spent over the years eyeballed this beautiful set — the delicate colors of the borders, the fetching cameo of the queen setting off the engraved artistry of the scenes and subjects, printed in black in the centers. This is one of my all-time favorite sets, not only because of the splendid design and execution, but for its relative rarity. For a face-value purchase price, via my money order, of scarcely more than one pound ($2.80 in 1962 dollars), I obtained a set currently offered at zillionsofstamps.com for $95. (Why so rare? For one thing, it was taken out of circulation after a new set was issued in 1963.) I already was using black protective sleeves to mount all my uncancelled stamps, shunning the hinges that mar the gum, but which are fine to use on cancelled stamps that no longer have their gum. This means that my set of QEII is “mint, never hinged,” commanding a corresponding premium in value. On the upper left of the album page, I took the liberty of adding a pencil notation — “p.o. fresh” — to indicate that this particular set was obtained directly from the post office, not through a dealer or at a stamp store. Makes it seem even fresher, doesn’t it?

In this, one of my first adventures in international post-office shopping, I got lucky with the envelope containing my stamps. The kindly postmaster affixed a complete set up to the one-shilling value on the cover, making it a pretty and desirable showpiece in itself. …  They may well be the cover I am opening in the dramatic scene photographed above, which would make the date June 6, 1962.  How can I be so sure of the date? Because as you will note on the envelope’s display page, I recorded how long it took for my letter to get to Ascension and back.  (The dates are presented European-style: day first, then month, then year.) This kind of compulsive data-keeping is typical of stamp-collecting, I think: mildly significant, moderately useful, slightly esoteric … not altogether boring …

Before we move on, please enjoy a closer look at the extraordinary artistry involved in engraving this set of stamps …

Greetings, all. Here is a photo and accompanying note that I hope helps to explain why we stamp collectors get enthusiastic about our hobby …

These stamps are from the Americana definitive series of 1975-6, celebrating the U.S. Bicentennial. I expect those of a certain age will remember them, at least vaguely. As you see from the arrangement, each sequence of four stamps combines a central iconic image and patriotic sayings around the margins. Four stamps of consecutive value placed together — say, the 1 cent, 2 cent, 3 cent and 4 cent values — form a circle of sayings, as it were. OK, more like a “rectangle” of sayings, but still pretty cool, eh? As you see here, these circles continue in four other stamp quartets in the Americana series, up to the top $5 value.  The sayings that circle round the stamps unite each quadrant, and the five quadrants form their own circle, united by their design and content.

Still with me? The reason I am sending you this now, decades after these stamps were issued, is that I have just figured out how to display them in a way that best brings out the special quality of the set’s design. Some
how through the years, I have appreciated the concept, but my stock book didn’t accommodate this kind of arrangement. This is not the standard way albums display stamps in a set, even printed on the page. Besides, my mint (uncancelled) other set is in plate blocks — four stamps from the corner of the sheet complete with the number of the sheet, or “plate” — that don’t fit together as a square.  I kept fiddling in my mind with the stamps  (OK, OK, I wasn’t obsessed; I’m talking about years going by). Even though the set’s inherent unity was realized only in my mind, it always has been one of my favorites. I even like the sayings. (Hey, I’m a patriot, too!)  I  kept an old column written for Knight-Ridder by Dominic Sama, explaining how the lettering on the stamps, designed by the Philadelphia graphic arts company Kramer, Miller, Lomden, Glassman, “was arranged along one side and around to the bottom or top of the stamp. With the block of four stamps, the combined lettering would form a circle.”

So now I have decided on the solution and taken action: I collected cancelled copies of the stamps from my stock book, grabbed an empty album page, and went to work with tongs and hinges, producing the result you see here. Neat, eh? Hello? You still there? (We stamp collectors are never really sure anyone is listening as we drone on …)

This is the kind of thing that has attracted me to philately for lo, these many years. I love seeing how sets of stamps fit together visually. Many sets of stamps are splendidly conceived, designed and executed — particularly engraved stamps. (These Americana stamps are engraved, meaning hand-drawn and etched.)

