The Philatelic Database - Archive of Stamp Collecting Articles » Asia

China: Pantao Road Post Office, Yangshuo (2010)

Photography by David Mallen — Tue, 29 Jun 2010 13:48:31 +0000

Philatelic Database would like to thank David Mallen for this photograph taken on his recent trip to China. He has sent us numerous photographs of Chinese post offices for us to publish in due course.

David Mallen is co-author of the Australian Stamp Variations catalogue. He may be contacted on david@asv.net.au or at his website www.asv.net.au

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China: Beijing Post Office (2010)

Photography by David Mallen — Tue, 29 Jun 2010 12:34:04 +0000

David Mallen is co-author of the Australian Stamp Variations catalogue. He may be contacted on david@asv.net.au or at his website
www.asv.net.au

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By Rail in Japan (1898)

William Cochrane — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 09:12:25 +0000

This article gives a fascinating insight into railway activities and life in Japan at the close of the nineteenth century.

Originally published in “The Railway Magazine” in March 1898, the author D.T. Timins looks at what to an occidental eye must have been a very strange place indeed. I note with interest that he felt somewhat “inebriated” after drinking a few cups of green tea.

I hope you enjoy this glimpse into the past. Railway/railroad buffs should find the images of engines and rolling stock of interest…

THE WORDS “JAPAN” and “railways” used in conjunction with one another strike anyone who has visited that charming country with a sense of incongruity. What should that placid little people know of the rattle and rush of an express train, typical as it is of the nerve-wasting haste which we Westerners live our lives? Those shining metals are as the veritable trail of the serpent; they follow inevitably in the wake of civilisation, and give rise to crowded and smoky manufacturing towns, while spreading abroad an unrestful desire for travel, with all its concomitant worries and brain-wear. Moreover, the destruction of all peaceful village life comes in their train. It is not within the scope of this article to discuss the merits of a so-called “civilisation,” as accepted by our Western standards, nor the value of the “benefits” which it is supposed to confer upon a people whose ethical, moral, social, and political codes date from a time when all Western Europe was probably peopled by naked savages. But I cannot resist saying that when Japan finally exchanges her peaceful simplicity, her admiration for, and artistic appreciation of, Nature’s beauties, and her contented national life, for the storm, stress, and hurry of that feverish existence known to the West, she will have given up the substance for the shadow.

Happily for her, that day is not yet within measurable distance, and she remains in everything whether borrowed from the West or not, Japanese. And especially does this remark apply to her railways. In them we shall find the national characteristics as truly exemplified as they are in her Shinto temples or her miniature pleasure grounds.

Let us suppose that we have journeyed from the Western Hemisphere, either eastwards via the Suez Canal, or westwards via Canada, and arrived in the land of the Rising Sun, “Dai Nippon”–”The Great Japan.” We shall most probably have landed at Yokohama and proceeded straight from the quay to our hotel. Later on we shall be seized with a desire to explore the country, and having packed up our traps we tell the musmee to call a cab. The nearest approach to this vehicle and its beast of burthen, which Japan provides is to be found in a two-legged steed with a two-wheeled carriage, the latter known to fame as a “Jinricksha,” commonly called “Jinricky,” and the former to natural history as “Homo Sapiens”! If our impediments be of large dimension, we shall find trouble ahead, for no self-respecting ‘Ricksha man can take more than one piece of luggage, so that if there be six trunks waiting transport an imposing cavalcade will accompany us from the hotel. Arrived at the railway station, we are received by an officer in full uniform, who will direct sundry menials clad in butcher blue kimonos, but bare us to their hairy brown legs, to carry our luggage into the station while he conducts us to the booking-office. The gentleman (usually in spectacles), who smiles benignly at us through the diminutive pigeon-hole, then disburdens his mind of a polite but totally unintelligible sentence in Japanese. A dim recollection of the hints of the guidebook leads us to correctly surmise that he is making affectionate inquiry for our passport. This indispensable document is not the banknote-looking paper, signed “Salisbury” in one corner and “John Jones” in the other, with which every Briton worthy of the name arms himself before “going abroad,” and obtains through the recommendation of a “banker, lawyer, or some other responsible person” (vide Badeker). It is a State document obtainable only at the Japanese Foreign Office. For the benefit of the uninitiated, it may be as well to state here that in most of the large sea-ports of Japan there exists a portion of the town known as the “Foreign Concession,” within, which all foreigners (this term, of course, comprising everyone who is not a Japanese by birth) may reside, carry on business, “or otherwise,” as the lawyers have it. Within twenty-five miles of this concession, but no further, may the foreigner direct his wandering steps. To advance one yard outside this special district, known as the “Treaty Limits,” is a criminal offence, unless the individual be armed with a “passport.” This formidable weapon, though not exactly identical with its English prototype, has, as we shall see, certain points of similarity. It is easy of acquirement, and of great service. At the Japanese Foreign Office are drawn up lists of places arranged in the form of tours, separate passports being issued for each series. The traveller selects the itinerary for which he desires a passport from one of these lists. The routes cover all places of beauty or interest in Japan, but no passport can be extended, nor can a traveller deviate in any particular from the tour laid down for him therein. A passport is valid for three months, and each traveller before obtaining one has to sign a declaration stating that he is travelling “for the benefit of his health.” This declaration is of a sufficiently elastic nature to prevent anyone from doing violence to his sense of veracity in subscribing to it. Three large seals depend from the passport in an imposing manner. One of the conditions of issue is that this document shall be returned to the Foreign Office immediately upon expiration or upon the holder leaving the country. Failure to comply with this rule entails very heavy penalties, and also the certainty of a refusal should an application ever again be made for a passport at a subsequent date.

