While visiting Daniel, an old friend and Milton Academy high school classmate in Brookline, Mass., June 17-18, 2016, the subject of stamps came up. Daniel went to a coat closet and returned with an old copy book, which he explained was his great-great-grandfather’s journal. He opened the front cover and  drew out a glassine envelope containing three early American stamps — a rare multiple of three of the first three-cent issue (circa 1852), featuring a side profile bust of George Washington. I examined them closely, thrilled to realize they had been sitting in that book for more than 150 years. They were still in pristine condition, as fresh as the day Daniel’s ancestor bought them at a post office for nine cents. Well, he probably bought at least four of them (for 12 cents), cut out one of them, licked the gum on the back and pasted the stamp to a letter, then stored the others for a future use that never arrived..

Daniel told me one of his sources had suggested the stamps might be worth as much at $50,000. I was impressed, though a bit skeptical, and promised to look into the matter. The following is from our subsequent correspondence, which delves into one of the thornier issues in U.S. philatelic lore.

June 21, 2016

Daniel, … I have been searching for more background on your precious stamps, which happily you showed me just before we left on Sunday. Wow! They are beauties. My catalog has them listed as No. 10, with all sorts of prices (some in the thousands), depending on varieties. The value increases with the condition. You have one “gem” (four margins, never-hinged original gum, good centering and color), and two very-fine specimens, also never-hinged.  As a multiple of three, the stamps only increase in value. … I shall keep looking for more info, but if you are really curious, have them professionally appraised by a reputable Boston firm. No need to unload them in a hurry, though — stamps like these seem to be holding their value and are a decent investment —  particularly considering the original purchase price of nine cents. Meanwhile, I plan to send you shortly some philatelic materials you might use to protect your stamps properly (don’t be nervous —  they seem just fine as they are, though to me it seems shockingly informal and casual …) …

Here’s an idea — would you or Maria take a picture of the stamps (through the envelope would be fine)? Then email the image to me. I plan to go to the Syracuse Stamp Club meeting Friday night (a bigger collection of originals you could never hope to see), and I expect I would get some interesting responses in showing around the photo. And I would report back to you …

June 23, 2016 (forwarded correspondence from Daniel)

Ben,  I  showed Fred Fiske one of my Milton classmates the three cent stamps circa 1852 discovered in my great, great grandfather’s journal (btw also George Buffington’s** step great great grandfather.)  Fred is intrigued as were you and as you can see from the email below (ed: i.e., a copy of my note, above), Fred  is a member of a secret philatelist society in Syracuse NY.  Not to get off track but grandpa reports in his journal he met the Emperor of the Austrian Hungary Empire in Vienna and declares the Hapsburgs  the ugliest family he has ever seen, looking like monkeys in fine clothes.  …   Daniel    ** (Ed: George Buffington is also a friend and Milton classmate.)

June 24, 2016

Hi Daniel — Here is the image of a stamp from my collection featuring the last emperor of the Austro-Hungarian empire, Franz Joseph, in 1914, at the outset of World War I. I loved your report from your great-great-grandfather’s visit to the emperor, I guess in the mid-1800s. What were your ancestors up to in those days? Does this next-generation guy still look like a monkey? Sort of, I guess …

By the way, I am embarrassed to say I had the date of the stamp club meeting wrong. The third Friday of the month is not today, but last week! So I will have to wait until the first Friday of next month, July 1, to attend the next stamp club meeting. Meanwhile, however, I have found that a catalogue from 2006 lists your stamp. Scott No. 10, mint, at $2,500. More to come …  Best, FMF

p.s. Since we have some time, I would suggest you make another try to photograph your valuable stamps. The shot you sent me was good — clear and sharp — but it cut off the crucial left side of the multiple, which shows that the top left stamp is a gem — four margins, etc.  If I had that to show around next Friday, I would be like the bee’s knees …

Best, FMF

June 26, 2016

Fred,  Another shot trying to feature stamp on left.  …  My great great grandfather who wrote the journal where I found the stamps was Thomas Van Buren. He spent three months traveling through Italy and Austria in 1853, part of the time with his uncle, President Martin Van Buren, and his cousin Martin Jr.  They visited the Pope, the Hapsburg emperor and others. I read elsewhere that Martin used to laugh the Europeans assumed he was of noble birth, whereas the family was just poor farmers.  Anyway, Grandpa went on to be a California state senator, a NYS assemblyman,  a Civil War General and the consul general to Japan from 1872 to 1884.  Your old friend Daniel

July 15, 2016

Daniel, … My apologies for not getting back to you about the stamps. Amid the house-moving and the upset rumpus, I have missed a couple of stamp club meetings. I am determined to go on Saturday to the annual Stamp Club Picnic at a member’s house on Cross Lake, which is in Jordan, a small community northwest of Syracuse. The prospect of Stamp Club members cavorting in bathing suits (including me) is a daunting one, likely to frighten children and small animals. Yet I intend to persist, in order to quiz some of the more knowledgeable members about your fine multiple of U.S. No. 10.      Best, FMF

July 18, 2016

Hi Daniel — Saturday was beautiful, and so was the year-round vacation home of our host, Dick Nuhn of the Syracuse Stamp Club, on the shore of Cross Lake in northwestern Onondaga County (about 20 miles from here). There was a good turnout of stamp club members for the annual outing, with hamburgers, brats and spiedies, and a table of salads, as well as desserts. Bravo! The lake was charming — a smaller version of Lake George, of Champlain, or something. The Seneca River flows through it, so it’s part of the Erie Canal system, capable of transporting barges and other shipping and pleasure vessels from the Hudson clear to the St. Lawrence Seaway and the Canadian Maritimes …

One of my main purposes — in addition to eating, schmoozing and taking a dip in the refreshing lake waters — was to show around my photos of your three-cent of 1853 multiple on my Macbook. I displayed the stamps before Dick, our host, as well as Mike and Ralph, two early U.S. stamp experts; also Al Swift, who knows a thing or two on the subject, and several others. At one point, Dick took Mike and me into his log house, up a spiral staircase and across a catwalk to a balcony nook with a sweeping view of the lake. This is where he has his stamp collection, which sprawls from one side of the house to the other in vast profusion.  Here is some of what they said:

First, Dick looked up Nos. 10 and 11 in a recent Scott catalogue (2006, and prices may have gone up in the last decade). No. 10, described as “orange brown,” catalogued at about $3,200 — this, for a mint (unused) copy which, like the upper left one of your three examples, displays a clear border on all four sides (your other two are cut off just inside one border). Yours, of course, are “never hinged,” which makes them considerably more valuable. Having three together also is worth a premium — a pity you didn’t have the fourth one to make a square block, one of the observers said, which of course would have added even more value.

Now to No. 11, which is identical in every way to No. 10, except for the ink — and the value. No. 11’s color is described as “dull red,” and the catalog value for a good mint copy is about $300 — one-10th the value of No. 10. As an observer noted, there are many shades of each variety, so it can be devilishly hard to discern clear differences between “orange brown” and “dull red.”  When stamps are cancelled with a clear date, it’s sometimes easier to distinguish varieties, since an earlier cancellation would rule out the later variety. But in the case of mint stamps, that’s obviously no help. I read elsewhere that the impression on No. 10 may be sharper than No. 11. The impression on your stamps, Daniel, is very crisp, and I still lean toward  them being No. 10, the more valuable variety. But I could not get any of my consultants to make a definitive identification.

I think we have stumbled on one of the more enduring challenges in U.S. philately: No. 10 or No. 11?  An expertising article I consulted online (“Identifying Scott No. 10 and No. 10A,” at http://www.uspcs.org) notes “(it) probably is the most frequently misidentified 19th century U.S. stamp. The problem of No. 11 and 11a … being advertised as No. 10 or 10a … seems to be chronic … .”

Trying to get to the bottom line with my stamp club buddies was tougher than pulling perforations. First I had to get them to accept, if only in theory, that this was No. 10 (gold) rather than No. 11 (dross). Then there was the matter of three-stamps-not-a-block but still-a-rare-multiple, not to mention mint-never-hinged. Multiply $3,200 by three and you already are up to $9,600 — not bad for a nine-cent investment by your ancestor, Daniel. Add the multiple and never-hinged factors and you get well beyond $10k, toward $20k. “But my friend was advised it might be worth $50k,” I announced. “What do you think?”  Mike took another look and allowed, “Maybe.”  At least he didn’t rule it out. He also didn’t make an offer. Dick said he once was presented with what the seller said was a cancelled No. 10. “I paid 35 bucks for it, but I’m still not sure if it’s really No. 10.” He showed me his copy, and I displayed for comparison purposes a photo from my father’s collection of what he claimed were No. 10 and No. 11. (By the way, these are all cancelled copies, which are much less valuablle than yours, Daniel.)

