I’M NOT sending any Christmas cards this year. Not only do they cost a fortune,  considering they’re just bits of folded card, but with the added cost of the postage, I decided to save my money.

Instead, my New Year resolution is to add to my collection of Victorian Christmas cards, some of which are pictured here.

Click here for a Christmas card slideshow

Some friends of ours have a lovely Christmas tradition of their own. Instead of sending their family members a new Christmas card each year, the same small collection of "antique" cards gets circulated among them, each person receiving a different one than the previous year.

Rather than being chucked into the waste recycling bin, or chopped up to make gift tabs (which is another useful money-saving tip) our friends’ vintage cards are carefully stored away for a year and then brought out to be posted again for a new round of festive cheer.

I’m afraid I wouldn’t risk the hazards of the postal service. Not that vintage Christmas cards

are expensive, generally speaking. For a few pounds it’s more than possible to pick up any number of cards dating from the late Victorian and early Edwardian era.

Admittedly, some of the earliest and grandest are more expensive, but few break into three figures. None of the cards in my own little collection cost more than £15.

We have Sir Henry Cole, the first director of London’s Victoria and Albert Museum, to thank for producing the first commercially printed Christmas card.

It was designed by John C. Horsley and its popularity following its launch in the Christmas of 1843 was boosted by the advent of the postage stamp and Sir Rowland Hill’s "Penny Post" three years earlier.

Horsley’s card was engraved with the scene of a family enjoying Christmas lunch, surrounded by vignettes of charitable acts such as feeding and clothing the poor. The greeting read "And Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to You".

The introduction of lithographic printing and other improved printing techniques meant that by the 1850s, beautifully illustrated multi-coloured cards were winging their way around the country by the sackful.

Interestingly, but perhaps not surprisingly, styles of Christmas cards mirror fashions and artistic tastes of their respective periods.

In addition to the usual Christmas-related images such as jovial Santas, angelic religious scenes, equally angelic and well-dressed children and their pets, and of course snowy chocolate box landscapes, the choice of other subject material seems today to be a little more bizarre.

From my own collection are cards illustrated with ladies riding bicycles, summer flowers in full bloom, swallows perched on a branch of cherry blossom, and arguably the most bizarre — a pig on a child’s swing with an audience of ducks and small birds.

However, whatever their subject, their design echoes the era of their manufacture. It is simple to tell the high Victorian cards from their more modern and florid counterparts produced in the Art Nouveau and Art Deco periods.

They were, in their own small way, advertisements for the expertise of their printers. Many rose to prominence including Mansell, Goodall, Marcus Ward and Raphael Tuck in England and Bernard Ollendorf, Ernest Nister, Lothar Meggendorfer and the Obpacher Brothers Germany.

The first American Christmas card was produced in the early 1850s as an advertisement for "Pease’s Great Varety (sic) Store in the Temple of Fancy". It showed Santa Claus and a happy crowd of people all showing their delight at the presents he had brought them, whilst in the background is a Negro servant setting the Christmas dinner table.

The artists employed to draw illustrations for Christmas cards is a subject for study all to itself. They ranged from the children’s illustrator Kate Greenaway to the powerful monochrome images of Aubrey Beardsley.

And then there were the flippant cards: cards that when turned sideways or upside down show a concealed meaning in the drawing; cards that when opened looked like a banknote or cheque or caused them to squeak.

Perhaps one set of cards hardest to understand today were produced in the 1880s in a series by Raphael Tuck named "Silent Songster". They showed dead robins.

At the time, the series was very popular and was imitated by several other firms in subsequent years. Even the accompanying inscriptions are strange. They read "Sweet messenger of calm decay and Peace Divine" or "But peaceful was the night wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began".

One can only surmise at their purpose. Perhaps it was a mixture of shame for the slaying of a robin or wren over Christmas and a compassion for birds during the cold winter months.

In contrast, one of my favourite inscriptions is on an Edwradian card decorated with a picture of a rotund and hirsute angel-winged stockbroker. It reads: "I hope you will not think it strange/If I fly from the Stock Exchange/To bring you the news surprising/That all the New Year Bonds are rising!".

Anyway, like I said, I’m not sending any Christmas cards this year, so let me take this opportunity to wish all my reader a happy and restful festive season and a prosperous New Year.

About the size of an old sixpence, the badge was decorated with blue enamel, picked out of which were the initials W. L. O. G.