The Railway Station, Yokohama, Japan

As we have seen, the first request of a booking clerk before giving us our ticket is for this passport. When duly presented he will inspect it for some minutes, and discuss the situation with a subordinate. Having finally decided that we are legally entitled to travel over a certain portion of his precious Nippon, he will address another exceedingly suave but equally meaningless speech to us. However, we shall probably know by a species of intuition that he is asking us to name our destination and the class by which we propose to travel. We shall, therefore, reply: “Tokio made jo-to kippu ichimai kuda-sai” (A first-class ticket to Tokio”), assuming that place to be our destination, whereupon a small, oblong square of cardboard will be handed to us (in exchange, of course, for the requisite number of “yen” and “sen”), exactly similar in appearance to an English railway ticket. Fares in Japan are very low, and the validity of single tickets is arranged on a very sensible plan–viz., up to 50 miles, 1 day; 50 to 100 miles, 2 days; 100 to 200 miles, 3 days; 200 to 300 miles, 4 days; over 300 miles, 5 days.

Imperial Railway, Japan, four-coupled in front engine. Built by Sharp, Stewart and Co., 1877. Coupled wheels, 4ft. 6in. diameter; cylinders, 15in. by 22in.

The name of the issuing station and that of our destination, as well as the class by which it entitles us to travel, are printed on the ticket in English as well as in the Japanese character. The journey can be broken at all principal stations en route. Labels printed with mysterious hieroglyphics are stuck on our trunks, and we pass through the barrier on to the platform, a full half hour before the booked time of the train! For hurry and the Oriental are two. Though the Japanese are by no means a lazy or an idle race, and though they possess none of that apathetic indolence common to those Eastern races who dwell beneath a tropical sun, still all notion of speed, haste, or flurry are utterly foreign to a nature. Centuries of Western training will be necessary before a Japanese will be able to appreciate the significance of such a phrase as “catching a train by the skin of one’s teeth!” The native of Japan arrives at the station two or three hours before the train is due. If he be a rustic, or unused to travelling, and he intends to take a morning train, he will probably make a point of taking up a strong position at the station the night before his prospective journey and camping on the platform. To this practice the railway officials make no sort of objection: the ingrained honesty and scrupulous cleanliness of the people put it out of the power of the authorities to find any reason why travellers should not be allowed to insure themselves–after their own unique method–against any chance of being left behind by the train. The Japanese do not regard the train as an object to be worshipped, nor do they seek to propitiate the engine by offerings of flowersand fruit as do the Hindoos; but they none the less experience a certain amount of respect for the tetsudo-bahu, or “fire carriages.” This feeling seems to find expression in a greatly exaggerated fear lest the train should fail to wait for them, as exemplified by their very early arrival at a station when they contemplate making a journey. After all, this is but the original stage of that feeling whose evolution may be seen in a crystallised form at any big English railway station. The perspiring matron with many bundles, who always arrives at least three-quarters of an hour before the train is due, suffers from this same heathenish instinct in a modified form.

A double roof passenger carriage with brake compartment, Japanese Railway.

On the platform we mingle with a very motley crew. There we see an old woman, with that deeply-lined, handsome, and kindly face common to septuagenarian femininity in the “Land of the Rising Sun.” She is evidently in deep distress at the prospect of being obliged to say “Saionara” to her stalwart son. This gentleman will probably be attired in a European felt hat, a Japanese kimono, ditto wooden shoes, and will be carrying an umbrella. He will assuredly consider that the first and last-named items of his get-up hall-mark him as being of the first brand of European civilisation. Of the incongruity of the rest of his costume he will be supremely unconscious. When will young Japan learn that its native garments are beautiful, picturesque, and becoming, and that imported monstrosities, whether worn wholly or in part, are ludicrous and out of place?

Here we may see a group of young girls, with their hair dressed into glossy black squares, and their waists girt with broad and beautifully-worked sashes, called obis. They are talking and laughing together in that happy, careless way which speaks for itself of the contentment of their life. But about all the prospective travellers, and, indeed, the whole scene, there is an air of rest and quiet, which is in singular contrast to the bustle and noise of an European railway station. The travellers are there, and they know the train will arrive; they are, moreover, possessed with an unalterable faith and conviction in the certainty of the train waiting until they have all, at their leisure, selected comfortable seats.

Beautiful simplicity! Would your faith stand the test of an hour on the Underground?

Our future fellow-travellers will not stare at us rudely or aggressively, no matter whether we are entraining at such places as Yokohama and Kobe (where foreigners are a common sight) or at some little wayside shed. For to cause annoyance by inquisitiveness would be impolite, and the sensitive, gentle natures of the Japanese have led them to place the crime of impoliteness among the cardinal sins. None the less, the greatest sign of friendliness and the greatest mark of politeness that a Japanese host can show takes the form of an apparently exaggerated curiosity. He will admire individually and collectively each article of attire which his guest has donned, or which he unpacks from his trunks. This admiration frequently extends still further to a personal trial of the garments which he praises. But it is all done with such naive courtesy, and with such an evident desire to please, that the whole ceremony partakes of the nature of a charming attention.

The exercise of this politeness is all the more remarkable and praiseworthy in our case, because all Europeans are by nature much taller than the natives of Chrysanthemum Land, and, therefore, are bound to look conspicuous.

Yokohama Station, though a terminus in reality, is not used as such, all trains running into it and then out again on their way to or from Tokio, the true terminus of the “Japan Railway” Company’s system.

After a brief wait, our train, which may perhaps have travelled from Kobe, 217 miles distant, rolls in. We recognise with joy that the engine, at any rate, hails from our own country, for its number-plate proclaims that it was built at the workshops of Messrs Dubs and Co, of Glasgow. The driver and fireman are both Japanese. The coaches are very like those of any other country in external appearance. Their class is denoted in both English and Japanese on the majority of trains, but the board labelled with the destination is printed only in Japanese. Trains are, however, sufficiently infrequent to render our getting into a wrong one a matter of considerable difficulty, so we stroll leisurely down the train looking for a seat. The great majority of Japanese travel “Ka to,” or “third class,” while the remainder, the very well-to-do, travel “Cha to,” or “second class.” The first class, “Jo to,” is only used by the very highest in the land, such as court officials or relatives of the Mikado. Some trains do not provide any first class accommodation, but the one by which we propose to travel contains all three classes. The third-class carriages cannot be called comfortable, for they are absolutely destitute of upholstery. The partitions seldom extend to the full height of the carriages. Seeing that some trains travel for twenty hours at a time, it cannot be said that very adequate provision is made for travellers even when the lowness of the fares is taken into consideration. The second-class carriages are sometimes of the same form as those in England. Others are of the same shape as the first-class carriages (which latter we are going to travel by, and shall therefore duly describe), but with less elaborate fittings.

