Elco Revisited

Since last writing about vintage Elco stationery I’ve obtained another set of it. Unlike the Paris Linen and Royal Linen boxes I previously acquired, this set doesn’t have any kind of descriptive name, packaged instead in a folder with a pictorial cover featuring a design of horses-and-carriages outside a palatial building. Within there are twenty envelopes, fifteen double (i.e. pre-folded) sheets of paper and five notecards. All are pale grey with the tissue lining the envelopes a darker blue-grey shade like that on the inside of folder’s spine. The paper and envelopes have the usual Elco watermark. The sheets are A4-sized when unfolded.

On the green Garantie slip there’s mention of over seventy years of corporate experience. Wikipedia gives a foundation date for Elco of 1884, while the company’s own website suggests 1891. Depending on when the 70 years were counted from, that could mean post-1954 or ‘61. A ’60s origin seems plausible. The equivalent slip in the Paris Linen set (as seen in my previous post) boasts of only sixty-plus years’ experience, so evidently that is the older product of the two.

Targa

When he retired, ca. 1981, my maternal grandfather was presented with a pen as a gift from his former employers. It was a Sheaffer Targa slimline ballpoint pen with a brushed chrome finish. Although at the entry level of the Targa line, I thought at the time it was the coolest thing. Certainly the coolest pen I had seen up close.

With that in mind, while teetering around the edge of the fountain pen rabbit hole toward the end of the last decade, it occurred to me to buy myself a Targa fountain pen. I settled on a very lightly-used 1001 model in stainless steel. How much I paid for it escapes me.

It has since seen a great deal of use, being my note-taking pen of choice when I work from home. Now and then I’ll also write a letter with it. The inlaid stainless steel nib always feels good when it hits the page. I keep it filled with Aurora Black ink.

Hans White Wove

Shown above is a vintage box of Harrods' Hans White Wove writing paper. On the side of the box the only information is that it would have contained 200 single sheets in a size they called ‘Kings’ – which seems to have been 8"x6¼" or so, that is a smidgeon wider than Albert Quarto (8"x6") and a tad narrower than Foolscap Quarto (8"x6½"). The sheets are fairly thick, and un-watermarked. I previously owned some similarly-branded Hans Bank pads. As often, trying to determine its approximate age isn’t easy, but in this case the packaging may provide a clue.

The box contains two sheaves of paper. Underneath are what I presume to be the remnants of its original contents. Around them is a paper band bearing the text “Harrods Ltd. / London SW1” in the same size & style of lettering as are on the box. On top is a larger number of marginally smaller Albert Quarto sheets wrapped in a band which has only the single word “Harrods” on it, and in different lettering. The latter is the more recognisable Harrods logotype first introduced in 1967. The contents of this box, then, could perhaps reflect a before-and-after look at the store’s stationery branding in the late ’60s or early ’70s.

Churston Deckle

Shown above, the striking design on the cover of a folder containing an old set of writing paper and envelopes. I would say the image and its colour-scheme suggest a ’70s origin. The paper within is an orangey shade given the name ‘peach bloom’. Below are the contents of the folder when opened out, with one of the envelopes' flaps folded back to display part of the bold design in its lining, one which echoes the cover image.

The sheets of paper are watermarked Churston Deckle, this being one of the many product-lines sold by John Dickinson & Co. Ltd (previously: 1, 2). Those words don’t appear on the outer packaging, however, which merely describes the contents as “distinctive deckle-edged writing paper”. I wonder if the brand may have had old-fashioned associations by that time, and perhaps this set was an attempt to appeal to a groovier, younger public?

Imperial Parchment

This box of Imperial Parchment paper, obtained recently via ebay, is something of an oddity. It’s announced as “a Terston product”, that being a brand-name used by George Waterston and Sons of Edinburgh and London, who went out of business over twenty years ago. The watermarked sheets within have an old-school look and feel, and the other text printed on the box, about the paper being “Hard Sized and Air-Dried” etc., is likewise redolent of a bygone era. Yet the box itself seems flimsily new.

