Black Country collectibles – part 5
For the final time, reader MIKE FENTON reveals some of the treasures of his collection
DECIDING from which of the voluminous selection of items I had to choose was a veritable dizzying exercise, however, what could not possibly be excluded was something of which I have examples so numerous I have ceased counting.
Unfailingly ubiquitous but ever collectible, the postcard – despite its ever-decreasing use of recent years – remains a firm favourite amongst those who appreciate its capability to convey a narrative of social history that is uniquely inherent. The one I wish to present here is comically entitled, ‘The Smethwick Smiler’, and although unposted, its type face and design is unmistakably from those uncertain and unnerving years of the First World War.
Khaki
The postcard’s frontispiece features a wide smiling character in khaki green military uniform, his cap poised on exaggeratedly enormous ears, his whole manner seemingly indifferent to the bloody conflict of which the image is suggestive. The more unusual aspect of this postcard is that it is devoid of the usual and omnipresent chocolate box landscape inescapably associated with such items. In this instance, the postcard hides a particular charm; carefully lifting the unknown soldier’s chin, a dozen miniature pictures of Smethwick cascade downwards. As with so many other postcards, the information on the reverse can be more tantalising that that offered elsewhere. In the top left-hand corner, it has been pre-printed with details reading, Mailing Novelty, under which it continues bizarrely, Printed Matter, Shape Passed by the G.P.O for ½d Stamp.
The message – pointedly succinct – reads, Dear Frank, just a bit of Smethwick; it is signed, Ella, with love.
When I first noticed the postcard had not been sent to its intended recipient – Private Frank Merryweather, of the Worcestershire Regiment – my initial belief was that sadly, and like so many of his comrades, he had been killed in action. On further investigation, records happily and conclusively tell of Private Merryweather’s survival and subsequent marriage in 1925 to the sender Ella, who transpires to have been Eleanor Dawson. The former private died in Birmingham in 1970, his widow six years later, part of their respective stories – unbeknown to them – to be relayed over 100 years later through these pages and by means of a postcard sent in all innocence at a period in time such a notion would not even have been considered newsworthy; it is however fortunate for those of us who continue to collect that such anecdotes can be successfully passed on to a wider populace, their memories archived for perpetuity.
Remaining with a military theme, I was amazed to acquire a few years ago an item that would be normally subject to fierce competition, and in the process a resulting premium price to pay. Made in 1918 this letter opener has a blade designed in the shape of a boot probably from discarded metal. Soldiers waiting to go into battle made many such pieces and was known as Trench Art. The blade was made in France and sold as a tourist piece to returning survivors to the battlefields in 1919 where they had previously fought.
Cartridge
The handle, however, is something much closer to home and is in fact a cartridge shell; at the base of this (the case headstamp) are the letters/numbers G.18 F.1 VIIZ. This indicates that it was originally made in 1918 by one of the Government Cartridge Factories (there were four all together) – in this case at the one situated in Blackheath, premises later identified as being the factory of AEI, then BTH and other incarnations such as GEC until the buildings were demolished in 2018.
The Blackheath factory was managed by the Birmingham Metal and Munitions Co. on behalf of the Government. The VIIZ indicates that it was a Mark VII round filled with nitrocellulose rather than cordite.
The Blackheath premises were opened in 1916 and ceased production on December 20, 1918. At its height the factory manufactured more than 10 million rounds a week and employed over 3,000 workers, mostly women. Adjacent to the main premises were a clutch of smaller outbuildings which acted as storage facilities for explosives. The whole enterprise was a dangerous affair, especially for the brave women engaged in such work, where deaths were not uncommon. I cannot, therefore, but arrive at the thought that an
item of such rarity be held ‘in memoriam’ for all those killed or injured during those four years in which so much blood was shed.
The final collectible I have chosen – perhaps inexorably – returns us to the point where we began, and with a further connection to my ancestral tree, its branches reaching out amidst the labyrinthine and umpteen collectibles at my disposal.
Celebrations
On May 12, 1937, celebrations abounded nationwide to mark the coronation of King George VI at Westminster Abbey. At West Bromwich, festivities were undertaken across the town; street parties, parades, and floats filling the High Street and much more. At its climax, Dartmouth Park welcomed thousands through its gates, the huge crowds witnessing 21-gun salutes, pig roasts, sporting, and military events.
Of course, such events are transitory and as such it was evidently thought that a more permanent act of remembrance be implemented. It was therefore decided that a commemorative medal be struck,
thousands of them produced principally for the school children of the town; and in their thousands they were indeed made, many of them today easily found and for just a few pounds, an item now neither scarce nor rare.
It was, therefore, very fortunate that I was able to acquire a couple of years ago the steward’s medal, an item so uncommon and exceptional that I had not even seen a photograph of one before. This would have been worn by those marshalling the crowds and ensuring the safety of all the events ongoing. It was a much more elaborate medal than those proffered to school children – and thus its scarcity – the red, white and blue of the ribbon a much deeper hue, the gold-coloured plate featuring the West Bromwich County Borough insignia and the medal itself of far better quality and vibrance. Between the two, a bar in a rich, cobalt blue simply reads Steward, the outer edges trimmed with the colour of gold, lifting the whole design.
After 85 years, it has remained remarkably intact, the metal work barely tarnished or scratched, the ribbon bright and bold, hardly a piece worn or faded despite the best
efforts of the innumerable hands it must have passed through and the relentless march of time itself.
I have often heard it said – and I have to say not particularly eloquently or with any real justification – that such items of memorabilia as discussed above are superficial, lacking purpose, even futile. Whether this comes from a deliberate loathing of history or a misunderstanding, it is never clear.
Perhaps a collector’s psyche is wired differently, their DNA all together chemically unbalanced, albeit slightly. In any instance, an overwhelming appreciation of local and social history drives you ever forwards, the chase is never complete, the yearning for the next item to be uncovered and acquired the ultimate and all-consuming motive.
It is with deep regret that some artefacts have been discarded over the years through the demolition of public houses, churches, factories and schools, items lost forever and the history and meaning of them with it. Some town re-developments and unsympathetic planning can also be held responsible for such historical vandalism, but not all can be laid at the feet of local authorities and demolition crews. I witness with unwelcome frequency the blatant disregard of and for such items by individuals who are more than content to jettison their family heirlooms for some minor pecuniary benefit.
These objects have tangible stories to tell, they echo skill and craftsmanship of industries long since gone, they provide enduring mysteries for future generations to ponder and peruse and they can make you smile, and yes, even shed a tear; however, what they have in common is an unbreakable chain that links our temporal lives with our descendants and the future yet to be written.