A third-class bogie carriage with brake compartment and double roof, Japanese Railway

We enter our first-class carriage by a door at one end, and find that it is a sort of square-shaped saloon. The seats run round all four sides of the carriage. In the centre is a diminutive table, upon which reposes a tea service properly furnished with all necessary requisites for brewing a cup of green tea a la Japonaise.

So inseparable an adjunct is this beverage to life in Japan that if we leave the tea-table untouched there will probably be very serious inquiries after our health upon reaching Tokio!

The tea itself is comparatively innocuous stuff when drunk in the very small quantities which a Japanese teacup holds, but it does not take very many such cups to render the traveller hopelessly inebriated. Not that a Jap will ever be seen in such a state! They are brought up to tea as Englishmen to meat, and though occasionally–very occasionally–the subtle Sakki proves too much for their natural and inherent sobriety, the spectacle of drunken Jap is as rare as is that of a sober Irishman on St. Patrick’s Day!

The guard whistles, the engine replies with a hoarse screech, and the train moves slowly out into the sunshine. The distance we are about to travel is only seventeen miles, express trains take 40 to 45 minutes, and the slow trains 55 minutes to perform the journey. Our train is an express, and after halting at the suburb of Kanagwa for a moment, and skirting Yokohama Bay, we run through Tsurumi, and come to a halt in Kawasaki station. Here we shall probably be solicited to purchase eatables and drinkables by several itinerant provision merchants, and seeing that we are English they will flourish bottles of “Kirin” beer before our eyes. This commodity is a kind of light Lager beer, and is brewed in Japan by German brewers. It is excellent, and is the one beverage which can be relied on as genuine. There is no kind of bottle, label, or cork which the Japanese cannot imitate perfectly, but of the counterfeit liquid itself–whether intended to represent beer, wine, or aerated waters of some sort–it is as well not to speak. The country is absolutely flooded with these imitations.

For the delectation of the Japanese passengers, our hawker will display small trays of highly coloured and fantastically shaped sugar sweets, and small square wooden boxes, the contents of which merit a word themselves.

When a denizen of “Dai Nippon” goes a-travelling he feels that he is entitled to the luxury of making a slight variation from his usual frugal diet. These square boxes are designed to fulfil his wishes, and much esteemed comestibles. A portion of raw fish, some smoked rice, some green-looking meaty substance, and a few sugar sweetmeats represent to the Jap a pleasurable table, such as the Savoy would be powerless to afford. All neccessary items for this miniature table d’hote lie packed in these wonderful boxes, the whole being surmounted by two neatly-tied chop-sticks. The price is but a “sen” or two–i.e., some small fraction of a farthing.

The entire stock of the refreshment vendor is eagerly bought up, and the train moves on again, halting next at Shinagawa, in the outskirts of Tokio, for ticket-taking purposes. Tokio itself, city of a million and a half inhabitants, is reached five minutes later, and we glide alongside the platform of the Shimbashi Station. Our journey has been very smooth and easy, and we feel that it would somehow be out of place to look at our watch and note whether the train had arrived late.

Tokio is the real railway centre of Japan, and boasts of several termini. The great “Hokkaido” or “North Road” Railway, starting from the Ueno Station in Tokio, stretches upwards to distant Aomori, a large port, while the important line to Noestu and Mayebashi also starts from the ancient “Yedo.” The other long line, the “Tokkaido,” stretches from Tokio via Yokohama to Kobe and Mihara, and it is along this route that the only train in Japan runs which possesses any ressemblance whatever to an express. The 9.55 p.m. train from Tokio to Kobe accomplishes its journey of 234 miles in 19 hours 30 minutes–i.e., at an inclusive speed of twelve miles per hour! It makes, however, fifty stops en route, some of them of considerable duration, and, as has been shown, much time must be wasted at stations. As the Japanese are at present constituted, accidents to life and limb would most certainly occur if trains made but a brief halt to entrain passengers. This 9.55 p.m. train, however, runs through some twenty stations without stopping, and is therefore superior to the ordinary slow train and entitled to be called an express, if only by comparison! No other train in Japan misses more than five stations, no matter how lengthy its journey may be.

Dining-cars and sleeping-cars are as yet non-existent, but travelling is very comfortable and convenient.

It would have been just as easy to describe a journey over a longer distance than that between Yokohama and Tokio, but there is no railway in Japan which offers any startling or remarkable features.

The scenery, though pretty, is not wonderful, and there is no particularly striking feat of engineering skill to be noticed.

In fact, as we observed at starting, Japan can be recognised even in her railways, and through them she offers a new and surprising sensation to the jaded globetrotter–that of being absolutely unable to hurry!

The words “Japan” and “railways” used in conjunction with one another strike anyone who has visited that charming country with a sense of incongruity. What should that placid little people know of the rattle and rush of an express train, typical as it is of the nerve-wasting haste which we Westerners live our lives? Those shining metals are as the veritable trail of the serpent; they follow inevitably in the wake of civilisation, and give rise to crowded and smoky manufacturing towns, while spreading abroad an unrestful desire for travel, with all its concomitant worries and brain-wear. Moreover, the destruction of all peaceful village life comes in their train. It is not within the scope of this article to discuss the merits of a so-called “civilisation,” as accepted by our Western standards, nor the value of the “benefits” which it is supposed to confer upon a people whose ethical, moral, social, and political codes date from a time when all Western Europe was probably peopled by naked savages. But I cannot resist saying that when Japan finally exchanges her peaceful simplicity, her admiration for, and artistic appreciation of, Nature’s beauties, and her contented national life, for the storm, stress, and hurry of that feverish existence known to the West, she will have given up the substance for the shadow.