Could this stuff be old stock re-packaged in the company’s declining years, or re-sold ‘posthumously’ by someone who acquired it when the manufacturer ceased trading? Might it even be counterfeit, unlikely as that seems? I may never know, but it’s good, relatively thick & heavyweight paper & there’s plenty of it.

Vélin de Moirans

Here’s a box of Vélin de Moirans writing paper and envelopes. Moirans is a town in the Isère department in southeastern France. There was paper-making in that area for nearly five centuries, with the earliest mill purportedly dating back to 1480. I suspect this box was made in the late ’40s or ’50s. There’s reference on the back of it to some kind of trademark registration in 1946, which must have been around the time production resumed after its wartime hiatus. Sadly, Les Papeteries Barjon closed down for good in 1977.

The paper is of a very good quality. The sheets measure approx. 16cm x 21.5cm, and are watermarked along one longer edge with the pseudo-handwritten text “F. Barjon Moirans”. The envelopes are lined with dark brown tissue. A slip inside the box assures the buyer about the excellence its contents in French and English, the latter concluding “The Moirans trade-mark therefore constitutes for you the highest guarantee of perfect quality and the best certificate of origin.”

Foolscap

Late last year I acquired a virtually-unused ream of foolscap paper. It’s ‘Plus Fabric’, made by Spicers, in a larger size and a lighter weight than my other box of the stuff. Foolscap was once the default paper-size for office use in the UK, until A4 eclipsed it during the ’70s and ’80s. Initially referring to a style of watermark, foolscap came to denote specific dimensions, which, with regard to paper for writing, typing and copying, were 8"x13".

When I first began buying refill pads of my own at WH Smith to use for schoolwork back in the early ’80s, it seemed that A4 and foolscap were both equally readily available. Within a year or two, however, the latter size became harder to find, at length no longer being sold at all. I was annoyed as I preferred its elongated profile to the squatter and squarer A4. Having since become so thoroughly accustomed to the ‘new’ format. foolscap now seems oddly oblong. This box of it will be ideal for typewriting purposes - I just now need to find the equivalent of some A5, A6 or DL envelopes I can fold the sheets into.

G. Lalo

Shown above is the information on the back of a box of vintage G. Lalo writing paper and envelopes. The front of the box (see below) is rather plain. The blue laid paper within has lightly scalloped edges. Twenty-eight of the fifty original sheets remain. The sheets are about 19cm x 24.2cm (approx 7½" x 9½"). Out of the full complement of envelopes – all lined with white tissue-paper – only eleven are missing.

Georges Lalo began selling stationery in Paris in 1919. Happily, it’s is still a current brand today. I’m working my way through a pad of G. Lalo Vélin de France paper at the moment.

Hans Bank

Shown above are a pair of mid-20th-Century Hans Bank writing pads, in ‘Duke’ size, as once sold by Harrods department store. ‘Bank’ in this case refers the the paper being thin and lightweight (ca. 50 gsm or less), while Hans St. is a Knightsbridge thoroughfare running alongside the store.

A 1912 Harrods catalogue shows they were already selling a line by that name before WWI, as a cheaper ‘Bank’ option, with Lowndes Bank (also named after a nearby street), being the costlier choice. The Hans brand was still in use at the outbreak of WWII, and there’s every chance it was stocked anew after the war.

Via ebay I bought a part-filled box containing eight or nine of the dozen pads it would once have held. It took me a few years, but I used every last sheet of the stuff.

Smooth Ivory

Since last writing about mourning stationery, I have acquired a third set of the stuff, this time in a box commemorating the life of Queen Victoria. It seems reasonable to assume it might have been sold within a year or two of the monarch’s demise, and could very well be in the region of a hundred and twenty years old.

The watermark in this ‘Smooth Ivory’ paper matches the text on the bands wrapped around it. Looking in the usual reference, my best guess is that it was made by Edward Collins & Sons of Kelvindale, Glasgow. Stationery with a broad black border like this would have been seen as appropriate for use in the earliest or deepest stages of grief; although in this case the set may just have been kept as a slightly morbid item of memorabilia.