The only other decoration was what we later learned was a pair of oversized ears — an image that was once the trademark of a cartoon rabbit, and no, I don’t mean Bugs Bunny.

The rabbit’s name was Wilfred — his co-conspirators were Pip and Squeak — and W. L. O. G. stands for the Wilfredian League of Gugnuncs. Today, it seems, the tricksy trio have become something of a cult with collectors and anything connected to them sells for a premium.

Confused? Readers of a certain age will remember them. Those who are not should read on and then they won’t be.

Pip, Squeak and Wilfred were the invention of Bertram J. Lamb, editor of the Daily Mirror’s children’s column. His idea was a strip cartoon in the newspaper which first appeared on May 11, 1919.

The characters were supposedly named by Payne after his wartime batman who went by the nickname “Pip-Squeak”.

Pip, the dog, Squeak his penguin companion and a baby rabbit called Wilfred came from Payne’s imagination and continued to delight both children and their parents until its run ended in 1958.

Oddly, Pip and Squeak were portrayed as being Wilfred’s parents – the apparently found him in a turnip field – while an elderly penguin was known as Auntie and a Russian spy was the villain with his dog “Popski”.

Austin Bowen Payne (1876-1959) was born in Cardiff, South Wales, but lived for a great part of his life in Herne Bay. He retired in 1953 and died there a year after the strip finally ended.

During its run, Pip, Squeak and Wilfred were a part of the British Establishment and the phrase passed into common parlance.

The Wilfredian League of Gugnuncs was founded in 1927 and is a mark of how popular Pip Squeak and Wilfred became (the Queen Mother was said to be a huge fan).

The name “Gugnunc” came about because unlike Pip and Squeak, Wilfred spoke only in baby-talk and “gug” and “nunc” were his favourite words. The Gugnuncs held parties and meetings and an annual rally at the Royal Albert Hall, raising funds for children’s hospitals and charities.

The cartoon also inspired a wide range of spin-off merchandise including children’s tea-sets, board games, toys, handkerchiefs and annuals. There was also a series of silent films in the early 1920s featuring the capers of the cartoon trio directed by Lancelot Speed.

The Daily Mirror Gugnunc Sing-Song was popular at this time and more money was raised from sales of printed songsheets and a now rare 78 rpm record produced by His Mater’s Voice. They change hands for £10-15, while a Wilfred car mascot can fetch £200-300.

Royal Doulton jumped on the Gugnunc bandwagon when they introduced the figure of Wilfred blowing a trumpet HN922 in 1927, while he also appears with Pip and Squeak on a ceramic ashtray, HN935.

Fund-raising was one of the prime motives of the cartoon – an important factor in its popularity, particularly at a time of the First World War.

Another money-spinner was a series of postcards by Raphael tuck from the Mirror Grange series, each of which showed views of a house of the same name which was built for the comic characters.

Artist F. Kenwood Giles was commissioned to produce the pictures used as illustrations and they showed the house from various angles, together with scenes from the interior. So the nursery showed Wilfred pulling a toy train, while Squeak was seen in his bedroom and so on.

They sold for a few pennies in the 1920s, while today a full set changes hands for £20 to 30 if in good condition.

Another delightful collectable is the Pip, Squeak and Wilfred Gugnunc board game. Made in England and also dating from the Great War, the game is based on war medals (see panel) and is similar to snakes and ladders with dice and counters. In good condition, the game is worth £30-40 today.

The first Pip, Squeak and Wilfred Annual for children was published in 1923 by Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co. It contained four colour plates by Ruth Cobb, Charles Folkard, Joyce Brisley & A E Jackson respectively and other colour-tinted illustrations of the amusing adventures our heroes.

The Pip and Squeak Annual ran from 1923 to 1939; “Wilfred’s Annual” from 1924 to 1938, while a second more cartoon-based “Pip, Squeak and Wilfred Annual” ran from 1953 to 1955. Expect to pay £35-45 for an example in good condition.

A pip-squeak is still a term used to describe something or someone small and such was the case when, in the history of motorcycles, the Budget of 1931 introduced a reduced rate of road tax rate of 15/- (75p) for machines with engine capacities under 150cc.

The aim of this concession was to stimulate British manufacturers to produce machines similar to the autocycle, which were popular on the continent.

