Made for Friends: A Manuscript Deck of Cards Featuring Potter’s Hunca Munca and Princess Margaret

Some children are lucky enough to know an adult with the skills to make them special toys and games.  Sometimes those objects survive against the odds are offered to lucky curators. This little set of Schwarzer Peter cards (a Continental variation on Old Maid)  is just one such find.    It has twenty-seven instead of the usual fifty-two cards, but it seems to be complete because it fits perfectly in the blue box.  The lid has an illustrated title label in German that reads in English: “This game of Black Peter was painted for her dear friends Ernst and Anneliese Grossenbacher in St. Gall.”  It is signed Gertrud Lendorff, who just might be the Swiss art historian from Basel (1900-1981).

The cards cannot be earlier than the 1930s: one of the pair with the Union Jack in the upper left hand corners shows “Margaret Rose aus England.”  Margaret Rose, a little girl in a blue coat and hat with a green scarf, must be the late Princess Margaret (1930-2002), Queen Elizabeth II’s sister.

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A famous character from children’s books also makes an appearance here: Beatrix Potter’s Hunca Munca from The Tale of Two Bad Mice, identified only as “nach einem Englischen Kinderbuch,” that is, “from an English children’s book.”  It’s amusing that the illustrations of Hunca Munca  were redrawn from ones where this bad little mouse was behaving well relatively well.  My guess is that  little Grossenbachers for whom Lendorff made the cards might have been reading The Tale of Two Bad Mice in German translation.  But perhaps Lendorff was introducing them to a childhood favorite of her own. The cards don’t provide any clues about the circumstances in which they were made or how they were received, but they are testimony to Potter’s appeal outside her homeland.

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Most of the cards illustrate toys made of porcelain, clay, celluloid, and wood, such as Hansli and the matryoshka doll Tatyiana and her five daughters below.

swiss_cards_babtanddollsOne thing we find unacceptable today is Lendorff’s inclusion of toys that perpetuate offensive stereotypes.  The title label depicts a black baby doll and Lendorff’s model might have been a Heubach bisque character doll.  She redrew the same doll on the card with the caption “Der Schwarze Peterli! Nicht der Schwarze Peter!” [The little Black Peter! Not the Black Peter!].  It is an opprobrious caricature with unnaturally bright red lips.  But unlike some Heubach black baby dolls, it wears what looks like a knitted onesie instead of some spurious form of “native dress.”

covertitle The “Schwarzer Peter”—that is, “Black Peter”–mentioned on the title label is the name that the Old Maid card goes by in German, Danish, Swedish, Hungarian, and Finnish.  The card with Black Peter is the hot potato that all the players try to get rid of as quickly as possible so it won’t be in their hands at the end of the game.  In this particular set, the Black Peter is depicted offensively as a black rag doll (possibly inspired by Florence Upton’s famous character, the Golliwog) instead of the more usual chimney sweep.

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The Black Peter card in the manuscript Schwarzer Peter deck. Dieses spiel vom schwarzen Peter malte für ihre lieben St. Galler Freunde Ernst u. Anneliese Grossenbacher. [Switzerland?, [not before 1930?] (Cotsen)

In spite of the unpleasant images, this card set is a fascinating addition to Cotsen’s collection of manuscripts made for children over the last three hundred years..

See more Beatrix Potter at the Cotsen virtual exhibitions page

For Railfans and Trainspotters: The Romance of Rumples Rig Railwayman

Front cover

Front cover. The Romance of Rumples Rig Railwayman Manuscript. [Wargrave, 1921]. (Cotsen)

A pleasant little amateur manuscript has arrived from England (item no. 6814899). As the cover indicates, this piece was probably created as a Christmas gift for Cecil by his father in 1921. Cecil, we can guess, must have been quite young considering the picture book format of the work. Although it’s immediately recognizable that the author is an amateur story teller and bookmaker, these qualities only add to the item’s charm.

It’s a funny story, involving chance encounters, romance, and upward mobility. The manuscript is bound, colored, and written by hand.  If you look closely, you can see that the author first wrote in pencil and then traced his own hand (varying often) in black ink.  Most impressively, there are 21 humorous and talented illustrations (including the cover, title-page, and 19 leaves) each one painstakingly hand colored with watercolor and ink.

With the scene set, let’s let the work speak for itself:

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1-23-45-67-89-1011-1213-1415-1617-1819-2021-2223-2425-2627-2829-3031-3233-34

35-3637-38

 

Cute story right?

But there’s one other interesting and mysterious feature of the manuscript. It’s bookplate:

bookplatePasted into the inside front cover facing the title page, this bookplate answers some questions about the history of this manuscript and raises a few more.  After a little bit of research I was able to piece together that the acronym stands for Great Western Railway and that Wargrave refers to a village in Berkshire county, southeast England. The now defunct G.W.R. (founded 1833, nationalized at the end of 1947, becoming part of the Western Region of British Railways) opened a railway station in the small town of Wargrave in 1900.  Though the platform still remains today, The station building was demolished in 1988.

At some point between 1921 and 1947, Cecil or someone he knew must have given the manuscript over to the station (though it’s still unclear what kind of library the station might have had if it even had one).

So why would Wargrave train station have this item?

It might be more than just its train centered theme.  If you look closely at the second page (the first illustration after the title-page), you can just make out “GWR” written at the top of one of the papers on Rumples’ office wall. I think it’s safe for us to assume that this close affinity with and knowledge of the GWR (and the railroad goods office in general) probably points to this story being somewhat autobiographical. This, at least, would explain why the author’s family would want to donate the item to the station.

My flimsy guess is that the author himself probably worked in the goods office at Wargrave station. At some point, he must have fantasized about kicking his boss in the bum, getting a boat and a bike, and providing a better home for his children (not uncommon fantasies I’m sure).  At the very least, a talented and doting father created a fantastic gift for his son Cecil during the Christmas of 1921.  Now, 93 years later, we are pleased to have had the manuscript journey through many hands and across the pond to us.