So there you have it. They wouldn’t say yes, they wouldn’t say no, just a definite maybe. Mike advised getting the darn thing appraised by an expert, like Mr. Sigismundo (sp?), a stamp expertiser from Central New York. I’ll bet there are several in the Boston area you could locate through the U.S. Philatelic Classics Society …     In philatelic solidarity, I remain,  FMF

July 19, 2016  (From Dan to Fred)  Thanks for learned thoughtful piece.  An endless search. More later

http://www.theswedishtiger.com/10-scotts.html  (ED: This link is to a site passed along  gets so far into the weeds over Nos. 10 and 11 as to drive ardent philatelists to drink, to distraction, discouragement or disconsolation. Is there any end to the depths of this hobby?

Sept. 3, 2016

email from FMF to D. Gerrity (copy to G. Buffington).  Subject: two more observations on Nos. 10,11. Forgive the return to a subject that it seemed we might have exhausted some time ago, but here goes:

1) One reason why a multiple of these early U.S. stamps may be more valuable than not, I recently learned, is that in those days, folks mainly took their mail to the post office, unstamped. They bought only the stamps they needed, stuck them to the envelopes and mailed them. That is, they didn’t keep a supply at home. Why bother?

2) It seems the valuable No. 10 stamp went on sale in July, 1851. After May of 1852, nearly all the 3-cent stamps used were the less-valuable No. 11.  What just struck me is the following: As I recall, you removed the envelope containing these stamps from a journal you said belonged to your great-etc. grandfather. So might there be a clue in the journal as to when he bought the stamps? If it was before May of 1852, there is a better-than-ever chance it was the valuable No. 10. Are there lots of journal entries? When exactly did he go abroad? (i.e., he couldn’t have bought U.S. stamps while he was traveling!) Does he mention sending a letter to someone? Or buying the stamps? (perhaps that is not the sort of thing one would note in one’s journal, but still …)

Now to let you get on to more pressing matters …

Philatelically yours,  FMF

p.s. I hope you and yours are well.

Sept. 3 also, from George Buffington —  Dear Fred and Dan:

This sounds like a lot of effort.  Can’t you just look at them and tell the difference? Well, I looked on the web and found the helpful thoughts below.      Love George  (ed: TEXT FOLLOWS)

Don’t look for design differences in the stamp. There aren’t any. The key is the ink color.

Scott #10 is described as orange-brown and Scott #11 is described as dull red. If you haven’t seen these stamps before, they are not too difficult to distinguish.

Scott #10 is very orange appearance in color. Copies of Scott #10 tend to be very bright too. Scott #11 is more red in appearance. If you have copy of Scott #224, then Scott #11 is more like the color of ink used for Scott #224. It’s not a perfect match, but #11 is darker in appearance.

Also, the impressions of Scott #10 are sharper in detail. Scott #10 came from earlier versions of the printing plates before there was much plate wear. Scott #11 came from later printings and the printing plates show some wear. Scott #11 isn’t as crisp appearing.

Using a magnifier, watch for recutting too. Scott #10A and #11A have the inner frame lines recut. Scott #10 and #11 are not recut.

About 5% of the stamp population is Scott #10 or #10A and 95% is Scott #11 or #11A. Watch your copies of Scott #11. You may just run into the more valuable Scott #10.

Scott #10 and #11 have been extensively plated too. The bible is “The 3 cent Stamp of the United States 1851-1857 Issue” by Dr. Carroll Chase. Subsequent work has updated some of Dr. Chase’s information, but his book is still largely complete.

Margins on these stamps are very small. If you see a pair of these stamps, you’ll understand why. There was almost no space between the stamps. Cutting them apart with scissors was not exact. Wide margins on these issues are difficult to find.

Sept. 4

email  from FMF to George Buffington:

George, you are as usual an inspiration to me.

First, with your common-sensible response on the Nos. 10, 11 controversy: just look at them and tell the difference.

It reminds me of my old late Mother, as well as Pa, who were happily liberal on political matters, but kind of skeptical when it came to the esoterica of mental health therapy. “Why,” my mother would say, “if you don’t know who you are, get out your Social Security card, hold it up in front of your face and look in the mirror.”

Well, yes. The thing is, philately is different from psychotherapy, for starters. Here are several further considerations, based also on the helpful expertise you supplied in your attachment:

1) The color controversy has long since baffled me. There are so many hues between orange brown and dull red that I have retreated from that line of inquiry, for now at least  …

2) I am equally befuddled by references to “plating” — as if the average collector could figure out which PLATE a particular stamp came from.

3) As for “recutting” — what the heck?

4) It turns out even expert stamp collectors are hard to pin down on this one. (I refer to my Bonus posting on Nos., 10 and 11, in which I was unable to get a single member of the Syracuse Stamp Club I interviewed to declare Daniel’s triple No. 10 or No. 11.)

5) The other thing is, it’s lots of fun to delve into all of this. Otherwise, how would I have known about Daniel’s fabled relative (and yours?) and his traveling/stamp-buying habits in the winter of 1852? With the evidence to date, I stick to my booster assessment that his is a rare multiple of No. 10, worth thousands!

Love, FMF

Sept. 4,

follow-up email to George, copy to Daniel. By the way, I checked No. 224, which your attached expertise statement suggests as a useful color guide to distinguish No. 11 from No. 10. It so happens there is a copy in my Pa’s collection, which I am holding. Comparing colors strengthens my conviction that Daniel’s is No. 10. …          Love, FMF

It’s always exciting for a collector when the next envelope comes in containing stamps purchased for the collection, whether from an auction, a stamp dealer or even the U.S. postal service. When the mail is from a foreign land (and in the era of eBay auctions and global internet sales, this is common), it’s particularly fun to find an envelope in the mail festooned with exotic philately. Stamp dealers tend to use interesting postage on their shipping envelopes. (They are using up some of their extra stock.) Some  stamps used for postage turn out to be worth  collecting — which helps to ease the pain of the “shipping and handling” charge added to the internet order price.

So it was an added thrill the other day to receive a packet with an array of interesting stamps on the cover — including the $2.90 priority mail stamp from the 1990s that has a catalog value of more than $6, cancelled. (The reason for the extra postage was that the seller,  embarrassed because he got my address wrong, re-sent the envelope via express mail; not necessary, but appreciated!)

Inside the envelope were three gorgeous engraved stamps I had ordered from a dealer through his online site. The bill for all three stamps was $50, plus postage and handling, but since there was a 15 percent discount for orders of $50 or more, I felt quite set up. The 3d. blue from St. Helena, picturing the badge of the colony, completes my long set of the George VI definitives from the 1930s (see illustration).

 

 

 

 

 

 

The one-pound stamp from Cyprus completes my George VI set from that country, same era. For a description of the pleasure that awaits in adding these two stamps to complete the sets on the pages of my British Africa and British America albums, please refer to a post in January 2017 on the joys of “filling spaces.”

 

The third stamp from the envelope, the handsome five shilling engraving of the entrance to Government House in Gibraltar, is an incremental addition to my Elizabeth II set from 1953. — I’m still missing the 10 shilling and L1 stamps from the set, which are quite dear.  Back in 1961, as a foresighted 13-year-old, I gathered my meager resources and sent a money order to Gibraltar, hoping to purchase most of that early set, which today is selling for $100 or more. As it happened, my letter arrived just months

after a new and rather garish set of definitives was released, replacing the stamps I had hoped to buy, so I got those instead. The garish set hasn’t done too badly, increasing nicely in catalog value. Still, I miss having a mint, never-hinged, post office-fresh 1953 set.

One other comment about the 1953 Gibraltar set — and the aforementioned Cyprus set from the 1930s as well. Unlike the all-mint set from St. Helena pictured up top, these two other sets contain both mint and postally used stamps. This may seem unremarkable, until you learn that such sets have considerably less market value, and perhaps less collector appeal. Catalogues list prices for sets that are all-mint, or all-used. Mixed mint and used sets are a philatelic mongrel to the traditional collector: neither phish nor phowl.

You may ask: If mixed sets are worth less than all-mint sets, and maybe even some all-used sets, why collect such mishmashes? Why not hold out for the more marketable commodity? Besides, don’t all-mint sets look prettier than sets with some stamps mint, others cancelled?