At first, manufacturers took advantage of this new taxation class by producing small capacity motorcycles which were immediately nicknamed “pip-squeaks”.

When autocycles did appear, it was inevitable they were given the derisory name of “Wilfreds”!

antiques@chris-proudlove.co.uk

Medals by any other name

Pip, Squeak and Wilfred appeared in the Daily Mirror at around the same time that George V decided that our gallant lads should be awarded medals for their service to their country (pictured right).

However, the medals were not for gallantry, since they were given to everyone who saw service in any theatre of war, whether under fire or not, which somewhat demeaned their significance. As a result, it was not long before the trio of awards were christened Pips, Squeaks and Wilfreds!

The Pip was either the 1914 Star or the 1914-15 Star, each of which were identical three-pointed bronze stars with a central scroll bearing the appropriate dates.

The 1914 Star was issued to members of the British Expeditionary Force who had served in France and Belgium during the period August 5,1914 and November 22,1914.

Most went to the Regular and Territorial Army but some naval personnel serving ashore were eligible as were a very small number of Australians and Canadians. The medal became known as the “Mons Star” of which 78,000 were issued.

In 1919, a bar stamped with the qualifying dates was issued to those who had actually been under fire.

The 1914 – 15 Star, which differs only in its scroll, was issued to the 2,350,000 British and Empire Forces and to civilians attached to the forces who served in a theatre of war between August 5, 1914 and December 31, 1915.

The British War Medal of 1914 – 1920 was known as Squeak. A solid silver medal, it was decorated with an image of St George whose horse is trampling the shield of the central powers. The reverse has the head of George V.

Around six million were awarded to the three armed services and to those who served in any Commonwealth or Imperial unit or certain voluntary organisations.

The Victory Medal 1914 – 1918 was a Wilfred, issued after the Allies agreed between them that each country would produce a medal to commemorate the Victory. The common theme among them all was the rainbow-coloured ribbon.

The British medal – 5,750,000 were awarded – shows the winged Victory on the front holding a palm branch with the words “The Great War for Civilisation” on the reverse.

The bronze medal was awarded to those who had received the 1914 or 1914-15 Star and to most of those who received the War Medal, but it could not be awarded alone.

It was awarded to anyone who had any service in a theatre of war, including civilians in recognised voluntary organisations.

Brave souls whose deeds of courage were mentioned in dispatches were also awarded a bronze oak leaf to fasten on to the ribbon.

Individually, the medals can be picked up for a few pounds apiece. A set attracts a premium and provenance, particularly if it is interesting – each medal is marked with the name of the recipient – boosts value accordingly.

antiques@chris-proudlove.co.uk

Founded in 1868, the company soon realised the importance of good marketing and promotional material and until 1975, they published an astonishing array of beautifully printed lithographed cards which was probably never matched by any other business. And that holds true even today.

Not a trade card and 10 times better than cigarette cards, the so-called chromo cards printed for Liebig, issued in around 2,000 different sets, could keep a discerning collector happy for a lifetime.

The original company was named after the German scientist Baron Justus von Liebig (1803-73) one of the discoverers of chloroform.

The invention of a way of preserving the flavour of meat in the form of an extract was one of his many valuable contributions to farming and food chemistry.

Liebig saw that the extract was expensive to produce in Europe, because of high beef costs. But he knew that vast numbers of cattle were slaughtered in South America for hides and that the carcasses were sold off cheaply.

Here was a ready supply of meat, which could be preserved with its nutrients retained and shipped more readily.

Ever the entrepreneur, he offered to make his recipe available to anyone who could produce the extract to his strict standards.

The offer was taken up by the Belgian engineer George Giebert in 1861 and a factory was built at Fray Bentos on the Uruguay River.

The extract quickly became popular, particularly among poorer families, but it also received testimonials from the likes of Florence Nightingale, Captain Scott of the Antarctic and aviators Alcock and Brown.

A jar of extract was even taken on Stanley’s famous expedition to find Dr Livingstone in Africa.

An Antwerp merchant company marketed the product in the UK until 1914, when Oxo Ltd was formed to take over marketing.

They wanted to sell the extract in a form that could be retailed for a penny and the Oxo cube was born in 1910. It was an immediate success, and its price remained the same until 1952.

But I digress. A century earlier, there was no such thing as television, so no snappy commercials, and advertising in what printed publications there were was in its infancy.