Many of the envelopes have sealed themselves shut, but most of the sheets of paper are still in great shape, and present an appropriately smooth surface to the pen.

Plus Fabric

“How much simple inexpensive pleasure there is to be had in writing, or receiving, a letter on paper so smooth to the pen, so crisp to handle…” so runs some of Spicers advertising copy from 1958. The box pictured above matches the packaging design they used at that time (but could easily be later). By then, Spicers must have been one of the main rivals in the writing paper business to market leaders John Dickinson & Co. ‘Plus Fabric’ survives to this day as a brand for envelopes; as does a wholesaling company who have inherited the Spicers name.

One of the former paper-making concern’s productions was the ca. 1950 sample-book whose cover is shown below, including within it “the majority of the usual writing, printing, wrapping and speciality papers”. Among them are some hand-made sheets with Hodgkinson & Co. watermarks, but, as far as I can tell, there is no ‘Plus Fabric’.

Bowersburn Princess

A good deal of stationery, it seems, was marketed specifically with women in mind. There were sets of paper & envelopes with soft-focus photos of flowers on the box; with floral patterns on the paper itself; or in stereotypically feminine shades such as pinks, peaches and pale purples. Once upon a time, only white, off-white or pale blue paper would have been deemed ‘manly’. Judging by the remains of mid-20th-Century stationery to be found on eBay, the Scottish firm of MacNiven and Cameron appear to have been especially prone to these approaches, with their Waverley and Bowersburn brands very often dressed up in flowers & frills.

The Bowersburn Princess set shown above (“the answer to all correspondence”) is rather plain stuff, and not of the highest quality, which has been presented in a box with a floral design. It is also curiously fragrant. Some paper was sold as scented, but there is rather more of it, like this, which doesn’t boast of any particular aroma, but which nevertheless retains some vestige of perfume, whether from its manufacture or subsequent storage. D. Michael Stoddart, in his book The Scented Ape, wrote that in “…Victorian England, civet was kept in a small box in the writing desks of the gentry to perfume writing paper and envelopes”. Perhaps manufacturers or wholesalers used some similar trick to keep their stock smelling sweet.

Writing Case

Pictured above, a leather zip-up writing case with some of its original contents: the little matching address-book; and the calendar showing one panel of the six on a folding card, running from ‘82 (presumably when the case was sold) to ‘87. The pad is a recent addition - a Wedgwood brand one (in ‘Duke’ size) which is probably a little older than the case–I would guess mid-’70s based on the 22p Woolworth’s price sticker on the back. The envelopes are the right size, but are from a different Waverley-branded stationery set. And the fountain pen, only placed there for the photo, is a Super Rotax 89, probably of ’70s vintage.

I’d not be at all surprised if many more writing cases were bought than actually used. I get the impression they were the sort of item that might serve as a vaguely impersonal gift to a recipient one didn’t know very well. In any event, it’s not difficult to find barely-used examples in good condition on ebay. In my experience they’re less often in evidence at charity shops or junkshops, though the one above was purchased from just such an establishment. There were de-luxe writing cases, but mine seems fairly cheaply-made, and must have been mid-market at best.

Croxley Writing And Ledger Papers

Another book of paper samples, this slim volume of Croxley Writing and Ledger Papers comprises, after some introductory matter, five leaves apiece of six different papers: Lion Loan, Three Candlesticks Parchment, Colne Valley Parchment, Croxley Lion Ledger, Croxley Extra Strong and Croxley Law Paper. These were all products of the Croxley mills operated by John Dickinson & Co. Ltd. There’s no publication date, but there are sample texts within the book bearing dates in 1937 & ‘38, so the latter year seems a likely candidate.