Good questions, to be sure. The prettiness argument is tough to counter, because it’s true. Mint and used stamps mounted together can look like a jumble — particularly in my albums, where I use black plastic strips to guard my mint stamps and plain stamp hinges to mount my used stamps. Indeed, you may not be convinced by my response in defense of mixed sets that follows.  Please believe, however, that it is heart-felt. You see, I have decided to strive for philatelic completeness over philatelic correctness. I abhor those empty spaces in my album pages, and get pleasure from having entire sets assembled —  mint, cancelled, even mixed. If I had a choice, I would go for the all-mint set, of which I have many. I also believe that a mixed set — with good mint stamps mingled among the used varieties — generally will be  worth  more than an all-used set. If I am looking for an elusive stamp to complete my mint set, I might go for a cancelled version. The mint one might be hard to find, or overpriced. Or I’m just too cheap to shell out the bucks. Or impatient. I dunno.

I have accumulated a considerable number of complete sets with mint and used stamps together. For early sets — George V and before — such mixed sets are not as big a deal.  Older  stamps are harder to find, and complete sets are rather rare. But I love all my mixed sets, old and newer. My basic motive in accumulating these mixed sets is that I am not willing to wait around for the exact stamp I need to pop up at the right price. Life is too short. Complete sets are more interesting than incomplete sets, even if the stamps are mixed. (They all must be in good condition, however!) If the coveted mint stamp appears and is affordable, of course I will pounce on it. If I can only find (or  afford) a cancelled copy that fills out my otherwise mostly mint set, I’ll be tempted.

Part of me says: Fred, why are you doing this? Where are your standards? Don’t you realize you are settling for a mixed set, whose value is tainted? Then I also figure: Who knows? Maybe mixed sets won’t always be the pariah of the philatelic world.

There, I said it. I’ll stick to my story that collecting mixed sets is OK. One, you get the pleasure of completeness, now. Two, it’s still a solid investment, and could turn out even better. The future of stamp collecting is so dicey that in a few years the difference between mint and cancelled may grow less significant than the stamps themselves. Then it will be complete sets that collectors of the future will want … that is, if the whole hobby doesn’t turn to dust with the last generation of true stamp collectors …

Just one more point to discuss here. There must be thousands of stamps in my British Africa collection alone, plus thousands more from British America, British Europe, the Congo, my American and European collections, and so on. I have accumulated enough stamps over the decades to fill three shelves of a small bookcase to overflowing with my albums, stockbooks, binders and catalogues.  How much is my collection worth? Certainly not its weight in gold. I imagine if instead of my giant, “magpie” collection (from here and there, including this and that), I had focused on buying several choice items, I probably would have been making a better investment. Stamps that already are rare are getting rarer, and their prices are strong and getting stronger. (Even though stamp collecting as a hobby is dying, etc., etc. Go figure.) I did not choose to be that kind of collector — probably because I started young, when it was easiest and most rewarding to accumulate large quantities of cheap stamps. The stamps I acquire now usually are not as cheap. They allow me to fill out sets, some of which I started collecting in my youth. There’s satisfaction in that. Years go by, and the albums grow richer with complete sets — and continue to grow more valuable. It is ever-more-entertaining to leaf through pages of philatelic history, bedecked with more and more orderly rows of these colorful, artistic, revealing postal artifacts …

 The inscription on a Canadian stamp that includes a map of the world
reads: “We hold a vaster empire than has been.” On the stamp, territory within the British Empire, circa 1898, is colored red. The empire’s reach is impressive, with great swaths covering North America (Canada), India. Australia and a good share of the African continent; plus generous red daubs in the Caribbean, east Asia and across the Pacific.

To complete the engraving, the artist added one more inscription: “Xmas 1898.”  Some collectors consider this the first Christmas stamp, a tradition that has carried on fitfully over the decades, beginning in earnest with yearly issues only in recent years. If you insist that the 1898 issue was indeed the first Christmas stamp, then please answer this question: Why did it take decades for the next one to arrive?

Here’s a story that offers a colorful explanation for the Christmas reference. In philatelic lore, Canadian Postmaster General William Mulock was making the case that the 1898 stamp should be issued Nov. 9, to “honor the prince” — that is, on the birthday of the Prince of Wales, also known as the king in waiting. Hearing the suggestion, the Dowager Queen was said to have asked peevishly: “What prince?” (As it turned out, Edward VII would ascend to the throne upon the death of his dear mater Victoria in early 1901. Was she just cross with Mulock that day, or did she not wish to be reminded of who was biding his time in the wings?) Mulock, sensing his faux pas, quickly came up with an inspired rejoinder: “Why, madam, the Prince of Peace.” This met with Victoria’s approval, and so the first Christmas stamp, such as it was, was born.

There were two other purposes for the stamp. One was to mark the inauguration of the Imperial Penny Postage rate (which apparently was equivalent to 2 cents in Canada, the value on this stamp). The other was to commemorate the remarkable sexagenary (60th year) of Queen Victoria’s rule.

Ten years earlier, the Welsh poet Sir William Morris composed an ode, “A Song of Empire,” to mark Victoria’s 50th Jubilee in 1887. The line quoted on the 1898 stamp came from these verses:

We hold a vaster empire than has been!

Nigh half the race is subject to our Queen!

Nigh half the wide, wise earth is ours in fee!

 

The statistical apex of territorial claims in the British Empire actually would not come until 1921. At that time, the empire had influence over 33.7 million square kilometers. Half of the globe’s dry land was “theirs in fee.” The empire’s population of more than 458 million souls constituted one-fifth of the Earth’s people.

The map depicted on that Canadian stamp from 1898 is still impressive. As an aside, notice how Canada happens to be centrally located under the crown. Did Queen Victoria not notice that Postmaster Mulock was making a not-so-subtle political point with his stamp? The inscription begins, “We hold a vaster empire …” That could mean the royal “we,” of course. Or it could suggest a broader imperial covenant that shares responsibility for the empire’s dominion with some of its most loyal subjects — like Canadians,  who happen to bestride a transcontinental nation at the center of the world, “wearing” a crown, no less (at least according to this stamp) …

Depending on how you feel about empires in general, the British Empire in particular, you may be as horrified as you are impressed by its vast reach. Look at that little island off the northwest coast of France. England? Posh! That puny principality had the audacity to go out and impose itself on half the world, then claim some sort of ownership, or stewardship, rights and fees and privileges amounting to domination of one sort or another. What presumption! What bloody gall! The white man’s burden? The master race? What dangerous malarky!

Why this quest for global domination? The proclaimed mandate was to spread civilization, freedom, rule of law, Christianity and commerce. The reality was oh, so different. You can argue that the British Empire was the “best” empire (compared with, say, the Belgians, the Portuguese, the Spanish …) If so, it was only the least oppressive of the lot — and that’s just by a slim margin. Don’t get me started on the racism, intolerance, repression, cruelty, rights deprivation, genocidal policies and other flaws of imperialism. I may never stop …

Instead, please entertain another thought about the British Empire, as depicted on that stamp from Xmas 1898. A thought that encompasses the sheer stubborn force of the imperial hand — the hand with which Belgian King Leopold’s men hacked out a path through the Congolese jungle for the first train from Matadi to Leopoldville. The force that sent navigators, swashbucklers, adventurers, soldiers, entrepreneurs, scientists and soon enough, administrators and bureaucrats to every corner of the world.  By 1898, the familiar saying that “the sun never sets on the British Empire” was literally true: When the governor general in Ottawa was sound asleep, the viceroy in Delhi was enjoying high tea — and vice-versa.

Imagine a civil service based in Whitehall, the London hub of the Foreign Office, where immaculately groomed mandarins supervised the affairs of empire on six continents (Antarctica came later). Was it possible to set standards for the orderly conduct of public business that could be upheld effectively in places as diverse as Nigeria, North Borneo and the Bahamas? To the extent that it was possible, might it not be considered a remarkable achievement?

As a stamp collector, I have long wrestled with the idea of the British Empire imposing civic order on the world. Not just oppressive domination, but also a sensible way of doing things — predictable, engaging, connected, occasionally even elegant in its protocols. Naturally, I am also talking about philatelic order. That is, the way stability and uniform standards in philately embody the unifying principles of empire.