Manufacturers keen to promote a new product or service hit on the idea of giving away pretty printed cards in order to spread the word.

Liebig started to produce the cards in around 1870. Each series comprised either six or 12 cards, issued by the retailer in exchange for coupons from the extract, so that the customer was keen to buy the product and complete the set.

Apart from the beautiful, high-quality chromolithographed illustrations, the 4 x 2½-inch cards were printed on the reverse with either convincing advertising from the Liebig company, or else recipes – either simple or elaborate – enabling customers to get the maximum benefit from the product.

Unlike their competitors, who gave out gifts in return for completed albums, Liebig believed the cards were gifts in their own right, with the result that their value started to rise almost as soon as customers began to collect them.

The same is true today. Once you’re hooked — and believe me that isn’t difficult — collectors find themselves paying handsomely (relatively speaking) for either a missing card, or a missing set.

Their joy, apart from the gorgeous colours the printing achieved, is their historical accuracy. A set like the ones illustrated here of British regiments is a true record that stands up to inspection by any military historian.

Over time, a collection of Liebig cards becomes almost encyclopaedic in its breadth, while the information on the reverse makes fascinating reading, particularly for people interested in social history.

The cards cover a vast number of subjects including history, famous people, plants, animals, geography, the arts, sport, pastimes, and many more.

They are still highly affordable. Single cards can be picked up for a few pounds and a set of six for anything between £15 and £50.

Rare early sets can fetch more from a specialist dealer, but the answer is to seek them out in places where there importance is not necessarily recognised.

I don’t pretend to be a collector of Liebig cards, but I have several dozen which have come my way from job lots of books at auctions — people use them as bookmarks — and on flea market stalls where they are sometimes sold for small change.

Find a set of cards that doesn’t have the meat extract jar illustrated on the front and you have dropped lucky.

The first 19 sets produced by Liebig were somewhat less blatant when it came to advertising the product and are considered to be the very best cards among today’s collectors. They date from before 1872

As the product became more successful, so the company started to boast about it.

Cards were then printed with the jar and the inscription “5 Gold Medals and 3 Awards for Merit” on the reverse.

Later still, the cards began to boast about 10 Gold Medals and Diplomas of Merit, by which time to Liebig were selling 5 million jars of its extract annually around the world.

Consequently, the cards were printed in a diversity of European languages and by 1889, two sets, one showing musical instruments, the other illustrated with children skating were printed in Russian.

Watch out also for other Liebig printed cards for menus, place settings and recipes, all of which make charming displays, either for use or mounted and framed for the wall.

antiques@chris-proudlove.co.uk

Pictures show:

A paper handbill handed out to customers to encourage them to buy Liebig’s Meat Extract

Cards from a military series showing uniforms from the 17th Lancers, the 1st Life Guards, and the Grenadier Guards

One of the cards from a sporting series, it shows a trusting individual watching a lady archer who was about to fire at a target

That was two generations ago. I wanted to bring to this column some images of a sweeter nature from the war to end all wars.

They come from the covers of cheap and cheerful silk postcards sent home by our boys to mothers, wives and sweethearts who were sitting at home praying for the safe return of their loved ones.

It has been estimated that 10 million of the cards were produced between 1914 and 1918. Amazingly, many survive and they remain among the most affordable miniature works of art often produced entirely by hand.

There was a time, perhaps five years ago, when a First World War silk postcard could be had for £1. Now they cost at least a fiver a piece and often dealers want to least double that.

But even at that price, they make a charming collection.

The postcards have several common features. Generally speaking, they were hand-embroidered, usually in silk, on strips of silk mesh and the resulting image sandwiched between two cream-coloured cards.

The face of the card had a cut-out window framing the image, which was usually embossed with decorative designs often in the Art Nouveau manner.

The reverse of the card was either blank or printed with spaces for address and message as you would expect on the back of any postcard.

Tradition has it that the cards were embroidered by Frenchwomen and children working in their homes to earn a living while the men were at war.

The workers were paid piece rate for their sewing and the strips of silk mesh were cut and mounted as postcards in the nearby factories which employed them.

Who am I to argue with the idea? However, given the fact that the cards were mass-produced and the embroidery is so perfectly executed on each of them, I suspect many of the cards that survive today were machine-made.

Certainly the quality of the embroidery began to decline after 1919 to be replaced by a simpler, plainer machined card after 1923 which never enjoyed the same popularity.