Let us suppose that we have journeyed from the Western Hemisphere, either eastwards via the Suez Canal, or westwards via Canada, and arrived in the land of the Rising Sun, “Dai Nippon”–”The Great Japan.” We shall most probably have landed at Yokohama and proceeded straight from the quay to our hotel. Later on we shall be seized with a desire to explore the country, and having packed up our traps we tell the musmee to call a cab. The nearest approach to this vehicle and its beast of burthen, which Japan provides is to be found in a two-legged steed with a two-wheeled carriage, the latter known to fame as a “Jinricksha,” commonly called “Jinricky,” and the former to natural history as “Homo Sapiens”! If our impediments be of large dimension, we shall find trouble ahead, for no self-respecting ‘Ricksha man can take more than one piece of luggage, so that if there be six trunks waiting transport an imposing cavalcade will accompany us from the hotel. Arrived at the railway station, we are received by an officer in full uniform, who will direct sundry menials clad in butcher blue kimonos, but bare us to their hairy brown legs, to carry our luggage into the station while he conducts us to the booking-office. The gentleman (usually in spectacles), who smiles benignly at us through the diminutive pigeon-hole, then disburdens his mind of a polite but totally unintelligible sentence in Japanese. A dim recollection of the hints of the guidebook leads us to correctly surmise that he is making affectionate inquiry for our passport. This indispensable document is not the banknote-looking paper, signed “Salisbury” in one corner and “John Jones” in the other, with which every Briton worthy of the name arms himself before “going abroad,” and obtains through the recommendation of a “banker, lawyer, or some other responsible person” (vide Badeker). It is a State document obtainable only at the Japanese Foreign Office. For the benefit of the uninitiated, it may be as well to state here that in most of the large sea-ports of Japan there exists a portion of the town known as the “Foreign Concession,” within, which all foreigners (this term, of course, comprising everyone who is not a Japanese by birth) may reside, carry on business, “or otherwise,” as the lawyers have it. Within twenty-five miles of this concession, but no further, may the foreigner direct his wandering steps. To advance one yard outside this special district, known as the “Treaty Limits,” is a criminal offence, unless the individual be armed with a “passport.” This formidable weapon, though not exactly identical with its English prototype, has, as we shall see, certain points of similarity. It is easy of acquirement, and of great service. At the Japanese Foreign Office are drawn up lists of places arranged in the form of tours, separate paasports being issued for each series. The traveller selects the itinerary for which he desires a passport from one of these lists. The routes cover all places of beauty or interest in Japan, but no passport can be extended, nor can a traveller deviate in any particular from the tour laid down for him therein. A passport is valid for three months, and each traveller before obtaining one has to sign a declaration stating that he is travelling “for the benefit of his health.” This declaration is of a sufficiently elastic nature to prevent anyone from doing violence to his sense of veracity in subscribing to it. Three large seals depend from the passport in an imposing manner. One of the conditions of issue is that this document shall be returned to the Foreign Office immediately upon expiration or upon the holder leaving the country. Failure to comply with this rule entails very heavy penalties, and also the certainty of a refusal should an application ever again be made for a passport at a subsequent date.

On the platform we mingle with a very motley crew. There we see an old woman, with that deeply-lined, handsome, and kindly face common to septuagenarian femininity in the “Land of the Rising Sun.” She is evidently in deep distress at the prospect of being obliged to say “Saionara” to her stalwart son. This gentleman will probably be attired in a European felt hat, a Japanese kimono, ditto wooden shoes, and will be carrying an umbrella. He will assuredly consider that the first and last-named items of his get-up hall-mark him as being of the first brand of European civilisation. Of the incongruity of the rest of his costume he will be supremely unconscious. When will young Japan learn that its native garments are beautiful, picturesque, and becoming, and that imported monstrosities, whether worn wholly or in part, are ludicrous and out of place?

Here we may see a group of young girls, with their hair dressed into glossy black squares, and their waists girt with broad and beautifully-worked sashes, called obis. They are talking and laughing together in that happy, careless way which speaks for itself of the contentment of their life. But about all the prospective travellers, and, indeed, the whole scene, there is an air of rest and quiet, which is in singular contrast to the bustle and noise of an European railway station. The travellers are there, and they know the train will arrive; they are, moreover, possessed with an unalterable faith and conviction in the certainty of the train waiting until they have all, at their leisure, selected comfortable seats.

Beautiful simplicity! Would your faith stand the test of an hour on the Underground?

Tank locomotive, built by Dubs, Glasgow, for the Imperial Railway of Japan. Cylinders, 15in. by 22in.; 6-coupled wheels, 4ft. diameter; water capacity of tank, 970 gallons.

So inseparable an adjunct is this beverage to life in Japan that if we leave the tea-table untouched there will probably be very serious inquiries after our health upon reaching Tokio!

When a denizen of “Dai Nippon” goes a-travelling he feels that he is entitled to the luxury of making a slight variation from his usual frugal diet. These square boxes are designed to fulfil his wishes, and much esteemed comestibles. A portion of raw fish, some smoked rice, some green-looking meaty substance, and a few sugar sweetmeats represent to the Jap a pleasurable table, such as the Savoy would be powerless to afford. All neccessary items for this miniature table d’hote lie packed in these wonderful boxes, the whole being surmounted by two neatly-tied chop-sticks. The price is but a “sen” or two–i.e., some small fraction of a farthing.

Dining-cars and sleeping-cars are as yet non-existent, but travelling is very comfortable and convenient.

It would have been just as easy to describe a journey over a longer distance than that between Yokohama and Tokio, but there is no railway in Japan which offers any startling or remarkable features.

