Saturday, 7 February 2026

The Art of the Slow Reveal: Introducing Postcard-Postscripts

 In a world of instant uploads and disappearing stories, we’ve lost the "thud" on the doormat. We’ve traded the tactile, weathered corners of a postcard for the sterile glow of a smartphone screen.

That’s why I’m thrilled to introduce a blog: www.postcard-postscripts.uk

This isn’t just a gallery of vintage images. It is an invitation to pause, flip the card over, and eavesdrop on a century of human connection. It’s about the "postscript"—that extra bit of life written in the margins.

Why Postcards?

As a photographer, I’ve always been fascinated by how we choose to frame our lives. A postcard is a curated reality. On the front, you have the grand "official" view: the soaring towers of Coughton Court or the sunset over The Bridge in Newquay. But on the back? That’s where the real grit and grace of life reside.

A wide-angle photograph of the historic Coughton Court in Alcester. The central feature is a grand, three-story Tudor gatehouse with hexagonal turrets and large mullioned windows. The building is constructed of red brick and light-colored stone, set behind a vast, shaded green lawn under a bright blue sky with scattered clouds.

The reverse side of a National Trust postcard. It features the J. Arthur Dixon logo and identifies the location as the "West Front" of Coughton Court. The card is unaddressed and includes a "Post Office Preferred Size" graphic in the corner.

Caption: The West Front of Coughton Court. A grand facade that hides the quiet, everyday moments of the visitors who walked its grounds.

A Century of "Wish You Were Here"

When you explore the Postcard-Postscripts gallery, you aren’t just looking at architecture; you’re looking at personal history.

Take, for instance, a card from Boscombe Chine Gardens. On the front, a hand-tinted Edwardian dream of coastal hotels and lush valleys. It looks peaceful, almost frozen. But flip it over, and you find a message from February 1904. The writer mentions arriving home at "3:30 the other evening with a most lovely puncture in the front tyre."

It’s a perfect human moment. Over 120 years ago, someone was annoyed by a flat tyre, yet they still took the time to write home to Corfe Castle about enjoying the "contents of that bottle."

A colorized vintage postcard showing a sloping green valley with winding paths leading toward large Victorian-style hotels and houses on a cliffside. A handwritten date in the bottom right corner reads "25.2.04."

The back of a "The Wrench Series" postcard addressed to a Miss Cleall in Corfe Castle. It features a green half-penny stamp and a postmark from February 1904. The message mentions a "puncture in front tyre" and arriving home at 3:30.

Caption: Architecture meets anecdote. The 1904 Boscombe card reminds us that even a century ago, travel had its hiccups.

From Regency Grandeur to 80s Sunsets

A reproduction of a painting by James Holland. The scene depicts a bustling 19th-century London street with the Wellington (Constitution) Arch and the entrance screen to Hyde Park. Horse-drawn carriages and figures in period clothing are visible on a rough, unpaved road.

The back of a London Museum postcard providing historical details about the painting. It notes that the arch was moved in 1883 and that the right side of the image features St. George’s Hospital, built in 1828–9.

The collection spans the breadth of British history and photography styles. We move from the classical, painterly lithographs of Hyde Park Corner—capturing the "rough nature of the road surface" in 1829—to the saturated, warm glows of the 1980s.

There is something incredibly grounding about reading a card from Jennifer, John, Simon, and Matthew sent from Newquay. Written with a felt-tip pen and bearing a 13p stamp, it captures a universal truth of the British summer: "The boys like it here—it’s ideal for them with lots to do." It’s a snapshot of a family growing up, pinned to a moment where the tide was rising and the world felt at peace.

A dramatic photograph of "The Island" in Newquay at sunset. A narrow suspension bridge connects a high, grassy cliff to a rocky outcrop topped with a single house. The sea and sky are bathed in a warm orange and golden glow.

The back of an "Atmosphere Postcards" product. It is addressed to Mr. and Mrs. E. Burr in Birmingham with a brown 13p stamp. The handwritten message from Jennifer, John, Simon, and Matthew describes having a lovely time on the beach.

Caption: A 1980s sunset in Cornwall. The "Postscript" here is the simplicity of a family holiday well spent.

Take a Moment to View

I’ve designed this series to be viewed slowly. In the Postcard-Postscripts gallery, each entry features high-resolution scans of both sides. I encourage you to:

  1. Study the Image: Look at the composition. Notice the grain of the print and the way the light was captured (or painted) at the time.

  2. Read the Script: Observe the handwriting. From the elegant, flowing cursives of the early 1900s to the hurried block letters of the modern era, the penmanship is a photograph in itself.

  3. Imagine the Journey: Think about the postmen, the sorting offices, and the hands this piece of card passed through before landing in this digital archive.

Join the Conversation

Photography is about more than just the "shot"; it’s about the story that survives the click of the shutter. Postcard-Postscripts is my way of honouring those small, fleeting stories.

I’ll be updating the gallery weekly with new finds from my collection. I invite you to take five minutes today—put the kettle on, move away from the "scroll"—and step into a different era.

The full stories behind these postcards featured and many more can be seen only on postcard-postscripts.uk.

Please take a moment to share this post, follow me on social media, and explore my work on Clickasnap and Photo4Me using the links below. Your support means a lot!



Keep the art of connection alive—visit www.postcard-postscripts.uk for more.

The Art of the Slow Reveal: Introducing Postcard-Postscripts

 In a world of instant uploads and disappearing stories, we’ve lost the "thud" on the doormat. We’ve traded the tactile, weathered...