The sample texts are a well thought-out selection of pseudo-typewritten letters and ersatz handwritten ones; along with mocked-up legal and commercial documents. I particularly like the fake Art Deco letterheading in the sample above for the “Union Airways Corporation”, and the none-too-legible writing beneath it: “My dear Henry, In my opinion your scheme is good - Go ahead and good luck to you! I have only one suggestion–why not use a better quality writing paper? I always use this Colne Valley Parchment!”

Two Blue Dukes

Shown above are two boxes of Duke-sized (5½"x7") writing paper in slightly different shades of pale blue. I acquired them together in a single ebay purchase. The Silverbrook Superfine paper is a shade often called ‘azure’ (in relation to stationery), with the Hollingworth Rag Bond a slightly deeper tint. The latter is watermarked, the former not.

‘Silverbrook’ was a brand-name once associated with F. Keay & Co. of Birmingham, about whom I know practically nothing. Nor do I know what ‘superfine’ might have meant to the erstwhile paper-buyer–if anything–beyond some vague expectation of higher quality. Many paper-makers listed ‘fine’ and ‘superfine’ papers among their product-lines (and even ‘extra superfine’ wasn’t unheard of). If those terms had any more meaningful definition, I’m unaware of it.

Hollingworth on the other hand had a long-held reputation for first-rate products. Rag-based papers were typically higher-end, expensive ones. Jenners Ltd. of Princes St., Edinburgh (whose name is printed on the box), was for well over a century that city’s principal department store. Hollingworth also made paper for Harrods. ‘Bank’, ‘Bond’ and ‘Loan’ were terms for paper weights: Banks were thin and light; Loans were thicker, heavier and more durable; Bonds were of normal medium weight, akin to modern office/copier paper.

Neither box of paper came with any matching envelopes. Fortunately, Duke-sized envelopes in blue haven’t been too hard to find on ebay.

Orphan Envelopes

When using up sets of writing paper and envelopes, I find there will almost always be at least one envelope left over once the sheets of paper are all gone. The picture above shows a sampling of some of the ‘orphan’ leftover envelopes I’ve held on to. A couple of them are relatively new, while some others are probably more than fifty years old.

Many of them are tissue-lined. The envelope to the top left and the green one overlapping it were both made by Elco. The latter has a deep brown lining, giving it a mint choc chip colour-scheme. The small blue envelope top-centre was made by G. Lalo in France, and has a delightful patterned lining. Also French is the ‘Amaris EVA’ envelope top-right with the asymmetric flap. It has a burgundy lining.

The red envelope was from a Tiffany-branded set made by Rössler in Germany. The impractically deep blue one came from an ‘Original Crown Mill’ set, made in Belgium. The envelope with the pink flap has a cartoon design of The Pink Panther on the front; the one to its right with the hammered finish has a lovely deep blue lining: I believe it to be French but don’t know who made it. The lilac envelope underneath those two came from a set of ‘Churston Deckle’ stationery, made in England.

Midas Touch

To be filed under “the past is a foreign country”, here we have some cigarette-themed writing paper. A promotional item, perhaps? Something one might obtain in exchange for the coupons one had been saving up? A gift for the discerning nicotine enthusiast in one’s life? Who knows, but here it is - obtained a couple of years ago from an ebay seller, each sheet decorated with brown and red diagonal stripes. I can’t be sure it dates from the ’70s, but it certainly looks the part.

The paper is good-quality stuff in 6"x8" (‘Albert Quarto’) sheets bearing John Dickinson & Co’s Three Candlesticks 1649 watermark. The box has some ballpen scribbles courtesy of a previous owner: possibly done with a pen like this…

Elco Paris Linen

Elco is a Swiss stationery brand that is one of the relative few still in business: long may they continue! For those of us old-school letter-writers, their current James line of writing paper (with its distinctive scalloped edges) is excellent both for fountain pen and typewriter use. As well as their current offerings I’ve also acquired (via ebay as usual) a couple of their discontinued lines. The latest such addition to my stationery stash is the box of Elco Paris Linen paper & envelopes shown above.

