In the golden age of aviation, flying was an exhilarating and daring affair, reserved for the privileged few. Taking to the skies was a thrilling experience, and even something as mundane as sending mail by air sparked wonder and amusement among onlookers, like the residents of Tiberius in the 1930s, who marveled at the flying boats landing gracefully on Lake Kineret.

But today, we're not here to talk about the spectacle of early air travel. Instead, we're going to unravel the intriguing tale behind an unassuming cover that most would dismiss as ordinary. Little do they know, this innocuous envelope has a story of daring adventure and calamity that would make even the most seasoned traveler's heart race.
On the 27th of January, 1932, Imperial Airways inaugurated the first regular weekly flight from Cape Town to London, and this cover was a passenger on that maiden voyage. The journey began in Cape Town, with a stopover in Salisbury, Southern Rhodesia. But on the 29th, as the "City of Basra," a mighty Hercules DH.66 flying boat, prepared to take off from Salisbury, disaster struck.

While taxiing on the runway, the aircraft encountered a treacherous patch of soft earth, the remnant of a previously removed anthill. The impact was severe, leaving the majestic flying boat battered and unable to continue its journey. Thus, our unassuming cover earned its first battle scar, a "crash cover" in the parlance of aviation enthusiasts.

Undeterred, the passengers and mail, including our intrepid envelope, were hastily transferred to another flying boat, the "City of Delhi." With hopes high, the flight took off without incident. But the skies had other plans. A violent storm descended upon the aircraft, forcing an emergency landing in a swamp 50 miles from Broken Hill, Northern Rhodesia. Can you believe the misfortune? Two crashes in as many days!

As if the ordeal wasn't harrowing enough, the crew and passengers found themselves marooned in the swamp, their only salvation the prospect of being spotted by another passing flight. Two search planes scoured the area, but the relentless rain hampered their efforts. Finally, the "City of Baghdad" took to the skies, and its crew's sharp eyes located the stranded travelers.

With relief and resilience, the mail, including our indomitable cover, was carried by native bearers to Broken Hill, arriving on the 4th of February. From there, it was loaded onto the "City of Baghdad" for the final leg of its journey to London, bearing the scars of its remarkable odyssey.

So, the next time you come across an ordinary-looking envelope, pause and consider the extraordinary tales it might hide. This cover, which most would dismiss as unremarkable, has a story of daring, calamity, and perseverance that would make even the most seasoned adventurer's heart swell with admiration.

Would you believe it? Back in the late 19th century, there was a lot of prejudice against Jewish people. Surprising, right? Well, meet Wilhelm Marr, a German journalist who actually came up with the term "antisemitism" in 1879. He used this fancy term to describe hostility towards Jews. He introduced it in his publication, "The Victory of Judaism over Germandom." So, it all started with a book in Germany in 1879! Quite the scientific term compared to simply calling it Jew-hatred, don't you think?

This prejudice was so prevalent in German society that it gave rise to antisemitic parties like the German Social Party (DSP), founded around the same time as Marr's term. Led by Adolf Stoecker, a Protestant pastor, this movement blended conservative, nationalist, and anti-Semitic ideas. They claimed that Jews held too much power in finance, commerce, and the media, which they believed was harming German culture. They even advocated for legal restrictions on Jewish economic activities and university enrollment, similar to Nazi ideology later on. As we all know, the same idea of Jews controlling everything still prevails today. Today people actually believe that Israel controls almost everything, including using birds and sharks as spies!

Responding to this growing antisemitism, the Zionist movement emerged, aiming to establish a Jewish homeland in Palestine. This idea was met with some support within antisemitic circles, suggesting that maybe it would be a good idea to expel Jews.

Here we see a postcard from around 1900, titled "Die Zukunft" (The Future) which shows German soldiers forcing out a large group of Jews, who are following a route indicated by the sign "Nach Palästina" (To Palestine). The exiled Jews, portrayed with stereotypical negative attributes such as deformed bodies and enormous noses, are pictured leaving a lush landscape and crossing into barren desert land, which was how Palestine was seen. Unfortunately this postcard is not mine.