The scenery, though pretty, is not wonderful, and there is no particularly striking feat of engineering skill to be noticed.

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Stamp Collecting in Indonesia (1976)

J.W. Brodie — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 23:23:46 +0000

This article was originally published in the New Zealand “Stamp Collector”, the official journal of the Royal Philatelic Society of New Zealand (December, 1976).

ALMOST EVERYONE YOU meet in Indonesian office or business circles seems to collect stamps. There is keen competition for any stamps arriving on office mail, particularly for attractive pictorials. Not all of these collectors are building up their own collections–there is a steady demand for used stamps from the philatelic trade and many people make money on the side, accumulating and selling stamps. There is a market, too, for unused stamps prised off letters submitted for posting; so it is customary to match your mail being stamped and cancelled before you cave the post office counter.

Not only are the post offices in Indonesia crowded with long queues but the shut at 1 p.m. Outside each post office one finds half-a-dozen or so boys with trays or stands from which one can buy postage stamps, letter forms, envelopes, aerogrammes, and stamped revenue paper for legal documents. The prices are outrageous–about four times the cost inside the post office doors, but sometimes worth the money if you are in a hurry or the doors are locked.

It is not easy to find stamp dealers in Jakarta although it is a very large city with a population that is officially 5½ million people, but thought by some observers to be closer to 10 million. The city has very few shops as we know them. There is one large department store on the main street and this does have a section in the stationery department which sells stamps. There are packets of short sets and mixtures of Indonesian and foreign issues and a line of stock books with “collections” of Indonesia, the Japanese Occupation 1942-5, and various unissued revolutionary series. They are relatively expensive; several selections were priced at between $100 and $200. These stock books appear also in the book stores of hotel lobbies and in some of the antique shops. All appeared to be the same and it turns out that they were supplied by one dealer in East Java.

Elsewhere than in the department store, stamps can be found on the antique stalls, in the bazaars, where most of the city’s retail trade is carried on, but the variety is small and stocks limited. However, the post office in Jalan Akini Raya has attached to it the Philatelic Centre. A small counter sells definitives and commemoratives, many of which are not readily found in the ordinary post offices, but no postal stationery is available. The counter is at the entrance to a large room which is in fact the headquarters of the Philatelic Society of Indonesia. There are permanent display stands on which from time to time exhibitions are shown (e.g., a collection of U.S.A. assembled by members in honour of the Bicentennial of the American Revolution, which was on show in July, 1976). There is a rostrum for speakers and an array of chairs. On the last Sunday of each month in the morning there is a display or an auction, sometimes both. On the second Sunday of the month there is a children’s meeting.

The regular Sunday meeting is well patronized by dealers, some full-time but mainly part-time, who customarily operate from their home addresses and thus it is necessary to visit them in the evenings. Those, whom I bought stamps from had impressive stocks, not only of Indonesia but of world issues also.

At the Sunday morning auctions the main interest (and highest prices) attached to Netherland East Indies and earlier Indonesian material. General lots and common Indonesian values went for a few cents, but strongly competitive bidding brought prices well above catalogue for desirable single stamps or sets.

A good half hour was allowed for inspection of the numerous lots beforehand. The auction was, of course, in Indonesian and conducted at a quick-fire pace, so that one needed a good ear to follow the bidding. I nevertheless managed to obtain a few interesting items at modest prices.

All stamp auctions, or philatelists, must have something in common. Those two characters, the man who dashes up to the table at the close of the sale for a quick look through the passed in lots, and the other who, as soon as the bidding starts, asks to see the lot and gives it close inspection before bidding or not–they were both there and it made one feel quite at home.

This article republished by permission of the Royal Philatelic Society of New Zealand.

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“Year of the Dog” on Stamps

Betty Van Tenac — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 10:36:09 +0000

Legend states that, when the great Buddha found enlightenment beside an old oak tree, he invited all the animals to his kingdom to celebrate. Only 12 animals arrived, and Buddha promptly rewarded them by naming each new year in honour of them. The order in which the animal arrived at Buddha’s side is significant, for he gave each a special characteristic. The Dog was the eleventh animal to reach Buddha and he was given the motto ‘I am loyal’ and stands for loyalty and justice.

People born in Dog years are idealistic and highly principled. They have strong beliefs and stand by their morals. To a Dog everything in life is either black or white, right on wrong, good or bad: there is no middle ground. Dogs hate injustice and disloyalty.

Dogs are champions of the downtrodden, loyal supporters of just causes, and totally self-sacrificing. They need a purpose in life in order to feel content and will often put the interests of others before their own. Alert, watching and perceptive. Dogs are cautious and rely on their instincts to pick just the right time to jump and make their mark. The fire element builds passion in Dogs.

Fire Dogs can balance the needs of others with their own and, as such, are less humble and more confident than most Dogs. They are charismatic, and can win support easily.The Fire Dog year commences on the 29th of this month and finishes February 17 next year. This year will see plenty of political action. Things veer suddenly towards a more liberal approach. A year, in fact, favourable to the Left, to grandiose schemes and to disinterested, generous acts. For children born this year it is better not to be born at night. Those who are ceaselessly on the alert, will stay that way for the rest of their lives.

Fig 1 Japanese ‘mihon’ lottery card

Many world postal administration now issue stamps and other philatelic material for the Chinese Lunar New year. Japan, however, was the first country to do so. as it commenced issuing stamps, back in December 1935. A break occurred from 1938-48 encompassing the war years. A single stamp was issued in December 1948. The first New Year Lottery postal cards were issued on 1st December 1949 and the first miniature sheet was issued on February 1, 1950. A miniature sheet and two lottery postal cards were then available for all subsequent issues.

Fig 2 1958 Japanese Miniature Sheet.