As well as their Paris Linen, I’d previously obtained a box of Elco Royal Linen of seemingly later vintage. While the latter was linen-faced which is to say it had a surface texture made to vaguely resemble that of woven cloth, the former has more of a faux-fabric look rather then feel, with a smoother surface which has a somewhat clothlike patterning applied to it. And whereas the Royal Linen sheets were A5 and the matching envelopes A6, the Royal Linen has non-ISO-compliant dimensions, the paper being ca. 24cm x 16cm, and the envelopes made to accommodate those sheets folded in three.

Croxley Cambric

My first vintage stationery acquisition was some Croxley Script typing paper in the old foolscap (13"x8") size which was once the default format in the UK for business use, prior to the onslaught of ISO 216. Looking for more of the same, I found an ebay listing for the part-used pad of linen-faced Croxley Cambric writing paper shown above, together with a small quantity of matching envelopes in the same shade of ‘Nut Brown’. I was inclined to buy it, and have since used all that was left of it.

Croxley Green in Hertfordshire was the site of one of the John Dickinson and Co.’s main paper mills, thereby lending its name to several of the company’s product-lines. On the front of the pad a boast of its being “The writing pad with the most wonderful sale in the world.” Not then the best-selling, necessarily, but somehow the wonderfullest. Within was an information sheet with other product details, etc. The Old Bailey head office address printed on the sheet likely dates the pad to before WWII; and that address’s ‘EC4’ post-code probably means it’s post-WWI.

Writings

My odd enthusiasm for old stationery has bled its way into my library, with the acquisition of a number of paper sample-books. One of the best is this collection of Writings (i.e. writing paper samples) issued in March 1936 by Lepard & Smiths Ltd., apparently one of the longest established paper-merchants in London. The book’s cover is in rather shabby condition, but the contents have aged much more gracefully. On the first page is the boast that “we believe this to be the best and most complete Sample Book of Writings issued by any house” and the claim that “fully 95% of the papers shewn are of British make.”

To the contemporary letter-writer, who might do well nowadays to find even a few different types of writings in all but the most specialised retail outlets, the bewildering choice available to their forebears is much to be envied. Among the options offered by Lepard & Smiths, one curiosity is their Kalatex paper, made, as its name implies, with the addition of latex rubber to the esparto-based pulp. Of this paper, they claim that “the surface grips the ink, as there is not the slightest trace of greasiness”, and indeed its surface does have a ‘grippy’ feel about it - though I’ve not tried writing on the stuff.

Though the bulk of the papers in the book are of a plain ‘cream’ off-white colour, there are also some given in a range of shades, with, for example, their “Eleven” series of papers: available in Lilac, Yellow, Blue, Daffodil, Pink, Green, Buff, Salmon, Deep Blue, Moss, Cerise, Silver Grey and Old Gold. This paper is one of only a very few in the book which has suffered any significant deterioration over the last eighty-seven years, a testament to the fine quality of Lepard & Smiths' products.

Index Cards

I bought a ’50s index card ‘outfit’ a few years ago: that is, a Winel brand flip-top card-box, some alphabetical separators and a couple of hundred Whitehall 6"x4" cards. As well as the blank cards, there were a dozen typewritten ones left there by the set’s original owner, one for every month of the year, with major household expenses listed on each one.

The most significant expense through the year, described as ‘Building Society’ (presumably a monthly mortgage payment) was for £78 (£6 10s x 12). Besides that, the largest single amounts were for the annual rates bill (£29 18s 6d) and a fairly hefty £16 1s 3d for car insurance. The ‘A.P.S.W. Subscription’ on the January card suggests a membership of the Association for Professors of Social Work. Also in the box were a few pieces of professional correspondence all addressed to a Miss M_______ based near Sleaford, Lincs., who I imagine must have typed out the cards. These letters are all dated 1957, so I guess the cards most likely relate either to that year, or to 1958.