Stamp collecting includes a mercenary frisson to keep things interesting. While none of these Americana stamps is particularly valuable — you’d be lucky to get much more than face value for nice mint copies — certain stamps put out in the last 30 years now  command high prices. Generally, older stamps seem to be holding their value within their limited market.  Online auctions and shopping sites are booming — as is reflected in my own buying habits, as well as the lively bidding that frequently snatches away an  intended prize!

Stamps have historical heft as well as investment potential. Take this Americana set, which accompanied all the Bicentennial hoopla of that long-gone era. In 1975, the Vietnam War ended but the Cold War continued,, It was the year after Nixon resigned, a year of massacre and mayhem in Latin America, a year of horror in Cambodia … Against that backdrop, and having witnessed all that came after, it is both stirring and troubling to read the brave slogans and high aspirations emblazoned on these stamps — ‘“Freedom of conscience — an American right”   … “One nation indivisible — E pluribus unum” … “The land of the free and home of the brave” … .”America’s light leads her generations onward.”  It is poignant to reflect on the broader sense of unity and purpose embodied in these philatelic artifacts, created as this democratic republic entered its third century …

Best, FMF                                                                      Syracuse, October 2015

Welcome to my stamp collection. Here is the bulk of it, in these two lower shelves of a small bookcase in my study. The top shelf is reserved for catalogs. These books contain detailed listings of all the stamps and varieties I collect, along with their estimated value at the time. I use catalogs dating back to the 1970s  for classification purposes. For the old stamps I collect, they are just as reliable as the latest edition when it comes to illustration, number, description, watermark, notes and so on. To gauge the current value of stamps, it’s easy enough to go online  and find out  h
ow much a particular stamp is selling for at the moment.

The middle shelf holds my major albums. You can tell the British and British Colony stamps by  the distinctive Union Jack displayed at the top of the spines, left to right: British Africa (black dustcover), British America (blue dustcover) and British Europe (red dust cover, or should I say, magenta?). One reason why I don’t store these albums next to each other is that the thinner albums immediately to the right of each one contain newer stamps (1960s on) from each area of the world, including the last colonial stamps as well as post-independence issues.

At the far left is my Congo album (blue spine), with a nearly complete collection of stamps dating back to the 1880s. Then come two more albums of African stamps — French colonies, Liberia, newer stamps from Congo, Rwanda and Burundi. In the middle of the shelf are my two American albums (brown spine, green spine); further to the right, after British Europe and modern British Europe, are general European stamps.

The lower shelf is a diverse lot: Germany, French West Africa (pre- and post-independence), miscellaneous stock books and files holding stamp sheets, miniature sheets and other multiples, as well as several books featuring stamps on covers from the USA and around the world.

Among this last group are “first day covers” like this one, with stamps placed on specially engraved envelopes and cancelled on the first day of issue. These covers were supposed to become collector’s items, but it hasn’t turned out that way, to the chagrin of first-day cover enthusiasts. Today FDCs are a glut on the market …

These albums  contain   envelopes sent through the mail before the advent of U.S. postage stamps in 1847 — for example, this one bearing a postmark of 1844 (see date in small type at left); another is from 1840. There are some  envelopes with early American stamps, others with Confederate stamps from the 1860s (see below). They may be worth something, but probably not much. …

Another type of cover is the specially cancelled “first flight” envelope bearing an early airmail stamp. For example, this envelope was carried on the first stamped-mail flight from Miami (and Virgin Islands?) to New York City on Jan. 9, 1929.  Some “first flight” covers are valuable. And romantic!  The rarest cover in my collection is one addressed to my Uncle Reddy, in Needham, Mass. (see below). It bears the 24-cent “Jenny” airmail stamp, cancelled with the message: “Air Mail Service; New York; Jun 3, 1918; First Trip.” A rubber stamp in the lower left corner of the envelope announces: “VIA Aeroplane Mail.” Quaint! While the envelope isn’t in particularly good shape, a similar cover was offered on eBay recently — for $250!