And so, dear reader, I offer the set of illustrations that follows,  rendering that “vast empire” as a series of unified stamp designs replicated across continents and seas. Pictured here is an example of the stamps that were in circulation in 1897 or thereabouts, issued for use in far-flung precincts of  the British Empire, all bearing a likeness of Queen Victoria. As you observe the similarities and subtle differences in the portraits and borders, explored in the next commentary, you can get a sense of how these stamps helped to draw together the British Empire; how they created an identity, a self-image, sustaining a unity of purpose, a commitment to stability and civic  order, even pride in being part of this global enterprise. As you contemplate this mosaic of empire reflecting the image of an aging queen, consider these lines from Sir William Morris’s ode:

… And where her rule comes all are free

And therefore ’tis, O Queen, that we

Knit fast in bonds of temperate liberty

Rejoice to-day, and make our solemn Jubilee.

Yeah, yeah. I know the British Empire never lived up to these bonnie words by the Welsh poet. The claim that “all are free” under Victoria’s rule falls well short of the truth, along with Livingstone’s claim to be a guileless Christian missionary, Stanley’s pose as a crusading journalist, or Leopold the  philanthropist.

Yet if there is a sliver of inspiration to be found in the moral purpose that once helped to fuel the colonial juggernaut; if you can imagine the thrill of exploring, bringing order, building new civic spaces … then that may be enough to draw you on to these iconic images of imperial Britain at its vastest.

A note on the Photo Gallery: Victoria’s Empire 

What I have tried to do in the following series of illustrations is to present a fine-grain glimpse of the British Empire by grouping similar designs in portraits of Queen Victoria on stamps printed for use in the Home Country, and those available in the farthest colonial outposts during her long reign. What I already am discovering is that although there are significant similarities between stamps from the same era and with the same general characteristics, there are also subtle differences, It turns out there is not exactly a one-size-fits-all approach by the designers — at least, not during the Victorian era. In the 20th

century, the British  began issuing “omnibus” series — identical designs across dozens of territories to celebrate, for example, King George’s silver jubilee in 1935, the coronation of George VI in 1937, the Peace Issue of 1946, and the Universal Postal Union set of 1949. Omnibus commemorative issues continued into the modern Commonwealth years.

Now I invite you on a leisurely tour of stamp designs during the Victorian era. Let’s start at the very end — the final years. The sexagenary, diamond jubilee, 60th year of her rule (1897), was celebrated in song and circumstance. Special sets of stamps were issued in a few colonies (British Guiana, Canada, Newfoundland). Another set was issued by more than a dozen colonies, similar in size and number to the regular definitive series of earlier decades, only this time with an image more uniform than ever before,

across colonies and continents. The typographed design — a compact miniature profile bust of the queen in a border, placed atop a tablet containing the value — was adopted with slight variations around the world. It’s the first omnibus set, in effect.

This extraordinary postal event illustrates how philately helped to unite the British imperium. Imagine these stamps, so similar in appearance, being purchased in a post office in Ceylon, British Honduras, Gambia or elsewhere, affixed to an envelope, stamped with a local postmark, and sent on its way to another part of the world — like a gossamer thread, stitching together a durable and colorful fabric of empire.

 

 

Great Britain was the seat of empire, and GB never had to put its name on its stamps — because it was first, in 1840. (Can you believe it?) This set — the Queen Victoria Jubilee Issue — was released in 1887, with added values in later years. It set the standard for issues in colonies around the world. I include two stamps from the set,with considerable variations — if you can make them out under the heavy cancels. I particularly like the royal purple of the 2 1/2 d.

Notice in the images that follow, how many of these stamps, issued on five continents at roughly the same time, have a similar design (you might try enlarging them on your screen for even closer views of these beauties; then you will be able to appreciate the many subtle and not-so-subtle differences among them). This has to be one of earliest manifestations of globalization.  To borrow a concept from columnist Thomas Friedman, the British already were busily “flattening” the world in the 1890s. Below is a gallery of the stamps pictured in the map above, with additions and comments when called for …

British America

Two predominant designs were used in Jubilee stamps from the Americas. These from St. Vincent show one design, with a crimped border around the bust. Notice the hand-written cancels. These tend to lower the value of the stamp — the preferred cancel is a circular date stamp in black ink — but the handwriting is intriguing. What does it mean?

These Jubilee stamps, above,  from three Caribbean/Central American colonies are identical  in design — though the tablet border and numeral style change for the British Honduras set. Notice, below, a similar looking British Honduras stamp with a circular border of the cameo portrait — one  replicated in a number of other colonies. Why the change? Which border is better — crimped or circular? You decide …

 

Oddball variations, below.  The stamp at left, from Jamaica, still has the bust-portrait and the number tablet, but otherwise is very different in design  (just wait until you see Natal, a little further on …)

At right you have all the elements of a Victoria jubilees design in a stamp from British Guiana — but no Victoria! Instead, there is the badge of the colony. Why? You’d have to consult the mandarins at Whitehall on that one …

 

Sidebar: glimpse at the end of an era. Below is one of the final portraits of Queen Victoria engraved on a stamp. Caught in a reflective mood, the queen seems to be staring fixedly into the light — the future? The celestial lumens? It is a remarkable portrait of the ungainly queen. In real life, she could seem as awkward and bad tempered as the famous Lewis Carroll caricature in Alice’s adventures … But on stamps she was never less than regal.

Interesting aside: There was a problem with the first Canadian set (above left), even though it was a bold new design for 1897 and still has a clean, startlingly modern look. The problem: There was no number, just letters and four maple-leaf ornaments engraved in the corners. The second set (right), issued in 1898, took away two of the maple leaves and replaced them with numbers in the lower corners. It seems postal authorities overestimated the literacy of the population. Maybe it was also a French-English thing. Just guessing.

British Africa
By now these Jubilee designs should be getting pretty familiar to you. Oh yes, notice the similarities between the Natal stamp and Jamaica, above. Well, not so similar when you actually compare them … These stamps span the African continent, from the Atlantic nations of Gambia and Sierra Leone, across the vastness of Northern Nigeria, to the south African colonies of Natal and Zululand.

British Asia
Below are a couple more samples, of Jubilee stamps — one from Ceylon/Sri Lanka off the east coast of India, the other from thousands of miles to the east and the Straits Settlements of Singapore and Malaya. Underneath is an Indian stamp from 1899 that is not the same design at all. But it’s a classic late portrait, so I’m including it, just for fun.

 

Australia and British Oceania
For some reason the omnibus Jubilee design memo did not reach Australia, the Antipodes (I think that means New Zealand) or any of the micronesian colonies, protectorates, condominiums and what-have-you strewn across the south Pacific. Since I’m not a big collector of this area, I only managed to scrounge up a few battered examples of late Victorian philately from down under — including Victoria on Victoria! (Today Australia’s smallest and richest state, Victoria once was a separate colony and issued its own stamps from 1850 to the early 1900s. During that time it produced at least 50 original portraits of Victoria on stamps. Some of them, I must say, are quite primitive! It’s fun to check them out on eBay. Oddly, the last stamps from the colony of Victoria pictured the queen’s son and heir to the throne, the new King Edward VII, ruining the eponymous philatelic fun — but at the same time injecting a gender-bending element: Edward-Victoria!

 

Same stamp design on five continents. Now let’s play a parlor game of spot-the-similarities among the eight stamps appearing below: 1) All feature the Victoria bust; 2) in a circular border containing the country name and amount; 3) all letters, no numbers … Now, enjoy the variations in these delicate designs — do any of them have the same border flourishes, for example? This harmonious “set” of nine stamps actually comes from five separate continents — including Mauritius, which I include just as an illustration because I don’t have that particular one — yet.

 

Mid-Victorian design similarities, 1860s-1880s. Another round of spot-the-similarities, anyone? Eight more stamps from earlier in the Victorian era, spanning three continents, are depicted below. They share the iconic portrait of the queen, a round border and a bar below with the value. Look how closely Lagos (Africa) resembles Dominica, Tobago and St. Christopher (Caribbean). Not … quite … the … same, though.

 

Round three. Try to find any design differences among the 10 beauties pictured below. The new challenge for this page is inspired by Sesame Street, I think. Which of these things belong together, which of these things is not quite the same? Or something like that.

Spoiler: Check the Trinidad stamp, which looks like it should have the standard Victoria portrait, but instead uses the badge of the colony, or “Britannia,” if you will. What gives? What next? A “portrait” of a giraffe on a stamp from Tanganyika?