Chivalry Antient Script

Pictured above is an old box of Chivalry Antient Script envelopes in ‘Jade’ green, Duke size. I bought them from an ebay seller. According to on-line paper-size guides, Duke is supposed to have been 7"x5½", but evidently not everyone followed that standard as the notepaper matching these envelopes comes in folded sheets closer to 6¾"x5⅛" (approx. 10¼"x6¾" when unfolded), with these meant to be folded in half again to fit in the ca. 5½"x3⅔" envelopes.

On one end of the box is a mark boasting that the paper has “Guaranteed Rag Content” and is “British Made”, while on the other its origin is given as the “Aberdeen Mill - Established 1770” with a picture of a Scottish Terrier in profile as a trademark. Each sheet of the notepaper is likewise watermarked with a stylized ‘Scottie dog’. The manufacturer isn’t stated but I’m fairly confident it was made by Alexander Pirie & Sons Ltd., later part of Wiggins, Teape and Co., and nowadays of ArjoWiggins.

I don’t know how old it might be. Pirie’s Antient British Parchment, Antient Vellum and similar trade names are listed in the 1923 Phillips' Paper Trade Directory of the World, but not this one. The sole reference to it I’ve found is in a 1937 ad in the Straits Times of Singapore, so it was a current brand shortly before WWII, at least.

Return Thanks

It’s 1932, and Mr. Johnson has died suddenly in Gloucester. His grieving widow and four children have received many dozens of letters of sympathy and numerous floral tributes in the wake of his decease, for each of which etiquette demands a timely note of thanks in reply. Mrs. J. just doesn’t have it in her to tackle this onerous task - but, thankfully, there are services which will supply pre-printed responses in bulk, thereby enabling the family to adhere to the letter of the law of etiquette, if not quite its exacting spirit.

Recently I obtained (via ebay) a sample-book of such pre-printed messages including the example above. On the cover is the text Sharpe’s “Classic” / Return Thanks Stationery / British Manufacture, where Sharpe’s were the manufacturers providing the paper, cards and envelopes; and ‘Return Thanks’ (I presume) their service run in co-operation with participating printers, to supply the requisite personalisation. Loosely held in the book was some documentation relating to The Manor Press Ltd., Colchester, apparently the printers who had owned and used the book. Similar sample books would doubtless have been available for weddings, etc.

A range of paper styles & tints were on offer: hand-made off-white paper with deckle edges; white cards with Victorian-style black borders, or else un-bordered or edged with silver or grey; and also paper in a pale lavender shade, which I thought an odd choice until I learned that lavender/mauve was once recognised as a secondary colour associated with mourning. Some of the envelopes have surprisingly gaudy linings, as in the one above.

The forms of words in the samples are generic: customers may have fallen back on such standard phrasing or would have had the option to supply their own text. In a couple of cases the samples explicitly state that the bereaved “find it impossible to answer letters personally”, by way of explanation for the impersonality of a ready-made reply. In terms of the lettering used, script faces predominate, with sans serif and ‘Old English’ styles the other main options.

Wookey Hole Note

Wookey Hole, thankfully, has nothing to do with the Star Wars™ universe. For anyone unfamiliar, it’s a village on the southern edge of the Mendip Hills in Somerset, south-west England; the village named after a nearby limestone cave system. For centuries the area was a centre of paper-making, with the Wookey Hole mill itself, owned & operated by W.S. Hodgkinson & Co., being known for its high-quality hand-made papers.

The Hodgkinson company sold the mill ca. 1951, with paper still manufactured there commercially until 1972. Since then, the mill has been repurposed as a tourist attraction, with paper now only made at the site on a very small scale as an “experience exhibit”.

I imagine then that the box of paper and envelopes above, acquired via ebay, must be at least seventy-two years old. I like that the box informs the buyer of its being “suitable for either steel or fountain pens”: though in my view, as with most hand-made papers, it doesn’t have the ideal surface for either, with the quality of the writing experience very much depending on the properties of the ink one uses. It is excellent paper for typing on, however.

Laroche-Joubert

The stationery set shown above is one of a couple I’ve owned that were produced by the French company Laroche-Joubert. This Barbarella set doesn’t have any obvious connection with the comic book or the movie featuring that character: perhaps there was merely an intention to cash in on that phenomenon by indirect association. As might just be visible, there’s a faint image of a woman’s head and shoulders on each page, with the same picture more clearly visible on the front cover of the folder.

