Recycling in Latvia

As most stamp collectors do, I have thousands of stamps, and of course love them all. But, if asked if I have a favourite, I don’t have any difficulty choosing one. It is Latvia #1, a small red and white stamp printed in December 1918 by the newly independent country. The stamp is “imperforate,” meaning that there are no lines of little holes to easily separate the stamps. Instead you must use scissors to cut a single stamp from the sheet. This may seem interesting, but it is not unusual with older stamps.

The red design is a somewhat crude coat of arms. A sun shines with 17 rays, representing the 17 Latvian districts; three ears of grain and three stars stand for the three provinces. This design may be special to Latvians, but I have no Latvian blood. In 1927 my mother’s family escaped from Russia to Canada via Riga, after a five-week quarantine there, but that doesn’t explain my interest in #1.

For me this stamp evokes memories and childhood excitement. My father and I used to travel to Vancouver to sail in races on English Bay. We never seemed to realize that the tides were different there than in Okanagan Lake. But it was great fun; just the two of us for a weekend without sisters. I got to choose the restaurant (The Devonshire for seafood!) and where to visit in spare time. That meant a visit to a little stamp shop in the Gastown area. I can’t find the spot now. The old couple that ran it always had time to spend with me. I loved the “Small Countries of Europe” stock book, where I spent a lot of time and not much money going through Albania or Andorra or Luxembourg or Memel or the Baltic States. I was about to turn the page on Latvia/Lithuania/Estonia when the old gentleman said, “Take a look here. It is always a good idea to check the back of a stamp.”

I picked up my stamp tongs (serious collectors like me don’t pick up a stamp with fingers) and raised the little red stamp he was pointing at. The front didn’t look special, but the other side was covered by a pattern of brown and black lines and dots. Looking closer, I saw it was a tiny map- topographical too. Mine showed two villages; Baliszki and Maldziuny, which both had about 18 buildings. The brown topo lines showed there was a valley between them, where a road ran between a marsh on one side, and a forest on the other. There was more detail if I only understood all the map symbols.

I was thrilled.

The gentleman explained that this issue was printed on the backs of German military maps that were abandoned in Riga when the First World War was over. They had not been folded and the paper quality was high. They were already being used to wrap fish in the Riga market, but because paper was in terribly short supply the new postal department grabbed the remainder. Every map had 12 rows of 19 stamps crowded onto it to maximize the paper use, even where the maps had identification labels, so some stamps have a fragment of “Karte des Westlichen Russlands 1/100,000” in black on the front red design. I paid under a dollar for my piece of the Kaiser’s military might, and went home very happy, even without a sailing trophy.

Over the years, I have found 29 more Latvian map stamps. None with black writing on the front, though. Some include the map border or the map’s key to explain all the symbols utilized. Lots of tiny roads, hills, lakes, railroads, villages… Who says philately is a useless hobby?

Why if I’m ever lost near Baliszki, I know it’s due south to Maldziuny; just watch for the swamp to the west.

Postage Paid is submitted by Penticton Stamp Club members.