Japan’s first ‘Dog’ stamp and miniature sheet plus postal cards were issued on 20th December 1957 for the 1958 Year of the Dog. The stamp design featured a paper mache dog. However, while the stamps with some early exceptions (and a period from 1972-75) featured zodiac animals the lottery cards featured other designs. A ‘mihon’ (specimen – with zero numbers) of one of the cards, is shown in Figure 1. Every issued card has a number on the bottom of the card. The last two digits of this number (depending on the lottery draw) are the winning number, entitling the lucky owner to one of the many miniature sheets issued as the 5th Prize. The miniature sheets are not available for sale at post offices, they are only available as the fifth prize. The miniature sheet illustrated in Figure 2 was issued on January 20, 1958. On December 10, 1969, Japan issued a design depicting a dog-amulet made by the Hokki-ji, Nara for the 1970 Dog year, Scott 1021. In 1982 the third stamp was issued with the design featuring a local clay figure of Yamagata Prefecture Prefecture (Scott 1486). The 1994 issue consisted of two stamps, miniature sheet, two lottery cards and the fourth issue of lottery stamps (Scott 2221/2224).

Fig 3 1983 P.R.C. Booklet Cover

The Peoples Republic of China issued its first Lunar New stamp on February 13, 1980. Its first Year of the Dog issue included a New Year booklet (Scott 1764) issued on January 5 1982. It is interesting to note that the booklet pane was printed using both the engraved and photogravure printing methods. The booklet cover is featured in Figure 3.

Fig 4 1994 Hong Kong

Hong Kong issued its first Lunar New Year stamps on January 28, 1970 for the Dog year. The design featured ‘Chow’ dogs. Hong Kong stopped issuing their Lunar New Year stamp issues from 1979 – 1986 so there was no Dog issue for 1982. However, the Post Office commenced the series again in 1994 with a set of four stamps (Scott 689-92). Scott 689 is shown in Figure 4.

Fig 5 1994 Korea with matching postmark

Korea also commenced issuing ‘Year of the Dog’ stamps’ back in 1970. The first issue consisted of two stamps on December 11,1969 with designs of toy dogs and a lattice pattern (Scott 697/8). The 1982 stamps had designs of a camellia and dog plus children playing (Scott 1283/4). The 1994 designs (Scott 1479/50) included a stuffed toy puppy and the dog illustrated in the stamp and New Year commemorative postmark featured in Figure 5.

Christmas Island issued its first ever New Year stamps and miniature sheet for the 1994 Dog year (Scott 35819). The stamp designs comprised a small dog of indeterminate breed called ‘Mickey’ and a Pekingese, a breed often associated with China. The miniature sheet is featured in Figure 6.

Fig 6 1994 Christmas Island

The Republic of China commenced its Lunar New Year stamp issues in 1968. The first ‘Dog’ set of stamps and miniature sheet were issued on December 1, 1969 with a charming design of a pair of Pekingese dogs. In 1982 another set of dog stamps and miniature sheet with a schematic design (Scott 2273/4) were issued. A stylised design was selected for the set of 1994 stamps (Scott 2930/31). This year’s R.O.C design features the work of two stamp designers – the two stamps designed by Miss Wu Jen-fang and the miniature sheet by Mr. Hung-tu Ko as shown in Figure 7. The three different dogs featured on the sbeet were chosen to express group harmony and to convey to society best wishes for peace, health and happiness. ROC normally issues a set of New Year Postal Cards but as yet I have not received confirmation of their issue.

Fig 7 R.O.C Miniature sheet

This year there will no doubt be flood of Chinese Lunar New Year Chinese issues. Remember you do not need to purchase them all. Personally I limit my collection to those countries that have been issuing Lunar New Year stamps and philatelic material for thirty years or more plus Singapore and Christmas Island.

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Temple of Heaven: the Stamps of China

Christer Brunstrom — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 19:04:10 +0000

Some twenty years ago there was still a fairly large number of stamp shops in Stockholm, the Swedish capital. In one of the shops I discovered a set of three Chinese stamps (Scott # 131-3) which I found most attractive. They were issued in 1909 to mark the first year of the reign of Emperor Hsuan Tung. He later became president and emperor of the Japanese puppet state of Manchukuo, a most interesting story which has been made into a successful movie called The Last Emperor.

The stamps were in pristine unmounted mint condition and they were priced at less than 50 cents a set. The dealer had some 15 sets which he was happy to sell to me. This turned out to be one of my best stamp investments ever; now two decades later leading dealers charge more than $15 for such a set.

The three bi-coloured stamps all depict the Temple of Heaven in Beijing, the Chinese capital.

When going through my programme for a visit to China in the spring of 2006 I recalled my purchase in Stockholm. The Temple of Heaven was one of the famous sights in Beijing that was included in the packed schedule. I really looked forward to having a look at the temple which had aroused my curiosity all those years ago.

The Temple of Heaven as depicted on the stamps of China

Along with my Chinese guide Miss Li Jing I spent several hours at the Temple of Heaven. As it turned out this was far from sufficient to have a look at everything. The Temple of Heaven is a huge park with a number of important temples and other buildings which were used by the Chinese emperors in a number of religious ceremonies.

The Temple has a very long history going back to 1420. It was originally built by Emperor Yongle and then used by all subsequent Ming and Qing emperors to pray for good harvests. During the centuries the temple complex was continually reconstructed and enlarged.

The Temple of Heaven is the largest sacrificial architectural group in the world. It is also the best preserved.

The temple complex has numerous important buildings including the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests which is the building shown on the stamps. It is a round building with magnificent interior decorations in orange, red, yellow, green and other colours.

This is where the Qing dynasty emperors held a ceremony each year praying for good harvests on the 10th day of the first lunar month. All the other buildings served special purposes in connection with these annual ceremonies. I was lucky to have an excellent guide to tell me many of the interesting facts.

The Imperial Vault of Heaven is also known as the Echo Wall. Jing ran to the other side of the building and then pronounced my name at normal voice level. I heard my name clearly thanks to the acoustical qualities of the semicircular wall.