Hand-embroidered cards are not seen after that date and the silk postcard disappeared altogether after 1945.

Although they were meant to be posted home, it is interesting to note that few First World War silk postcards are found with stamps or postmarks.

The explanation is simple: Post was collected from troops periodically and sent by the sackful as military mail, post free.

Alternatively, the cards were purchased by soldiers and stuffed into the bottom of kitbags where they remained until they came home.

Messages scribbled on the backs of the cards are often poignant and sentimental.

Perhaps because they were expensive in relative terms, soldiers tended not to use the cards for general chitchat about day-to-day life or news.

Instead, and possibly because they were used to mark special occasions, hand-written inscriptions speak of undying love or best wishes for a birthday or other anniversary.

How many were sent by lads who never came home is as moving a thought as the answer is unfathomable.

The cards had no propaganda purposes but they must have been unsurpassed as a means of keeping spirits high.

The woven designs are in colours picked from the Allied flags and messages were often themed around victory. “United We Stand”, “Right Is Might” and “Glory To The Allies” are among the popular epithets, while probably every English regiment is represented by a card depicting its cap badge and flag, as is the Royal Flying Corps, founded in 1912 and still in its infancy.

Easily the most delightful are the cards intended for wives and sweethearts. They are invariably decorated in ravishing colours with bouquets or basket of flowers often held in the beaks of exotic birds.

Messages are sweetly sentimental. “Thinking of You”, “Your Soldier Boy”, “To My Dear Mother/Sister/Sweetheart”, “Not Absent in My Thoughts”, and so on are as commonplace today as they clearly were then.

Another interesting feature of the cards is a delicate woven pouch or envelope-like flap worked into the silk mesh which often still contains the small printed card they were meant to contain.

It’s a curious addition, given that the card is printed with a message not unlike that embroidered on the front of a postcard.

Its purpose is unclear other than perhaps the intention of the manufacturer that the card should be used by the sender on which to write a personal message.

Rarity, condition and subject matter governs prices. A dated card is always more valuable, particularly if the date is a distinctive feature of the woven design.

Cards woven with regimental badges are sought after by both postcard collectors and collectors of militaria, the double demand easily doubling value.

Cards decorated with a biplane or an airship or a battleship are among the most valuable, particularly if named and identified.

Cards with the flap or pouch are worth more if they still contain the printed card, and a card which is in mint condition and blank is more desirable than one which is grubby and written on.

Since they are still relatively common, cards which are damaged in any way should be avoided.

There are various ways of displaying a collection. Collectors’ clubs and good-quality stationers produce albums fitted with plastic sleeves designed specifically to hold postcards which are handy if you own a large number.

Similarly, it is possible to find vintage postcard albums which are perfect for displaying a smaller collection.

However, given their intrinsic beauty and striking colours First World War silk postcards look stunning when they are mounted together, framed and hung on the wall.

If you choose this latter course, be sure to hang the cards out of direct sunlight. The colours will become bleached and faded in the space of a few weeks and once the damage is done, the cards are rendered worthless.

While I mention the C word reluctantly, a silk postcard inscribed “Merry Christmas” and decorated with a suitable festive image — see the one above of the Robin standing on the Yuletide log — makes a charming alternative to the modern commercial nonsense which pass as Christmas cards today.

Who knows, it might set the recipient off on a new collecting venture.

Antiques@Chris-Proudlove.co.uk

Pictures show a selection of cards with values between £10-25. Notice particularly the Christmas robin and the Buffs with the Welsh dragon

Blushing Tommy (with arm around shapely redhead) to spluttering general: “I got her with a parcel of soldiers’ comforts, sir!”

Fairground fortune teller (gazing into crystal ball) to irate soldier: “Ah, I see your wife!” “Oh, do yer — And is the coal man with her?” “I can’t say — but his horse and cart’s outside!”

Young boy to startled sweet shop owner: “A pennorth o’ jelly babies — and all boys, please!”

Okay, not funny by today’s standards but a wonderful snapshot of an era when double entendres were smutty enough to raise a smile but not too vulgar to fall foul of the censor’s blue pencil.

The postcards come for a cache of 500 or so discovered in an attic in Llandudno, North Wales. Auctioneer David Rogers Jones, who will sell them in his Colwyn Bay rooms next Tuesday (July 27) believes they are unsold stock from one of the region’s many novelty gift shops that in the 1940s did a roaring trade from holidaymakers and day trippers seeking a brief respite in troubled times.