You do know the difference between a stamp album and a stock book, don’t you? Do I have to explain everything? Oh, all right. Take my American collection, which starts with a binder full of pages offering spaces for every major variety of U.S. stamp … from the first two in 1847 — the Benjamin Franklin 5-cent and the George Washington 10 cent — until the pages run out in the 1960s.  Beyond that date — now more than a half-century ago! — I have relied on stock book pages to hold my U.S. stamps. A typical stock book page has up to 10 plastic or parchment strips arrayed in parallel rows, Each strip is attached to the page at the sides and across the bottom, thus creating a secure holder for up to a half-dozen stamps inserted (using stamp tongs, of course!) across the width of the strip. Space out the stamps in your own design, or bunch them up for bulk or “stock” storage (hence the name “stock” book). I have numerous  small stock books loaded with duplicate stamps, many of them cancelled. You must take care when the stamps are uncancelled, or “mint.” Allow humidity into a room where mint stamps are stored on top of each other in stock books, and you could have a real sticky problem!

I would be hard-pressed to assign a total value to my current collection, though it is surely in the thousands. For one thing, the value keeps rising (I hope). Some rarities and nicer items in my collection, including U.S. stamps I bought at my local post office, have increased five- to tenfold over what I paid for them. I spend hundreds of dollars on stamps each year (wife Chris has been known to roll her eyes and sigh when she sees the billings).  I keep notes of how much I spend on dearer stamps ($2 apiece and up). The most I have spent yet for a stamp is $105, a princely sum which I paid in 2013 for Natal No. 1, 3 pence, rose, 1857 (pictured here, larger than actual size). The stamp has a catalog value over $500, but that is for a copy with four clear margins, whereas my copy has only three. I have no certificate of authenticity, and there are known to be reprints with bogus cancellations. Nevertheless, I am fairly certain this is the real deal. Now, if you’re just skimming over the album page, you might be tempted to dismiss this rarity. It looks like a smudged square of colored paper with some bumps on it. Look more closely, though, and you will see a clear impression saying “THREE PENCE,” much of it picked up by the black ink of the cancellation. Actually, the margins are unusually large for this variety: just in at the bottom, clear the rest of the way around. Compare the faint embossing on the stamp with the actual design outline, at right, as presented in the Scott stamp catalogue, and you may be able  to discern details on the original:: 1) as stated, the number is clear under the postal strike; 2) also visible are the circular border and the letter “A” from  Natal at top; 3) “V” is visible at left, and a faint “R” at right. Can you see it? Now think of this odd stamp, embossed  more than 150 years ago, placed on an envelope in the new south African colony of Natal for the outgoing mail. Now That stamp is in my collection. As you might suspect, I have examined this stamp in great detail, and confess to be being hypnotized in looking at it — something about the fleshy color, the tattoo-like embossing, the nearly hidden letters and symbols, then imagining this artifact making its way from that African  postal outpost back in 1857 …   philately just boggles the mind!

The other rarity I’ll share with you now  (more will be presented in future chapters) is the Penny Black from Great Britain. This is the First Stamp, issued in 1840, bearing the engraved profile of Queen Victoria. It was  produced by Sir Rowland Hill. This stamp cost me $70 in 1991. The Penny Black is not exceedingly rare, but very old. Mint copies (uncancelled) are expensive. But used examples with nice cancellations and four margins — that is, where you can see white all the way around the design — can bring hundreds. Mine has four margins, or so I claim. You may need a magnifying glass to discern the thin sliver of white that continues around the lower left of the stamp — but I maintain it is there! Thus I believe my stamp should be worth at least — $70!

Because Britain was the world’s first and only stamp-issuing nation in 1840, Sir Rowland was able to omit the name of his country from the Penny Black — an insouciant act of noblesse non-oblige. After all, there weren’t any stamps from any other country, so wasn’t it obvious? Because of this anomaly — or is it right of primacy? — Great Britain con
tinued to issue its stamps without a national designation, and continues the practice to this day, the only nation to do so. British postage stamps always include a likeness of the reigning monarch. But none of them says “Great Britain,” or “United Kingdom.” Indeed, when  the component parts of the UK started issuing their own stamps in 1958 — in Wales and Monmouthshire, Scotland and Northern Ireland — they bore only a portrait of Elizabeth