The other set (whose product name is Anabelle) likewise has a background image on each sheet (see below), this time a drawing of a figure reminiscent of some of Leon Bakst’s designs for the Ballets Russes. Here, however, the folder’s cover image bears no relation to the one within. I wonder if this one might date from the early-to-mid ’80s, whereas the other one has more of a ’70s look about it - but those are altogether uninformed guesses.

The industrialist and politican Jean-Edmond Laroche-Joubert (1820-84) inherited a paper-making concern from his father, building it into a much larger enterprise, chiefly associated with the town of Angoulême. “The company was known for high quality writing papers that could be watermarked with all sorts of drawings at the choice of the buyer” says his wikipedia page, which ties in with the sets I’ve acquired, in which the paper quality is indeed admirably good.

Koenigstein

It surprised me to learn, when perhaps it ought not have done, that communist East Germany was a source of high-quality stationery. Was it, I wonder, a democratic luxury, or one restricted to the export market and to those in the upper echelons of the Party? Five or six years ago I aquired the box of Koenigstein paper and envelopes shown above. The simple design on the box reflected exactly the watermark in each A4 sheet. The paper within was beautifully hand-made: some of the best I’ve yet to put my hands on.

As well as the Koenigstein paper, the box held a smaller number of sheets bearing a different watermark: Spechthausen, likewise hand-made, and of no lesser quality. The Spechthausen mill, I gather, was not far to the north-east of Berlin; whereas the Koenigstein one was located south-east of Dresden. Like the majority of hand-made paper it had a very slightly hydrophobic surface which made it less than perfectly suitable for use with a fountain pen. Even so, I had no difficulty using it all up.

More recently I’ve acquired the set of paper & envelopes below. This paper is perhaps a tad less deluxe, with a smooth machine-made finish, but it still has a lovely high-quality feel. This paper isn’t watermarked, and the only indication of a manufacturer or brand-name are the words Briefalux Papier on the outside of the folder. The envelopes are tissue-lined. Each sheet in the pad bears a sepia-toned illustration of one of ten different East Berlin landmarks: it’s by no means clear in the small image that follows that we’re seeing the Marx-Engels-Forum depicted on the uppermost sheet. According to wikipedia, this park, with its statues of the authors of The Communist Manifesto, wasn’t inaugurated until 1986, thereby (one imagines) dating the set to the last years of the DDR, or the first years of a reunited Germany.

Waldorf Club

Waldorf Club writing paper has nothing to do with the Waldorf hotels (aside, perhaps, from a hope of accruing some unearned prestige by association). Neither has it anything to do with the Waldorf educational method, the salad, or the Muppet of the same name. The paper was first sold in 1910, two years after the London Waldorf Hotel opened its doors, and was apparently among the first to be advertised nationally in the UK. It was made by Jacobsen, Welch and Co., who had their origins in London before becoming associated with their Newton Mill plant in Cheshire.

My current box of the stuff (shown above) came with a couple of slips reminding the owner to re-stock: ‘Say this after me - “I must get some more Waldorf Club - the noteworthy notepaper”’. The watermark on the pre-folded Post Octavo sheets includes the text “N.M.Ltd.” for Newton Mill Ltd., as the company had become known by the ’50s. If I had to guess, I’d hazard it may possibly date back as far as that decade, or perhaps from the following one. The reminder slip mentions a choice of two paper sizes and two colours; whereas some promotional material from the ’30s mentions half a dozen sizes and a wider variety of shades.

At some point during the ’70s the Club was dropped from the brand name, which, eventually, also became the company name: Waldorf Stationery & Greeting Cards Ltd. To my mind, the Waldorf stationery from this later period lacks the charm of their earlier production.