Each of the cards — and there are duplicates — is in mint condition and bids of £200 to 300 are expected. If two or three to determined postcard collectors — or deltiologists, as they are called — get stuck in, they could fetch much more.

Their attraction is as much the fact that they were published by Bamforth and Company, a business founded in 1870 by James Bamforth in Holmfirth, near Huddersfield, the history of which is as fascinating as the cards.

Today, the town is known best as the location for the BBC TV comedy programme Last of the Summer Wine. What is less well known is that James Bamforth was one of Britain’s earliest pioneers of motion pictures for the blossoming cinematic industry.

Bamforth started in business in 1870 as a studio photographer and began the production of magic lantern slides on an industrial scale in around 1883. At first he made sequences of slides which told moral or religious stories often with a temperance theme and these were later developed to accompany popular songs and hymns.

It was a natural development to move into film making, which he did shortly after the first commercial films were produced by the Lumiere brothers in France.

The films were shot in and around Holmfirth and with the lack of professional actors, Bamforth used local people who were expected to step in at a moment’s notice. An early star was the music hall comedian Reginald Switz, whose stage name was “Winky”, but his career was short lived.

After appearing in such epics as Winky’s Weekend and the bizarrely titled Winky Causes a Smallpox Panic, both in 1914, the company was hit by the outbreak of the First World War.

Materials used in the manufacture of film were required for making explosives and by the end of the war, Hollywood’s dominance of the industry meant there was no place for a small company like Bamforth’s.

Undaunted, Bamforth realised that his photographic studio could be put to good use to design and publish postcards, which ironically enough started life as a means of military communication, invented by the German statesman Dr Heinrich von Stephan.

The first commercial use of postcards was in 1869 and America started sending postcards following their introduction at the Chicago World Fair of 1893. Britain followed a year later, but the home industry blossomed once the Post Office relaxed rules governing the size of postcards and granted licenses to private publishers on September 1 that year.

The first quarter of the 20th century emerged as the golden age of postcards and sending them became something of a national craze.

Every subject imaginable was covered, giving today’s collectors massive scope. Every actor and actress, politician, sportsman, hero and villain was immortalised on a postcard, while views that record the development of villages, towns and cities make them invaluable to the social historian. Most can be picked up for small change.

The Great War was responsible for a massive number of postcards sent to loved ones on either side of the Channel. Bamforth responded with a range of song and hymns cards which were beautifully printed and steeped in sentiment.

They were produced in sets of three or four and were sent in their hundreds by wives and sweethearts to soldiers serving in the trenches. Approximately 2,000 sets were issued and they are still relatively common, with the result that a set of three can be had for around £10-£15.

In return, the troops sent back cards of their own, embroidered by French and Belgian women in silk in patriotic colours with designs incorporating dates, regimental mottoes and sentimental messages such as: “To My Dear Mother/Wife/Sweetheart”; “I’m Thinking of You”; “I’m Lonely without You”; “From Your Soldier Boy” and many more.

Some even had tiny silken pouches, inside which was a printed card for a more personal message. Still easily found, they cost around £10 to £15 today.

By the time of the Second World War, the saucy comic postcard was firmly established and Bamforth’s was this country’s leading producer. Large ladies, henpecked husbands, ferocious mothers-in-law, red-nosed drunks, randy squaddies, big-busted blondes and doe-eyed children inhabited a land where optimism ruled.

As much a part of the seaside holiday as sticks of rock and sandcastles, the postcards also played a part in the propaganda war. Adolf Hitler was depicted as a cartoon parody with his hand up as if wanting to leave the room (“Why the heck doesn’t he want to leave Europe and please everybody?”), while Our Boys continue to smile through all adversity (“We’ve been on manoeuvres all day luv!”).

One secret of their success is that over the years Bamforth employed only four staff artists: Douglas Tempest (the first, who started in 1912), Arnold Taylor, Philip Taylor and Brian Fitzpatrick. This made it easier to maintain a distinctive house style with bright colours and exaggerated characters.

Many deltiologists specialise in collecting Bamforth’s comic cards and the work of these four in particular. At the height of their popularity, more than 18 million cards were being sold a year. The joy is that they can be picked up today for less than the price of a stick of rock.