 

I kid you not. At first I thought this giraffe set from the British Mandate of Tanganyika was an anti-monarchist spoof. But it’s real enough. The series appeared in 1922. A set with George V’s portrait didn’t follow until 1927. The stamps are gorgeous little engravings, colored with brilliant inks of  carmine, green, orange and dark violet that contrast deliciously with the jet-black centers. Still, it’s a shock to see the spot normally reserved for a Royal be usurped by a dopey-looking giraffe. Why, it borders on insubordination! This   set allows one to imagine at least some of the mandarins of the Colonial Office had a sense of humor.

Early Victorian stamp design similarities — 1850s-1860s.  Most  British stamps from Victorian era  originated with the cameo portrait of Princess Victoria created by William Wyon in 1834, pictured here. That image appeared on a medal commemorating the new queen’s visit to London in 1837. It also became the basis for the world’s first stamp — the “Penny Black” of 1840 (see below). The stamp’s designer, Sir Rowland Hill, picked the rough sketch by Henry Corbould (I’m still looking for that sketch), and engravers Charles Heath and his son Frederick produced the stamp. The image, subject to minor revision over the years, and illustrated by the early  stamps pictured below, would remain in continuous use in successive sets issued in Great Britain and the empire until Victoria’s death in 1901.

 

 

 

 

 

The Chalon head

It’s hard to believe the portrait at right is of the same woman who was portrayed in  those stamps above as a classical bust or an aged dowager. In this painting, she appears young and winsome, swallow-necked and elegant, with a coy, doe-like beauty.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Chalons” are prized among British Colony stamp collectors because they are generally early and rare — not to mention beautiful engravings. The stamps, some of which are pictured below,  appeared starting in the British empire in the early 1850s. The first was Canada’s provinces (1851), then Nova Scotia (1853), Tasmania/Van Diemensland (1855), New Zealand (1855), The Bahamas (1859), Natal (1859) Grenada (1860), New Brunswick and Queensland (1860).

In most colonies, the stamps were replaced as Victoria aged. Canada marked Victoria’s sexagenary in 1897 with a startling pair of side-by-side cameos of the queen “then” (the Chalon head of 1837) and “now” (the plump old dowager). The same person? Impossible! In Queensland (now Australia), you could still buy a high-value stamp with a Chalon head at the post office as late as 1912, more than a decade after Victoria’s death.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Take a second look at the portrait in the Nova Scotia stamp,  at right — the green 8 and 1/2-center from 1860 (value: a few bucks at most). On double-take, it’s clearly  not based on the Chalon head. My bet is on the Winterhalter portrait of 1859, reproduced below. 

Reality check: Here is an apparent photo-like record of the marriage of Victoria and Albert in London, Feb. 10, 1840. The close-up below is strikingly  immediate, bringing you face to face with an intimate moment more than a century-and-a-half ago. …  Queen Victoria looks, well, short and dumpy. She has a big nose and a receding  chin. She is, well, homely. Perhaps such realistic depictions don’t do her justice. Or perhaps the engraver’s art is, well, artful. There is no mistaking her resolve in this image as she gazes at her prince.  They were by all accounts a happy couple, in love and devoted to each other for the 21 years allotted them before Albert succumbed to stomach ailments and typhoid fever. They had nine children. Victoria would continue on as queen until her death in 1901, becoming the longest-reigning British monarch in modern history — that is, until her great-great-grandaughter Elizabeth broke her record in 2015.

The British Empire’s fourth dimension — through time in stamps

Same design through five reigns: (from top left) Victoria, 1837-1901; Edward VII, 1901-1910; George V, 1910-1935; George VI, 1936-1952; Elizabeth II, 1952 —

The stamps pictured above, from around the British Empire, were issued between the 1890s and the 1950s. They span five reigns, from Victoria to Elizabeth, that amount to 179 years — and counting. Across this vast expanse of time and territory, these stamps have held to the same design standard set by the first Victoria Jubilee series. These remarkable threads of continuity — from monarch to monarch, century to century, continent to continent —weave a mesmerizing tapestry of empire, don’t you think?

 

 

 

 

Note to readers —

You now have at your disposal my first foray into Congo stamp commentary — “10 Interesting Anecdotes about Congo Stamps” — including Anecdote No. 10, a long and personal memoir of my own experiences in the Congo, between 1962 and 1964, in which my writing seems to have abandoned all restraint. Oh well, at least there are profuse illustrations …

What next? My provisional  plan was to continue with a page-by-page exposition of my Congo collection, starting with the King Leopold sets from the lawless years of the Congo Free State in the 1880s and 1890s; then through the tedious and oppressive decades of Belgian colonial rule until independence in 1960; then the prism-like philatelic

shattering of the fractured secessionist states and beyond. Now, however, I realize that other commentaries may have to come first. Before I go on, however, a parting word or two on the Congo.

My active collecting of Congo stamps

ended soon after I left Africa in 1964. It was depressing to witness the stagnation and disarray of the Congo during the decades of Mobutu’s brutal, careless dictatorship after 1965. I just didn’t have the heart to collect the bland, crude,  haphazard issues that emerged from the Congo, then Zaire, now simply “Congo.” It’s been more than 20 years since Mobutu left, and the Congo is still a basket case of a nation. What gives?

Perhaps this is enough about the Congo for the time being. Look at it this way: If I  whetted your appetite for more by sharing my 10 anecdotes, fine.  I’ll get back to my Congo collection by and by. I’m sure there is a story on every page. As we divert from our fascinating philatelic hike through the Congo, let me just leave you with a few more images and long captions to round things out.

So after Congo … now what? Earlier, I set out a leisurely alphabetical stroll through my British Africa book. I started with Ascension, got through Basutoland — then got distracted by the Congo thing. The natural progression now would be to get back on track, which means Bechuanaland. Indeed, I find this prospect irresistible. Basutoland and Bechuanaland had considerable philatelic similarities, with interesting differences.

 

 

 

 

The history told in Bechuanaland stamps dates back far before Basutoland to the Victorian era, when imperial pioneers were still exploring. They established, by negotiation or force, protectorates and colonies, sometimes both on the same land. Bechuanaland is an example of
this, and stamps help tell the story.  Bechuanaland (now Botswana) covers a land mass the size of France, is landlocked, bordering South Africa. Historically, its sparse pastoral population, dry climate and arid regions ensured that it would not be at the center of  continental dramas and battles for the lucrative spoils of gold, diamond, rubber and the like. To the south, however, colonial history and politics brought bloody clashes and diplomatic rifts that reached Whitehall and Berlin, and reverberated back to Capetown.

South Africa had its barons, burghers, magnates, soldiers, statesmen and adventurers.  The interactions between whites and blacks were racially regimented and hierarchal, but political relations were another matter. From early on, black Africans collaborated, conspired and clashed with whites, the same as would one tribe with another. Particularly vivid are stories of the sometimes nuanced relations between Boer and Zulu leaders in the 1880s and 1890s.   The turn of the century brought to full flower the Boer War with the British. The pitched battles were appalling in the loss of life and limb. In comparison, the  tangle of philatelic history involved will be a pleasure to try and unravel.

 

Indeed, I don’t see how I can resist a fuller look at South African stamps. My South African collection, though improving, is not much to boast about. My increased interest is relatively recent — I used to consider South African stamps dull, some downright ugly, and with all that English-Afrikaans bilingual clutter!

 

As I am reading more South African history, I become intrigued with its philatelic artifacts — for example from short-lived colonies and states like Griqualand West and the New Republic.

The striking imagery and symbolism of stamps make them authentic labels of politics and culture. There is much to learn from postal history. Some stories are arresting and cinematically vivid. No doubt it will take some time to get there, but I already look forward to sharing the story behind my stamp from Cape of Good Hope, overprinted in 1899 with the alarming inscription: “Mafeking Besieged.”  The bloody tale involves the heroism and ingenuity of Col. (later Lord) Baden-Powell, who inspired the Boy Scouts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why should I venture so soon to South Africa?  The alphabet plan offers its delights as well: after Bechuanaland comes British East Africa (1890-1903), then Cameroons (wait, that wasn’t a British colony, was it?), and then … well, then comes Cape of Good Hope — South Africa! — and we’re off to the races!

 

 

 

 

Here are some stamps from countries I will be skipping over — like British East Africa, a “country” that first ran like a concessionary stand for imperial adventurers, developers, entrepreneurs and looters under the British. (“Light and Liberty”? Don’t make me cry …)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here is a stamp from German “Kamerun,” occupied by Great Britain after World War I. The French took over much of Cameroon, in west Africa, though British influence remained. As the region was going independent in 1960s, the UK issued a set of stamps — Nigerian definitives, overprinted — for use in the Anglophone trust territories (UKTT) until their final disposition could be decided. The Scott catalogue explains what happened next: “Nos. 66-77 were withdrawn in Northern Cameroons on May 31, 1961, when that territory joined Nigeria and in Southern Cameroons Sept. 30, 1961, when that territory joined the Cameroon Federal Republic.”