II and regional symbols; no names. Way back in the 1840s and 1850s, when other nations began issuing their own stamps, they had to include their names to distinguish themselves from each other — and from the Nameless One. One exception was Brazil, whose anonymous “bulls-eye” stamps came out in 1843. By the 1860s, however, that nation, too, had fallen in line and added “Brasil” to its stamps. The first two American postage stamps, issued in 1847 — the 5-cent Ben Franklin and the 10-cent George Washington — are inscribed “U” and “S” in the upper corners, and “Post Office” in between. Today’s “forever” stamps still include “USA,” while Great Britain’s regular issues include nothing but a value and an iconic portrait of Elizabeth II.

That portrait, by the way, is based on a
n elegantly sculpted profile of the queen, the work of Sir Arnold Machin. The first set of Machin definitives was released  in 1967. Machin definitives have continued to appear across a half-century, and the portrait of Queen Elizabeth II is the most familiar image in philatelic history.

Some day I or my designated agent will be able to add up all the price tags on the beauties I acquired over the years and arrive at a pretty good estimate of the value of  my investment. My fervent hope and belief is that philately will survive and thrive as a pleasurable hobby for collectors and connoisseurs, and that my stamps will continue to grow in actual value, so that one day they can be a great gift to my heirs …   Meanwhile, please come along on this meandering journey through the pages of my collection — the stamps and the stories  they tell …

Hi Readers.

What follows is my new project, a series of lively (I hope) commentaries on my stamp collection and stamp-collecting in general under the title, “The FMF Stamp Project.”

Hey! Was that a yawn?! If so, feel free to stop reading. Or put it aside for later. I won’t be insulted.  We stamp collectors have few illusions about public interest in our little pieces of paper; indeed, we worry that what interest there is may be waning. However, my bet is that if you start reading my blog posts, you will be beguiled by the stories, anecdotes, vivid  glimpses of history and culture and above all, the sheer beauty of the stamps.

That is my fond conceit, at least. Stamp collectors tend to be besotted with their collections. I have been a philatelist for more than 50 years, learning the hobby from my Pa and older brother Jonathan. Over the decades I have traded, bought stamps at post offices here and abroad. As an adult, I have acquired stamps from dealers, auctions, stamp shows and online. The Internet has provided a big boost to my collection, with reliable online locations to bid, buy, even sell. As I write this, several envelopes sit on my desk from online sellers, containing old stamps from places like Seychelles, Grenada and the Orange Free State/Orange River Colony. Some fun!

… Now there are three more envelopes waiting for me, as you can see in the photo at right. I’m usually in no hurry to open these envelopes. I like to leave them sort of lying around, looking pretty with their bright, unusual stamps
(often from foreign lands), and because they are a little bit pregnant — there is a pleasing heft and lift to the envelopes, a promise of what lies within. Altogether a fairly low-key pleasure, but a pleasure nonetheless. In the  the second photo, one envelope is open and the stamps have been removed for a first look (using stamp tongs, of course).  It’s always at least a small thrill. Soon enough, the stamps will be safely mounted in their places on the pages of thick stamp albums, and they will take their places in sets from countries around the world — most of which no longer exist. For now, the stamps are out, on the table, colorful artifacts sometimes well over 100 years old. The stamps have survived all these years. Some are a little faded, others have retained their intense colors, appearing fresh in their third century. This is a time to lift the stamps (in tongs of course), turn them over, examine their backs, look for thins or creases, double-check watermarks. (What are watermarks? Be patient, we’ll get to that.)

The next step is to get the stamps into a stock card (with glassine or parchment strips to hold the stamps), and set them on the desk for several days of examination and appreciation. (Of course, while you are doing all this, you are also living your life. Please don’t think stamp-collecting is an all-consuming habit. After all, FDR was an active stamp collector all his adult life, and he still had time for other things …)

Notice how the folks selling their philatelic wares manage to be creative in the stamps they stick on the envelope for mailing. This is because they probably have a sizable  backlog of American stamps (or from other countries if they live abroad) that they bought at the post office. The more recent issues have not appreciated in value, for the most part. Indeed, you probably can’t even get face value (the amount paid for the stamp) if you try and sell it  It makes practical sense to use these stamps for postage, since they continue to have their stated value for mailing purposes. So the senders combine stamps that add up to the going rate — 49 cents in the USA in 2015 (later reduced to 47 cents, a change made even more confusing by the “forever” non-numerical value)   — and load up the envelope with the old beauties. Seeing such colorful mail makes the whole thing more fun. I wonder if the letter carrier even gets a tiny kick out of delivering these substantive letter-packets decorated with such philatelic richness.