Rogers Jones and Co., are at 33 Abergele Road, Colwyn Bay (tel: 01492 532176). The cache of comic cards found in Llandudno can be viewed from today (Sunday, July 25) from 10:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.

antiques@chris-proudlove.co.uk

Perhaps it’s simply because my writing for this column gets turned into reading, so to speak – smart pages with attendant images that are easy on the eye and (hopefully) worth something more than a cursory glance.

So, I collect long since defunct wooden poster type; printers’ type cases (perfect for displaying small knickknacks); wooden printing blocks and printed ephemera – arguably the cheapest of all collectables.

Cupboard drawers groan under the weight of albums full of old billheads; greetings cards; advertising cards; cartes de visite and best of all, a fascinating collection of trade cards.

Or at least I thought they were fascinating … until I saw the trade cards illustrated here.

They date from perhaps 50-75 years before any of the ones I own and although my collection contains some quality cards, none can touch this selection.

They were circulating in the North of England in the first quarter of the 19th century and as such are becoming increasingly rare when compared to my own.

More importantly, though, is the fact that they pre-date the introduction of colour lithography.

Put another way, that means they are mostly plain black and white, their charm relying almost solely on their naiveté and their wonderful copperplate printing.

As such they were intended to impress potential customers and everyone from chimney sweeps to sail-makers handed them out.

Lithography was patented in England in 1801 by its inventor Alois Senefelder (1771-1834) who discovered the process almost by accident.

It was 1796 and the 25-year-old Czech was experimenting with printing techniques when his mother asked him to write a laundry list.

Problem was, he had no paper. Instead, he scribbled it down on a piece of smoothly ground stone that he used for printing, writing with ink made from wax, soap and lampblack.

Later, just as he was about to wash the writing from the stone, his curiosity was aroused.

What if he applied a special fluid that etched away the stone, leaving the letters in relief? Apply ink and it should print.

Eagerly he tried it, inking the surface using a leather ball stuffed with horsehair. At first he used too much ink, but after a little perseverance it worked.

Eventually, after two years’ painstaking experimentation and one or two improvements, the process was mastered.

In 1799, Senefelder became established as the only lithographer in Bavaria.

He was no businessman, though. First, he sold his secret for 2,000 florins and then his British patent for 3,000 florins more.

If that was not enough, Senefelder then wrote a book explaining all there was to know about lithographic printing. It was published in England in 1819.

By the 1820s, colour lithographic presses were well established in London, although more humble jobbing printers outside the capital were slow to adopt the new process.

Trade cards pre-date lithography by a century or more. From their early beginnings, trade cards were printed from a plate engraved on either wood, steel or copper and printed by the letterpress process.

Remember printing with half a potato and poster paint? Well, letterpress is the same process.

Few early trade cards were illustrated, while those that were relied on hand-coloured woodcuts, which only add to their naïve and primitive charm.

However, this was quickly overwhelmed by the excesses of the Victorian era. Soon trade cards were being given away to promote every service and product imaginable.

Grocers gave them with everything from soap to soup. In some cases cards were put inside the packaging to be discovered – and collected – when the product was opened.

Others were handed out by men employed to walk the streets banging a drum to draw the attention of potential customers “drumming up business” for the businesses they represented.

Come the advent of lithography and wise manufacturers such as Lever Brothers, Pears of soap fame and Cadbury’s confectioners realised that a product or service would seldom be forgotten once a collection of the colourful advertising cards was started.

By the 1890s, advertisers were giving away millions of the things every year.

Customers were soon hooked on collecting them and many an evening was spent pasting them into ornately covered scrapbooks.

Those long-forgotten scrapbooks are still being discovered in attics and at the backs of drawers, much to the delight of today’s collectors who are more than happy to pay their £3-5 price for an individual card.

Their appeal is their documentation of social history.

One side of the cards was usually decorated with an appealing colour lithograph which might feature flowers, artistic still lifes, scenic vistas of far-away places, unusual animals, adorable children, happy families, religious scenes, or contemporary humour, anything that might induce the recipient to want to save and collect them.

Sometimes the name of the company or product was printed on the illustrated side of the card, often cleverly worked into the design.

The reverse of the card was used to display the company’s advertising message which, it was hoped, would be imparted to the consumer (and the consumer’s friends and family) every time the card was admired.

Blank-backed cards were intended to be rubber-stamped or over-printed by local distributors or retailers of the company’s product.