Special Bargain Offers

An interesting ebay purchase was a folder containing “Specimens of Die Stamping, Notepaper and Copperplate Printing” produced by the once-renowned London department store Harrods ahead of their 1940 January Sale. It contained the typewritten letter shown above, along with examples of stamped & printed personalised letterheadings, and samples of some of the various types of paper they stocked.

“Paper prices are literally soaring” begins the letter, getting straight to the point, before adding, realistically, that “even to-day’s prices will certainly go higher”. For some, it may have been a last chance to stock up before paper rationing took effect the following March, with, in its wake, measures such as the “Book Production War Economy Standard”. With the raw materials for paper-making (esparto, most notably) in ever shorter supply, British paper-makers were obliged in some cases to make do with rather less desirable stuff such as wheat-straw in its stead.

A Harrods catalogue of somewhat earlier vintage lists papers made by prestige manufacturers such as Joynson, Hollingworth, Towgood & Whatman, along with an extensive range of own-brand lines. I imagine their range wouldn’t have been too very different by 1940. Via separate ebay acquisitions I’ve had the chance to work my way through a cache of their ‘Hans Bank’ writing pads and to use a fine machine-made rag paper made by Hollingworth and sold by Harrods (I’m unsure when) under the ‘Stag of Kent’ brand: both were excellent.

Mourning Stationery

While its roots are apparently older, black-edged mourning stationery had a long heyday in the ostentatiously mournful Victorian era. The thickness of the black border would frequently be used to signal the severity of the sender’s grief, with the expectation it would become narrower over time until it was no longer used at all. Even while grief-stricken, however, people didn’t always necessarily want to do the same old thing, and some sought novelty: very thin ‘Italian’ borders became more prevalent toward the end of the 19th Century, while another option, introduced in 1890, was stationery marked with a single black triangle.

I have two sets of mourning stationery. Shown above is a box of The Queen’s Parchment paper, some nice-quality pre-folded octavo cream paper with a moderately thick border, along with a smaller number of notecards. Only two of the original envelopes remain. It was made by Thomas de la Rue & Co. Ltd., best known as manufacturers of playing cards, postage stamps and banknotes. One can only guess at its age: I would hazard it could date as far back to the 1900s or ’10s. I’m even less confident about the vintage of the Templecombe Mourning paper shown below, and no idea at all who might have made it. A mid-20th-Century origin wouldn’t surprise me, even though that was a time when such paper had become quite outmoded. It has a narrow ‘Italian’ border and a hammered surface texture.

English Lawn

As a small-time collector of vintage stationery, researching one’s ebay acquisitions can be very difficult. Trying to determine when or where a certain writing paper was made is too often a frustrating matter of the most inexact guesswork, given the paucity of ready references.

One of the best sources of information I have been able to find is a 1923 volume at the Internet Archive entitled Phillips' Paper Trade Directory of the World. Thanks to this book’s ‘Water-Marks and Trade Names’ section, I have, for example, ascertained that the box of ‘English Lawn’ paper shown above was made by the firm of G. Waterston & Sons. As it happens the watermarks in each sheet of the paper include the initials ‘G W & S’. Searching at Grace’s Guide turned up more information about the company, but little that might tell me when my paper might have been manufactured.

To my eye the packaging has a vaguely ‘Arts & Crafts’-influenced look about it which makes me think it may date back to the turn of the 20th century, but it could just as well be a later ‘retro’ design. Evidently, per Phillips' Directory ‘English Lawn’ (Lawn in this context referring to the fabric, rather than an expanse of grass) was a current or recent trade name in the early 1920s. I’d be surprised if the box were post-WWII.

Anyway, it’s lovely paper, in Post Octavo size, in this case in the form of pre-folded Post Quarto (9" x 7") sheets. It feels like fine-quality stuff, and has not discoloured in the least over time. I also have a box of matching Crown Quarto envelopes in the same shade, which can fit a sheet or two of the paper folded in half: trying to squeeze in any more in tends not to work too well. The gum on the envelopes has perished somewhat, but can still be made to stick perfectly well. I have to hope it’s more or less non-toxic!