 

 

 

 

TEN INTERESTING STORIES ABOUT CONGO STAMPS

1. The Origins of Rwanda and Burundi stamps. The first stamps issued in Rwanda and Burundi, back in 1915, were from the Belgian Congo.

They were overprinted by hand stamp, “Ruanda” or “Urundi.” They took the place of German East Africa stamps as  the Germans were chased out during  World War I. The colony also included land ceded to Portuguese  Mozambique  the new British colony of Tanganyika. The early Urundi and Ruanda stamps are among the most valuable from the Congo region, since they are so rare. They quickly were supplanted by a set of machine-overprinted stamps with the confusing bilingual inscription: in French, “Est Africain Allemand — Occupation Belge,” crowded in with the Flemish,  “Duitsch Oost Africa — Belgische Bezetting.”  This cluttered inscription  suggests  the Belgians were taking over from the Germans. But in such a case, one might ask, why still call it “German East Africa”? Was there a nationalist motive — to rub Germany’s nose in its defeat by asserting mastery over its erstwhile colony? Or was there a tacit colonial bond implied here, as though the two imperial powers were exchanging property, perhaps temporariliy,  but otherwise maintaining all the imperial trappings and perquisites?

2. Belgian Congo stamps: A gallery of portraits.  During its 83-year existence (1910-1993), the apartheid government of South Africa issued only one stamp I know of depicting  a black face — a 4-cent commemorative promoting “Health Care and Service” in 1979. Though racial oppression and exclusion also was integral to the Belgian colonial administration, stamps from the Belgian Congo  and Ruana-Urundi often featured black faces and bodies — even celebrated them. The early engravings are quite lovely.

3. Overprints and surcharges. Overprints and rcharges were part of Congo stamps from the beginning. In the 1880s and 1890s, three stamps from the first and second King Leopold portrait series were defaced by parcel post overprints. These are costly Congo stamps, because they are so rare. Later on, stamps in the colorful definitive series of 1909 were recycled numerous times. Four of them were overprinted with the year “1921”; many were surcharged with new values. Eventually, there were surcharges on surcharges. Imagine being confronted with a 10-centimes stamp, surcharged 30 centimes, then handstamped 25 centimes. What gives? Now go one stamp further: What about when the “0,25” is handstamped twice? Is that a double surcharge? A misprint? A new variety? So many questions! Congo postal authorities kept surcharging sets through the years, up until independence and beyond, with predictably mixed results.

( See Anecdote 5)

4. Detatchment USA? I was surprised to come across a short set of Belgian Congo stamps from the 1930s with an overprint suggesting an American occupation. I must have picked up the set at a stamp show years ago for a few bucks. The complete set (there is one more stamp) sells on eBay for as much as $100. As far as I know, the United States never occupied the Congo, or ever deployed troops there — at least openly.  The Congo did play a role as an ally in World War II. The Belgian government-in-exile in London maintained its colony and provided the United States and others with key raw materials like rubber and minerals. Uranium went  to the Manhattan Project that produced the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki …

To get back on the philatelic track, why a “USA Detatchment”  overprint on Congo stamps from the 1930s? These stamps would not have been issued during the war, since by the 1940s there was a new definitive set in circulation. A little research turned up the following scanty information: The stamps were issued in 1931 as a “private printing.” For decades, it had not been unusual for the U.S. government to dispatch “detachments” of Marines or other soldiers to guard U.S. embassies and other assets abroad. (In Cameroon, for example.) However, there was no mention of embassies issuing postage stamps for use by the troops or anyone else. Were these stamps valid in the Congo, for example as postage on mail sent home by the U.S. troops in Leopoldville? I don’t know. I  have never seen any cancelled examples of these stamps, or postally used covers including them.  They may well be “Cinderellas” (a term applied to postally spurious issues, which I promise to address in a future commentary). They certainly constitute an interesting historical oddity: “American” stamps, with U.S. currency denominations and “USA Airmail” overprinted on Belgian Congo stamps. There must be more to this story.

By the way, during the turmoil after Congolese independence in 1960,  Sweden, Ireland and Canada, among others, sent troops to the Congo at the request of the United Nations to help keep the peace. Another contingent came from India, whose postal authorities issued a set of India’s then-current definitive series, overprinted “U.N. Force (India) Congo.” This set sells for a modest sum, mint or used, though cancelled copies on postally used covers mailed in the Congo might command a  higher price. (Indians must have been proud of their role as international peacekeepers. Postal authorities in Delhi issued overprinted sets for use by troops in Korea in 1953; Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam in the 1950s and 1960s; and Gaza in 1965.)

5. The same — and not the same. The transition from colony to independence was not easy in the Congo. Disorganization, disarray and disruption ran rampant. Economic and social upheaval was reflected in haphazard philately, including upside-down overprints known to philatelists as “inverts,” some of which sell today for $5 or $10 or more. The many surcharges  created ever more opportunities for misprints and other errors.  Stocks of stamps from the Belgian Congo — in particular the Flower series and the Animal series — were overprinted, some with new surcharges, and sold in Leopoldville for years after independence. As a 15-year-old stamp collector In 1964, I was able to buy stamps at the downtown Bureau de Poste to create a cover using six different versions of the original 6.50-frank stamp of the Animal series depicting two leaping antelopes. 

** the original stamp, issued in 1959

** the same stamp, overprinted “CONGO” in red, issued 1960

** ditto, overprinted in black

** ditto, with a silver surcharge “5F” and red  overprint, 1964

** ditto, with silver surcharge and black overprint

** finally, with a silver surcharge as well as a silver bar with black inscription “Republique du Congo” replacing “Belgisch Congo Belge.”

I have another cover with five 20-centime stamps from the series, featuring a rhinoceros, also with varying overprints and surcharges. The last item on this cover, below right,  is a most peculiar error. Let me explain:

While the original Belgian Congo stamp was successfully surcharged “1F” on a silver bar, the “CONGO” overprint is missing. This means the stamp looks for all the world like a new “Belgian Congo” stamp — issued in 1964, four years after independence! Another example of this phenomenon is the 15-centime value of the Flowers set, surcharged 10 centimes — but without the necessary “CONGO” overprint (see photos below) — thus inadvertently creating a new issue for the Belgian Congo after Congolese Independence Day!  See below for  more examples of weird surcharges.

6. Impudent Katanga.  The chaotic, violent years after Congolese independence included secessionist movements, some of them bloody. Moise Tshombe, from resource-rich Katanga in the southeast, led the first break from the federated government less than a fortnight after independence day June 30, 1960, proclaiming a state that lasted until January 1963. During that time Katanga issued a handful of sets, first overprints of Belgian Congo stamps, then pirated stocks of stamps from the independent Congo based in Leopoldville, and finally a few sets of original designs inscribed “Etat du/Inchi ya KATANGA.”  The stamps were not recognized as valid by the International Postal Union, but mail from Katanga still got delivered. It is  somewhat jarring, to me at least, to study the first set of Katanga stamps — originally issued to celebrate the independence of the Republic of the Congo, showing a map of the whole country — with the name “Congo” obliterated by the bold overprint, “L’Etat du Katanga.” A smaller overprint cleverly covers the inscribed date of Congolese independence, “30 Juin,” with a new “11 Juillet,” Katangan Independence Day — while keeping the “1960” date uncovered. In this way, the secessionist government celebrated its own independence by repurposing stamps whose central image depicted the nation from which Katanga seceded. It is as if the U.S. Confederacy in 1861 put out a set of overprinted stamps with a map including its giant enemy to the north.

7. Half-hearted secession.  Another breakaway republic was the central state of South Kasai, declared by Luba leader Albert Kalonji in August, 1960. It was a half-hearted effort — there was never a complete break with the federal government. This unlikely nation started out like its more
affluent neighbor, Katanga, with overprints of Belgian Congo stamps. It then issued a few of its own design, including a souvenir sheet, before the rebellion petered out in 1962.There were a few envelopes cancelled with the
stamps from the “Etat Autonome du Sud-Kasai.” I have one (shown here), and I hope it has some value. The stamps were not recognized by the Universal Postal Union, and while you can find them occasionally on eBay, they are not listed in most catalogues.  Prices for South Kasai stamps are not high, but I believe there is some value to them because of their unusual historical provenance, their sheer oddity, and limited numbers.