New products were introduced daily, with the cards cleverly reflecting taste and styles of the period. If it was in vogue, chances were it would be touted on a trade card.

The popularity of trade cards peaked around 1890, and then almost completely faded by the early 1900s when other forms of advertising in colour, became more cost effective.

Young people saw trade cards as too old fashioned to collect, and consumers found the adverts in magazines and newspapers more relevant and timely.

Those who wanted to collect cards switched over to collecting postcards and cigarette cards.

Today’s collectors have massive scope and there are few fakes to worry about.

However, watch out for well known cards that have been reproduced, notably those for Shell motor oil.

Invest in a good album with clear plastic sleeves so that both sides of the card can be viewed.

On no account should cards be pasted into an album and take extra care when attempting to remove cards from old albums – indeed some would say don’t even try.

However, old flour paste or animal glue is brittle and can be dissolved in water. It might be worth a try.

My own meagre collection of trade cards includes some beauties, including the example pictured above for Liverpool-made Royal Baking Powder (6d, 1/ and 2/ tins and 1d packets) the pride of Wright, Crossley and Co.

With typical aplomb the card quotes The Lancet of June 6, 1896: “The Royal Baking Powder manufactured by Wright, Crossley and Co., 17 North John Street, Liverpool, was found on analysis to be free from objectionable ingredients and especially alum.

“On moistening, a copious evolution of gas was given off. It is, therefore, a good and wholesome yeast substitute.”

And just to prove the point, the firm appears to have recruited “Miss Lucas and the Teachers of the Liverpool School of Cookery” to put the product to the test. Needless to say, it passed with flying colours.

The Salvation Army will benefit from the auction of thousands of forgotten comic books after a chance discovery by workmen called in to clear a warehouse in the North West of England. The sale is set to produce a substantial cash windfall for the charity.

To their amazement, the workmen uncovered thousands of now highly collectable American comic books and magazines, some dating back to the 1950s, some wrapped and boxed in the same pristine condition as when they left the printer.

The comics – which number approximately 12,000 – will be sold by Ewbank Auctioneers, Guildford, Surrey, on Thursday March 16. After deducting their expenses in handling and shipping the comics to the auction, the liquidation company that discovered them has decided to donate the profit from the sale to the Salvation Army.

“We handle a great number of jobs where we are asked to clear the complete contents of a shop, office or warehouse and we handle some interesting things, but this was one of most amazing discoveries of my career,” said Mr Robert Majithia, of Woking, Surrey-based Drakus Limited, distributors of excess, surplus and liquidation stock.

“There were 40 boxes of the comics each containing about 300 copies, sitting on palettes which had been forgotten over the years. When we realised just how valuable some of the collectable comics are, we called in Ewbank to auction them for us. We were working in the warehouse on a completely different assignment and the comics were a surprise bonus. Consequently, we have decided to donate the proceeds from the sale less our expenses to the Salvation Army.”

Among the most valuable and sought after comics in the consignment are some dating from 1955 featuring ‘Captain Gallant of the Foreign Legion’. They will be sold in lots of 50, giving collectors the opportunity to buy a lot, keep one copy for their collection and trade the others for similarly rare prizes. Estimates of £60-100 have been deliberately kept low to encourage private buying, particularly via realtime bidding on the internet from the U.S., where the hobby has a huge following. Internet bidding is provided by LiveAuctioneers.com in association with eBay Live Internet-bidding services.

Other comic book heroes and titles represented in the collection are legion. They include ‘American Flagg’, ‘Champions’, ‘Outposts’, ‘Northguard’, ‘Judge Dredd’, ‘The Sisterhood of Steel’, ‘Terraformers, Shapers of Worlds’, ‘Robotech Masters’, ‘The New DNAgents’, ‘Dynamo Joe’, ‘Dan Dare’, ‘Mai The Psychic Girl’, ‘Doom Patrol The Official Index’ and many more.

Viewing for this Spring sale at Ewbank’s Burnt Common, Guildford, saleroom is on Tuesday March 14 from 2-5pm and on Wednesday March 15, 10am-8pm. Illustrated catalogues will be available approximately five days before the sale and can be viewed at www.antiquestradegazette.com/ewbank and www.liveauctioneers.com.

For further information, please contact Christopher Ewbank FRICS ASFAV on 01483 223101 or antiques at ewbankauctions.co.uk.