As a matter of fact, I believe many stamp collectors do the same thing — like me. I usually have a backlog of stamps in unusual or outdated denominations. Most of these stamps date to before the advent of no-lick stamps (ah, stamp gum: there’s a topic unto itself),  “forever” stamps (a long and tangled tale) and other tectonic shifts in the philatelic  world. These stamps are basically worth what I paid for them — as postage. So why not use them. Here, for example, is a letter I am preparing to send to my daughter. Don’t you think the letter carrier will look twice? Will the postal agent have to do a little math problem, making sure that numbers on the stamps add up to 49 cents? (Let’s see … two 5s … seven 4s, that’s 10 plus 28 equals 38; then a 1 cent makes 39, plus a 10-cent at the bottom — yep!) Sometimes I affix stamps that I want to have returned, cancelled, so I can add them to my collection. In which case, I scrawl a small note: “pls save” with an arrow pointing to the particular stamp. I imagine this provokes a certain amount of amusement with a measure of annoyance in loved ones, who may or may not feel obligated to cut or tear the stamp off the envelope (taking care not to rip or crease the stamp itself) and store it someplace until Fred comes to pick it up — or to take the extra step of including it in a letter sent back to Fred; or even writing a letter for that purpose alone! (Too much to ask.)

Another way stamp collectors can get under the skin of their loved ones is by asking them to use stamps instead of meter strips on packages, especially the heavy ones around the holidays.  This may sound like an odd request, but when you read on and learn the reason, you’ll see.  While the U.S. Postal Service no longer issues stamps with denominations for first-class mail (i.e., now you just use  “forever” stamps), if you ask at your post office, you will find there are still many different tamps for sale, from 1 cent to $10 and beyond. You just have to ask. The highest-value stamps are for heavier mail, priority mail, express mail and the like. The denominations have progressed upward in recent years — $13.65, $14, $16.50, $18.30 … In 2013, the USPS issued a stamp selling for $19.95 that depicted a bustling Grand Central Station in New York City; in 2014 came a $19.99 stamp picturing the USS Arizona Memorial. What? You’ve never seen these stamps before? Here is a picture of some of them. They all have been available at one time or another for purchase at most post offices — for face value (i.e., the prince on the stamp). Some of the older stamps that have gone out of circulation, that is, no longer are sold by the post office, have increased in value to collectors. If high-value stamps are a good investment, you’d think some residual value would attach to cancelled examples. And you’d be right. The first Express Mail stamp, issued in 1983 with a price tag of $9.35, sells today for about $40 in mint (uncancelled) condition. But cancelled copies are valuable, too, priced at about $35. The $11.75 Express Mail stamp from the space shuttle series in 1998 sells today for about $30 mint, $19.95 cancelled, or “used.”  These are reasons I make a point of collecting used as well as unused copies of these high-value stamps — and ask friends and family to use them so I can collect them right off the packages. To me, the mint and used copies are both worth collecting.  And who knows? Some day, these rarely used stamps may be more valuable cancelled than mint!