The Divine Music Administration was another highlight of the visit. This is where students learnt to play a variety of instruments in connection with the ceremonies. Today it is a museum devoted to the history of Chinese music. At times concerts are also given here. All in all there are more than 600 architectural constructions in the park which is also famous for its many old cypresses.

In 1918, the Temple of Heaven was opened to the public as a park. Then in 1998 it was listed on the World Heritage List by UNESCO. Today the Temple is a must on the itineraries of all visitors to the Chinese capital.

Even after China had become a republic in 1912, the Temple of Heaven remained a powerful symbol for the Chinese people. It has been depicted frequently on Chinese stamps. In 1913 China released a new set of definitives with the denominations from 15 to 50 cents depicting a man reaping rice. If you look carefully at the design you will also see the Temple of Heaven in the background which is most appropriate as the emperors used to ask the gods for good harvests at the temple.

In 1923, China adopted a new constitution and this important event was commemorated by four elegant stamps (Scott # 270-3). Once again the stamps show the Temple of Heaven.

When the People’s Republic of China issued its first airmail stamps (Scott # Cl-5) in 195 1 the design depicts a mail plane over the Temple of Heaven. Obviously the temple has become a national icon very much like the Great Wall of China.

In subsequent years there have been many other issues which incorporate the Temple of Heaven in one way or the other.

Having found the Temple of Heaven one of the absolute highlights of my visit to China I am considering assembling a small exhibit of the stamps that have been issued to commemorate this important historical treasure in the Chinese capital.

Writing this story and looking at the stamps made me relive that pleasurable spring morning in Beijing when I and Jing explored the many temples and other buildings making up the Temple of Heaven. We even listened to some Peking opera and had a look at an exhibition of paintings by art students from Xian.

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Chinese Empire and Japan Map (Gall and Inglis 1871)

PDb — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 23:19:17 +0000

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Burt Todd and the Stamps of Bhutan

Christer Brunstrom — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 18:59:28 +0000

Mention the name of Burt Todd to the average collector or dealer and the odds are you will get a blank stare. They have never heard of him: Yet Burt Todd has had an influence on the philatelic world that is likely to reshape the thinking of postal administrations for decades ahead. For Burt Todd is the mastermind behind the stamps of Bhutan and has been largely responsible for a major breakthrough in the concept of STAMP MANUFACTURE.

Postal administrators and designers everywhere are having to discard the traditional concept of a stamp as being a piece of paper. Instead they are being forced more and more to the revolutionary idea that a postage stamp is after all, only a receipt for a service, and, as such can be almost any shape, size or design which can be produced within the limits of modern technology.

But to understand Burt Todd’s ideas you must first understand the man and appreciate his motivations.

Those who know only of his association with the Bhutan Stamp Agency sometimes think of him as a smart American operator seeking to exploit both Bhutan and the collecting public. Such operators do exist in the philatelic world, but Burt Todd isn’t one of them. His motivations are quite different and the monetary side of his philatelic activities are of little concern to him because in his own right Burt Todd is an enormously wealthy man, a millionaire many times over. In any list of the hundred wealthiest and most influential families in the United States. Burt Todd and his family would figure very prominently.

To understand his involvement with Bhutan, a tiny kingdom in the Himalayas, it is really necessary to go back more than a quarter of a century when Todd as a young man had just received his discharge from the U.S. Air Force after wartime service in Italy. He felt that before returning to the U.S. to take up a position to guide the destiny of his family holdings in the steel industry in Pittsburgh he should widen his horizons by study and travel.

As the first step in this programme he went to Oxford to study and there met a fellow student from Bhutan, a young woman who was a member of the Bhutanese ruling class. She so interested young Todd in her country that when he finished his studies at Oxford he determined to visit the tiny state on a hitchhiking tour across Europe, the Middle East and Asia on his way back to the U.S.

This hitchhiking expedition was undertaken with two other students and when they finally arrived in India they discovered that getting into Bhutan was not such a simple matter as they imagined. In those days there were no air services and no roads into the country. The only access was on foot or on the back of mules over wild mountain tracks through the foothills of the Himalayas. But they persevered and finally made it into the capital of where they received a right royal welcome from friends of their Oxford Bhutanese classmate.

Despite, or because of, its backwardness, Burt Todd fell in love with Bhutan, with the traditional centuries-old customs, with the friendly, hospitable people of the country. He was so “sold” on Bhutan that when he returned to America and married he insisted on taking his bride back to Bhutan for their honeymoon!

His wife equally enchanted with this fairy-tale like land in the Himalayas, and that was really the commencement of a life-long love affair between the Todds and Bhutan.

On each of his visits Todd was entertained by members of the Royal Family of Bhutan and because of the influence of his family on the US. industrial scene he was asked to become an honorary financial advisor to the Bhutan government, a task which he readily assented to as a means of repaying the countless acts of hospitality he had received at the hands of the Bhutanese. Besides, by this time he really wanted to do something to help the Bhutanese solve some of their major problems – mainly in the fields of health, social services and transport.

When the Bhutanese government decided to apply to the World Bank for a $10-million loan to help built hospitals, roads and an airfield, Todd became a key advisor in shaping the application. Came the fatal day when the application came up for consideration, and Todd was amongst the small delegation presenting the Bhutanese case. But the answer of the World Bank was NO. This was because relations between Bhutan and India were extremely touchy at the time and the World Bank did not want to appear to be taking sides.

Bhutanese Dzong

Going down in the lift after the meeting, Burt Todd was speaking to the top-ranking U.S. government official who had attended the talks as an observer. The U.S. official told Todd not to worry unduly about the setback and suggested that there were other ways that a small country like Bhutan could raise revenue. Todd said “Such as?”

The official asked whether Bhutan had ever considered postage stamps as a revenue producer, adding that quite a few small states such as San Marino and Monaco balanced their budgets in this way.