8. Murky and murkier. The murkiest of the sessionist “republics” were the “Republique Populaire.” declared in Stanleyville to the northwest in 1964, and the “Congo” rebellion in the northern area of Katanga, centered on

Albertville, that same year.  These rump rebellions, which some historians record as simba revolts aided and abetted by China, did not result in any original postage stamp designs — or much other than  bloodletting. From Leopoldville, then-Prime Minister Tshombe dispatched federal troops. Some were led by mercenary officers who had fought for Tshombe in Katanga. Before they were subdued, the rebels did have time to issue overprints of Belgian Congo and Republic of Congo stamps. The cover shown below from Stanleyville offers rare “cancelled” copies of stamps from this questionable postal authority — though it is quite obvious someone merely pasted the stamps on the card and had them cancelled. This philatelic oddity did not come with a certificate of authenticity and integrity. I still cherish the cover as a rare philatelic artifact.

Postal authorities in Albertville used leftover supplies of stamps from Katanga, overprinting them simply, “Congo.”  The result, in effect, was a set of stamps designed and printed by Katanga, a defunct state that had seceded from the Congo, now appropriated by a subsidiary  secessionist state around Albertville and relabeled “Congo.” Is this a step forward, backward or sidewise? To compound the muddle, the rebels in Albertville managed to take the 10-centimes stamp from the 1953 Flower series, and stamp their  “Congo” claim directly on top of the “Katanga” overprint that was meant to supplant the crossed-out “Belgish Congo Belge”  inscription. The result is a palimpsest (a word I have been waiting for years to use, which means a series of superimposed images). The stamp pictured here is listed on eBay (price: $450). The more you look at it, the more indecipherable it becomes — an apt emblem for the state of affairs at Albertville in June of 1964, and perhaps for the Congo as a whole  …

9. A salute to colonial nostalgia. Every now and then, as my Congo collection grew, I would come across intriguing images of stamps from the handsome 1940s definitive set reprinted as mini-sheets — that is, stamps perforated and centered within a larger sheet. Some of the surrounding margins were white, others colored in alluring shades of red, green and gold.  What are these sheets about? And why are they so expensive?

Eventually I consulted my reliable Scott Standard Postage Stamp Catalogue. Here is what it said: “Miniature sheets … were printed in 1944 by the Belgian government in London and given to the Belgian political review, Message, which distributed them to its subscribers, one a month.” Scott valued each sheetlet at $12.50. The Scott catalog continued: “Remainders of these eight miniature sheets received marginal overprints in various colors in 1950, specifying a surtax of $100f per sheet and paying tribute to the Universal Postal Union. These sheets, together with the four of Ruanda-Urundi, were sold for the Committee of Cultural Works (and not at post offices) in sets of 12 for 1,217.15 francs.” Scott valued the series at “about $150. On eBay today, the series with white margins  sells for $799, the series with the decorative borders is priced at $1,799.

Does anything strike you about these stamp sheets? How about as an emblem imperial disassociation? An example of the oblique colonial view, disengaged, distanced, perhaps even a bit sentimental (Congo!). These sheets bespeak a European population of the 1940s, profoundly, even willfully ignorant of prevailing conditions in the Congo and the  discriminatory customs and legal processes; directly or indirectly, they were complicit in those racist laws, practices and opinions. The stamps were designed and printed in London. Many Belgian Congo stamps were produced by Waterlow and Sons Ltd.  In 1944, with the Belgian government-in-exile now located in the British capital, you might consider this  a philatelic favor done by one imperial power for another — with a tidy profit, to be sure. Given the grim  distractions of wartime, these charming little sheetlets must have been welcome surprises. They were  distributed, gratis, to subscribers of Message, one accompanying each monthly issue. Look closely below, and you will see special side perforations in the sheetlets that allowed them to be stapled into the larger publication, to be safely removed later by collectors. The more elaborate, bordered sheets were sold with a 10-fold markup to honor the Universal Postal Union and benefit the Committee of Cultural Works.

When I get a chance, I hope to look into this further. What was Message’s view of the affairs of the Congo? Why was it chosen to distribute these stamp sheets? What was the Committee of Cultural Works, and how did it  use money from the sale of these sheets? These questions beg the ultimate question: Did this philatelic enterprise in Brussels in any way enhance the well-being or even enter the consciousness of the Congolese, still living under Belgian domination, repression and exploitation in that vast, squalid African nation? I doubt many Congolese acquired these prized sheetlets. I also doubt there were many indigenous subscribers to  Message in Leo, Matadi, Coquilhatville, Albertville. Not many members of the Committee of Cultural Works lived in Stanleyville, Elisabethville, Luluaburg, Thysville …

10. Paix, travail, austérité …  a personal memoir. These French words mean peace, work, thrift. They are a hearty recipe for civic progress. Some combination of these ingredients promotes successful lives, communities and societies. Yet the words have a painful poignancy, for they represent what the Congo could have become, should have become, but has fallen tragically short of becoming.

The words were spoken in 1962 by Cyrille Adoula (pictured below), then prime minister of the Republic of Congo. His words were transcribed as an overprint on a set of stamps issued in October, 1962. The set originally came out in January, honoring  Dag Hammerskjold, the United Nations envoy who was killed in 1961 when his plane crashed on a peace mission to the Congo. Hammerskjold had made at least four other trips to the region. In September 1961, his plane went down near Ndola, Northern Rhodesia (now Zambia), close to the Congo border.   Hammerskjold and 14 others were killed. One theory is that the plane was shot down on the orders of Union Miniere, the mining giant that was resisting U.N.  intervention. Former president Harry Truman added to the furor when he was quoted as saying that Hammarskjold “was on the point of getting something done when they killed him.” Truman added: “Notice that I said ‘when they killed him’.”

Months before these stamps were issued, the doomed prime minister of the Congo, Patrice Lumumba, had been secreted to Elisabethville. Dismissed by President Kasavubu, disgraced and disheartened, Lumumba had been arrested by Col. Joseph

Mobutu and held in Thysville, near Leopoldville. Reports say he was beaten on the plane ride to Katanga, where he was confronted by political enemies including Moise Tshombe. After more beatings and torture, Lumumba and two associates were executed by a team led by Belgian mercenaries, under orders from Katanga. Tshombe was reportedly among those present at the execution.

Cyrille Adoula suffered no such fate. Earnest but somewhat colorless, he was a trained technocrat, a banker. I wish that he had been able to lead the Congo in all sorts of promising new directions. I wish that somehow, everyone could have risen above the bloody drama of Lumumba, the proxy war of communism vs. democracy, the tribalism, the contest for Congo’s fabulous natural resources waged by the superpowers, neighboring nations and multinational corporations. With the right kind of leadership and help, the Congo could have  surged forward, become a great nation. Well, why not?

In some ways, Adoula seemed the Man of the Hour. He had been an independence activist since the 1950s, when he joined with Lumumba and Ileo to form the Mouvement National Congolais (1958). He was handsome and suave.   He had a modest, competent way about him.  The reason I speak so extensively  about Adoula is that he was prime minister during most of the time I lived in the Congo. My father, the CAO in Leopoldville, mingled with Adoula at diplomatic events and perhaps elsewhere. Pa and Mother were rather keen on Adoula’s prospects.  They were Adlai Stevenson Democrats, and he was their kind of guy, with a moderate political agenda and some sensible ideas— like paix, travail, austerite. Alas, this was hardly a sensible time. Amid the turmoil before, during and after the Lumumba premiership, there were two secessionist movements — in Moise Tshombe’s Katanga, and in South Kasai. It took United Nations intervention to put the Congo back together — though seen one way you might ask: Why bother? Look who put it together in the first place: A bunch of  imperialists meeting in Berlin in the 1880s, that’s who. Oh well.

By 1963, with the Congo in one piece again, Adoula tried to assemble a coalition unity government under President Kasavubu that would accommodate both the disgruntled Lumumbist elements and Tshombe’s Katangans. As if that wasn’t hard enough, 1964 brought new rebellions around Stanleyville and Albertville, and Adoula gave up, was forced out or both, yielding to none other than … Moise Tshombe. Americans, imagine  the parallel: A year after the Civil War, the new head of the Re-United States  is … Jefferson Davis!  Adoula agreed to serve Tshombe as ambassador to the United States and Belgium. While Adoula and his family lived in Washington, Mrs. Adoula and my mother got to be a bit chummy. Pa was posted back to D.C. for a rotation, and Mother arranged with the Congolese Embassy to have a group of diaspora wives meet at our house on Madison Street. They did projects, spoke English, drank tea (sherry?), talked about babies and children and … civics, no doubt.