Luckily, I had one loyal co-conspirator in this strategy over the years — my mother. Each Christmas, and probably around some birthdays, packages would arrive from Moscow, Idaho, my parents’ home town, adorned with philatelic gems — high-value definitives, priority and express mail stamps. On at least one occasion, I have accompanied my mother on a trip to the  post office in downtown Moscow. It seemed to me the postal clerks saw her coming and either eyed the exit, rolled their eyes, smiled sympathetically, groaned inwardly, or issued a good-natured sigh. Probably some combination of all of these. It wasn’t always convenient for them to go hunting for high-value stamps. There might be a few other customers waiting in line, also sighing, rolling their eyes, etc. Tolerance for philatelic game-playing is not wide or deep. But Mother generally persevered, always with a kind word and good will. More often than not she prevailed, and the resulting packages had enduring value — not just for the contents, but  because of the collectible stamps pasted on them. For example, Mother sent me the $13.65 Express Mail stamp from the monuments series in 2002-3 that you see here. The cancelled copy is catalog-priced at around $9. And to think the stamp already did its duty, carrying Mother’s precious package to me …  Now that my old mother is no longer around to run this little philatelic gambit, I have not yet figured out how to get used copies of those $19.95 and $19.99 stamps into my collection through legitimate use of the postal system. I shall keep trying, mercilessly cajoling other loved ones into playing stamps with me …

Back to my latest online purchases.  After cutting out and saving stamps that came on the  envelopes, I take time to examine and admire the stamps sent to me inside those envelopes, now safely displayed on stock pages. Next, I go to my albums, where I locate and lightly mark the proper spaces for each new stamp. I add a note referring to the date purchased and the amount paid for the stamp (if more than $2).

Finally comes the stamp mounting. For cancelled stamps, it’s a simple matter of applying half of a moistened, gummed paper hinge to the back of the stamp. Then, lick the other half of the hinge and stick the stamp in its space in the album. The hinges are peelable, and will not harm the stamp. For mint (uncancelled) stamps, whose gum needs to be protected, readying the stamp for safe display requires special mounts. Using stamp tongs, insert the stamp in a 10-inch-long protective sleeve — the black strips come in numerous widths to accommodate all sizes of  stamps. A 22-strip pack costs less than $10 and can accommodate up 100 stamps. Use a razor cutter to lop off the inserted stamp from the rest of the strip. (But be careful not to nick the stamp, including the perforations!). For this cutting operation, I use a little kit I picked up as a lad in Germany …oh, just about 55 years ago. Amazing, how it’s lasted. We stamp collectors do venerate aged things, after all. On the other hand, how can a durable plastic razor holder and a see-through glass ruler wear out? In cutting, I position the stamp on a piece of cardboard, so I don’t mar my desk top or make an uneven cut. I keep a container of recycled pieces of cardboard nearby for this express purpose. I don’t use pieces of cardboard more than once. Cutting through the strip on top of another cut mark in the cardboard could result in an uneven cut. Even if I am only making one cut for one stamp, I still discard the whole piece of cardboard afterwards. Call it wasteful. Call it extravagance. I prefer to think of it as an  infinitesimal act of gay abandon. (The cardboard eventually goes out with the recycling anyway.) Now you are ready to moisten a small part of the back of the black mount — careful not to stick your tongue inside, wet the precious gum and ruin the stamp! — and paste the mounted, protected stamp in its designated spot. Aaah! This is what it’s all about — putting stamps in spaces, seeing sets materialize in all their glorious order and color and design …

To be sure, there are still many, many spaces to fill in my stamp albums. But heck, why not admit it: My collection is already spectacular! It deserves to be shared. Who better to start with than my intimates? I hope you enjoy the first installment. Beware, though: The stamps and stories go on and on. My collection is immense, as is my store of notes, comment and anecdotes. I have a thick British Africa album, also a bulging British America album. My British Europe album starts with the 1840 Penny Black from Great Britain, the world’s first stamp. (Current price for a four-margin copy from ZillionsofStamps.com: $200; I got mine for $70 in 1991.) My Mulready Cover of 1841 (bought online for L26 in 2011) has to be seen to be believed …

Then there’s my Congo collection, including Rwanda and Burundi, with sets dating back to 1889, when Belgian King Leopold schemed over his vast Congo Free State; also a valuable USA collection; French colonies, Germany, covers and specialty items galore … Why, this Concordance could go on for hundreds and hundreds of pages. Is the world ready for this?