Burt Todd was not a stamp collector and had never given a thought to postage stamps but, never one to pass up an idea, he made some investigations and found that what the official had said was true.

Up to that time Bhutan had never issued any stamps. They were not really needed on the primitive internal postal system. and the small amount of international mail leaving the country at the time was sent to the nearest Indian post office where Indian stamps were affixed for onward transmission. It was a clumsy and inadequate system but it had not been questioned because so many other things in Bhutan operate that way.

Todd put a submission to the Bhutan government that they should issue their own stamps as a means of raising revenue. The Bhutanese were extremely sceptical about the ability of postage stamps to raise revenue, but liked the idea for an entirely different reason. At the time relations with India were very strained as a result of conflicting border claims, and the Bhutanese saw in the issue of stamps a way of declaring their independence to the world as a sovereign state. It was their way of telling the Indians to stay in their own backyard.

They therefore agreed to the idea of issuing postage stamps and asked Burt Todd whether he would undertake the arrangements for printing and distribution outside of Bhutan.

Burt Todd knew nothing whatsoever about stamp design and production and even less about the mechanics of distribution to the world stamp trade, but with typical thoroughness he set about learning.

He had an artist prepare designs, and thus the first stamps of Bhutan came into being in 1962, a set of seven quite attractive definitives featuring a postal runner, the Crest of Bhutan, an Archer, a Wild Yak, a Map of the Country, and the Maharaja fortress and monastery.

To say that the philatelic world fell over backwards over these stamps would be an over-statement. Collectors virtually ignored them, largely because they didn’t know of their existence. This was because Todd had no knowledge of the complex philatelic trade channel system or of philatelic journals which could have helped him promote the issues. For this, and for several subsequent stamp issues the going was rough so far as generating revenue was concerned. Todd sought and got lots of advice, philatelic and otherwise, and this was not always sound, as he cheerfully admits, but gradually the philatelic world became aware that a new country had been added to the albums of the world.

Paro Valley, Bhutan

After three years, Burt Todd took stock and had to admit that although the stamps he had designed for Bhutan were pleasing to the eye, he hadn’t exactly set the philatelic world on fire or raised the revenue he had hoped.

Never one to accept defeat easily, Todd began to cast around for ideas and gradually came to the realisation that if he was to achieve his goals for Bhutan he would have to make the country’s stamps so DIFFERENT that they would be instantly recognisable as coming from “that unusual little state in the Himalayas”. They would have to get themselves talked about. To do this, he realised, he would have to depart from orthodox thinking on stamp design and printing.

His first experimental issue was the 1966 Gold Coin issue to mark the 40th anniversary of the accession of King Jigme Wangchuk to the Bhutanese throne. These stamps were circular in shape and embossed on gold foil backed with a multicoloured patterned paper.

The set was frowned upon by serious philatelists but received an enthusiastic reception from general collectors. A triangle-shaped series followed showing the “Abominable Snowman” and this set also sold very well, possibly due to its unique theme.

But it was the 1967 three dimension space stamps that really put Bhutan on the philatelic map. These were produced in Japan after exhaustive tests and created a philatelic sensation. The designs showing spacemen and spacecraft were printed on to a laminated prismatic-ribbed plastic surface which gave them a startling three dimensional effect. Three dimensional printing at that time was quite a novelty and for hundreds of thousands of collectors, the Bhutanese space stamps were the first three dimensional pictures they had seen. And they flocked to buy the stamps in multitudes.

The success of the 3-D stamps spurred Burt Todd on to greater efforts and in the intervening years he has produced a remarkable range of stamps that would have Rowland Hill turning over in his grave.

For example, there were the Religious Banners series of 1969 printed on silk, and there have been several unusual series of paintings produced in bass relief giving an amazing effect, especially for the impressionist issues. But perhaps the most unusual of all were the 1971 Sculptures of Antiquity series die stamped on plastic. If possible, these are even more startling in their appearance than the three dimensional issues.

A very large body of philatelic opinion of course, is solidly against these novelties from Bhutan. They have been roundly denounced as “gimmicks” both by philatelic societies and stamp editors, and they have been boycotted by some world catalogues – though this particular boycott will be difficult to maintain now that Bhutan is a member of the United Nations.

The main objection to the issues seems to be that they are different to the normal concept of what a postage stamp should look like. It is very difficult for the average collector to accept the quite revolutionary thought behind Burt Todd’s creations – that a postage stamp need not necessarily comprise a design printed on to a piece of paper. Once this concept is accepted, there is really no limit to the size, shape or dimension of a stamp, and this is how designers of the future will approach the issue.

The 1967 Bhutan space stamps were three dimensional in appearance. The 1971 Bhutan Sculptures were in fact three dimensional in touch. Who knows but stamps of the future might be round balls – or cubes – or squares. So long as they can be attached to a letter in some way, there is no limit to the possibilities. The mind boggles at what the designers of the future may conceive after sessions in philatelic “Think Tanks”.

Burt Todd has pioneered this new field of stamp design just as Rowland Hill with his Penny Black of Britain in 1840 pioneered a new form of prepayment of postage on mail.

And what kind of a man is this who has turned the philatelic world upside down in less than a decade? He is a quiet, unassuming individual, with a delightful sense of humour and a down to earth manner. He is quite unlike the typical picture of the American multimillionaire and industrial tycoon. Although his enormous and varied interests in steel, oil and a number of other industries occupy the major port of his busy daily life, he still finds time to think of new ideas for stamps for his Bhutanese friends.

The time and effort he has put into this hobby far outweighs any financial returns but this is quite immaterial to his thinking on the issue. He points with enormous pride to the airfield, to the hospitals and the schools which have been built in Bhutan as a direct result of the revenue raised by the sale of the stamps he has created and sold to collectors throughout the world. For to Burt Todd, Bhutan is more than a tiny inaccessible state in the Himalayas. It is his spiritual home and if he can assist the people of his second homeland through postage stamps he cares not a whit what the philatelic purists think.

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