Mother was always terrific at this kind

of stuff. Both Mother and Pa found their life’s work in cultural diplomacy. Pa grew up chafing in the close confines of Boston Brahmin society. He thrived in the diverse locales where we were posted — Dhaka, Heidelberg, Leopoldville, Bremen. In the Congo, he worked hard at keeping the library going, managing cultural exchange programs, meeting and greeting and generally projecting a benign, forward-looking U.S. policy of engagement. At his side was Mother, who had  “escaped” from Iowa — and from my remarkable grandmother. Janette Stevenson Murray was a civic leader, an internationalist and vocal supporter of the United Nations and Eleanor Roosevelt. She was elected to head the Cedar Rapids board of education —  before women could vote in national elections. Grandma Murray was so busy with civic affairs and education that she didn’t have much attention left to pay to her five children. Her neglect apparently was not too harmful — her offspring and descendants include professors, M.D.s, Ph.d.s and M.D./Ph.D.s, world travelers and a two-time GOP candidate for governor of Iowa. When Grandma was selected American Mother of the Year in 1947, I think Mother was embarrassed by the publicity. She skipped the award ceremony at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York City. To be fair, 1947 was a busy time for Mother — she was raising her young family, while Pa was transitioning from the Navy back to civilian life. Both my parents still seemed committed to moving beyond their upbringings. Besides, Mother of the Year seemed pretty square …  Years later, in 1980, JMF would compile a dossier entitled, “JSM: A Reconsideration.” In it she finally — albeit a bit begrudgingly  — celebrated her mother’s honor back in 1947. She acknowledged that it was quite a big deal, after all. (Editor’s note: Not any more, it seems. I don’t even know if the USA still chooses of “Mother of the Year.” Ever heard of her? How does she stack up against Miss America? Miss Universe? The Avengers?)

I was glad Mother got to make public amends with her mom — albeit seven years after Grandma died. That reconciliation affirmed her own mission, which was essentially to carry on JSM’s work — promoting international understanding, mutuality, good will and hospitality. In the 1950s

and 1960s,  Grandma must have glowed over her daughter’s civic engagement work in East Pakistan, Germany, the Congo, Iceland, and Washington, D.C. Pa handled cultural diplomacy projects like the library, Fulbright scholarships and other exchanges, ran public events, sent cables to D.C., and so on. Mother organized women’s groups, and was a sparkling hostess at lively diplomatic parties held at our house. Visiting celebrities included Marian Anderson, Jack Teagarden. John Glenn, the Dorian Quintet and Buckminster Fuller. Mother was gracious, Pa was gallant, liquor flowed. Mother would charm the men and bond with the ladies, using smarts and poise  acquired at Coe

College and Columbia Graduate School. Pa would carry on social diplomacy: schmooze, hold forth, recite poetry and share anecdotes. As a team, they were extraordinarily effective in promoting intercultural understanding and friendship.  For a baker’s dozen years  — from 1957 to 1970 — they did their thing around the world.  I’m proud of what they accomplished. The fact that my siblings and I got to tag along was a blessing, I guess, mostly. It sure contributed to my interest in stamp collecting!

Speaking of which: back to Congo stamps, or rather, a bit more of personal Congo history before I do. Cyrille Adoula continued to serve under  Mobutu until he retired from politics in 1970. He died in 1978 at age 56 in Lausanne, Switzerland. Though I “came of age” in the Congo (age 14-16), I didn’t run in the same circles as my Ma and Pa, so I never recall meeting Adoula. I might have been introduced to him somewhere as a 15-year-old and not remember it. I know both my parents met Mobutu, though I don’t believe I ever saw him. Mother described her encounters with the future dictator, many years later, in response to my inquiry, not making a very big deal of it. “He was polite, quiet, always watching,” I think she said. No doubt some of my Congolese classmates in College Albert, the Jesuit high school I attended, were sons of the well-connected —  Benares, Nsiangani, Kisangani and others. But we never socialized, maintaining a cordial, occasionally even friendly, distance.

I did meet Moise Tshombe, once. My recollection of that encounter is  cinematically vivid: It was a summer night in Leo — August 1964, shortly after Tshombe returned from Spain to take over as prime minister of the Republic of the Congo. It was literally the eve of my departure for Europe and, eventually, the USA, where I would begin my junior year of high school at Milton Academy, a prep school near Boston. A month earlier Tshombe, the expat leader of the defunct  Republic of Katanga, had been transformed into the Congo’s homecoming hero, the white knight — well, not white — summoned to unite the Congolese and make the reintegrated nation all that it could be … I was vaguely aware of all of this. I certainly knew who Tshombe was — one of the biggest stars in the Congo.

The scene was a crowded house party I attended with my parents at the Fenhagens. It was my 16th birthday, coincidentally. The night was warm, the air  sweet. We were in a fashionable residential quarter of the capital city.  Most of the guests were white, from the diplomatic community. The house had an outdoor swimming pool, a balcony, exterior lights that made the setting quite gay — like a movie set for “La Dolce Vita,” Leo-style.  There were fashionable people laughing, drinking and dancing, inside and out, with some kids like me running around. In the middle of a small crowd, with the entourage that always surrounds charisma and power, there  stood … Moise Tshombe. Of medium height, with a graceful build, he stood in the lights, his handsome, expressive face shining. Dressed immaculately in a tailored suit and flashy tie, smiling broadly, he worked the crowd, eyes twinkling. Clearly he was having a good time. I don’t know how he got invited to the party, but his motorcade paused on the street so he could join the fun. He had a word for everyone, spoken in elegant French of course. As he passed me, our eyes met.  Ever the one with a penchant to speak up, I blurted out. “Bonsoir, M. Tshombe! C’est la premiere fois que je vous ai jamais vu!”  (Good evening, Mr. Tshombe! It’s the first time I have ever seen you!”)  Dumb, right? Smart politician that he was, Tshombe grasped my hand in his, grabbed my elbow with his other hand — or maybe it was just a friendly wave? — and delivered the punch line: “A la prochaine!” (Till next time!)

(Reality check: I just thought to check my diary, which actually extends back to Pakistan in 1957, when i was nine years old. Here is my entry for Aug. 4, 1964: “Guess who I met this evening, at a party at Darby Fenhagen’s? TSHOMBE! I shook his hand 2x and told him this was the first time I had met him. He said, “La prochaine fois …” What does that mean? Anyhow, that’s quite a thing to have done on my last night in the Congo, don’t you think? Yes! That’s quite a birthday present, what?”)

Alas, there would be no “prochaine,” no next time. Napoleon’s comeback in France after his first exile was 100 days; Tshombe’s in the Congo was about a year. Like Lumumba before him, he was dismissed by President Kasavubu. Months later Col. Mobutu took over for good, then ill. He had no use for Tshombe, who retreated back to Spain. (Isn’t it  interesting how these deposed heads of state managed to escape not only with their lives but with considerable means — Tshombe from copper- and mineral-rich Katanga, Albert Kalonji from diamond-rich South Kasai?)

 

 

 

The Mobutu regime convicted Tshombe of treason in absentia, and he never returned to the Congo. He died in 1969 at age 58. There also would be no comeback for the Congo. In the wake of independence, secession, rebellion,  bloodshed and ultimatelty, tyranny, those goals set by Cyrille Adoula — paix, travail, austerite — were trampled, gored, eviscerated. The Congo would be ruled by an ever-more-venal and corrupt system, rotten to the core of Mobutu’s megalomania and greed. He  amassed and expropriated a fortune measured in billions. He ruled with casual brutality, deception, manipulation and cynical indifference toward his people for three decades. The resourceful Congolese did the best they could to cope, living in a society perpetually caught between calamity and collapse.

 

 

 

 

 

Moise Tshombe was one of Africa’s most promising yet enigmatic figures. Having met him I can attest to his charisma. He was charming, urbane, smart — and apparently, ruthless. How could the man dancing in that conga line in 1964 have stood by and watched as Patrice Lumumba was tortured and executed in 1961? This portrait brings out a brooding side of Tshombe. There’s a bit of Clark Gable there, a little James Cagney, some Ernest Borgnine … Enough! Enough about Tshombe and the conga line. (Oh wait — I think they were doing a line dance called the Madison in that photo; it was all the rage in Leo in 1964 …) Now let’s get back to stamps, shall we?

 

 

 

 

 

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.