Actually, the world should have plenty of time to absorb this modest epic. I have other projects calling to me, so my philatelic Concordance will proceed slowly, episodically, occasionally. After a while, I expect my public will be demanding new postings, much as newspaper readers a century-and-a-half ago clamored for installments in the serial novels of Charles Dickens. Given enough time and continued inspiration, I’ll get there. That’s my meandering mantra.

Why do this at all, when there are so many more important things to worry about? Consider it a personal indulgence. If a few others find it worth dipping into, so much the better. As I post my “chapters” online, perhaps I will gain a wider audience. Hey, I may even help invigorate a superannuated pastime before it fades into the mists of Anachreon. Tant mieux!. Meanwhile, I get to start unburdening myself of a lifetime of stories and memories and pictures and — dare I say it? — adventures in stamp collecting. I’ll do my best to keep things interesting …

Yours in philately, FMF                                                                       Syracuse, November 2015

Why collect stamps? Others have answered this question as well as or better than I could, so let’s hear from some of them, speaking from the heart.

“Stamp collecting is a ‘mature’ hobby,” writes Gary Eggleston,”not because its enjoyment is limited to older adults – the shut ins as we like to call them – who derive much pleasure from gazing at the flowers and the trees, the fish in the sea, the airplanes and the towers – not only in their territory but in places as remote as Papua New Guinea and American Samoa.

“Stamp collecting is a mature hobby because of its colorful role in history,” Eggleston continues, “because of how it has evolved into a pastime that has brought joy to millions of people around the world.

“Yet stamp collecting has an innocence all its own. It’s a hobby that stirs something in each collector – a longing to visit foreign lands, a keen investigative sense for print and color …  , a yearning for friendship, and an intellectual curiosity about what other collectors are up to or have discovered.

“Photographs in an album preserve those Kodak moments that cannot be re-lived again. … But stamps in an album? How about history, geography, and culture, for starters? How about friendships that know no barriers or frontiers? How about an all-consuming passion that never ebbs or flickers?

“This is the beauty of stamp collecting. It opens doors, it’s the bottomless well of knowledge, and it’s the pictorial story of a country and its heritage. It’s also about the story of the men and women who work five days a week to deliver our mail. It’s about stamp dealers who wheel and deal and know all about value and price and rarity,” Eggleston concludes unerringly: “It is — or was,  once a upon a time —  about you and me.”

Another eloquent online author wrote this: “The world of stamps is a common denominator that brings together the old and the young, the experienced collector and the novice hobbyist, the boardroom CEO and the long-haul trucker. Stamp collecting cuts across socio-economic, racial and cultural boundaries. The joy of collecting, the sharing of knowledge and technique, the opportunity to learn may make for some strange bedfellows, but it forms the common bond that binds collectors.  …  All that is required of the stamp collector is that he find pleasure in collecting the particular type or category of stamp he chooses. … There are no requirements. Collect what moves you, what you are passionate about. Stamp collecting is an exercise in love.”

I will leave the last word on the subject to our friends from  the Sunnyvale Stamp Society. “Stamp collecting is the most popular hobby in the world,” writes the unabashed and unbowed phil-anthropist  from Sunnyvale. “However, if you are not a collector you may be asking, ‘Why stamps? Aren’t stamps just pictures on little pieces of paper?’  Scientifically speaking, yes that’s correct. However, there is so much more to stamps that people of any age, any income and any interest can find some aspect of stamp collecting appealing and very satisfying.”

Stamp bonus: A small photo gallery to whet your philatelic appetite

 

Speaking of technique, notice these fine examples of the engraver’s art, from a 1986 strip set to promote stamp collecting. The two blow-ups below display a tromp-l’oeuil effect, with the postal tools appearing to be lying on their sides, while in the next enlargement, the boy’s engraved profile and shirt become a study in abstract patterns, intricate textures and bold coloring.

It’s always fun to get a good look at the costliest stamp in the world . It’s the 1856, one-cent, black on magenta from British Guiana, which sold at Sotheby’s in 2014 for the tidy sum of $12 million. Here it is, folks! (My recollection is that one reason this may be the only copy of the stamp is that the rest, or most of the rest, were destroyed in a shipwreck. A little research should confirm or dispel this story, and I may get around to it some day …)

TO BE CONTINUED