“On June 4, 1944, a German submarine known as the U-505 was prowling off the coast of West Africa on a hunt for American and Allied ships, when depth charges from the USS Chatelain blasted the dreaded U-boat out of hiding.  It was the end of a violent run for U-505, which had terrorized the Atlantic Ocean as part of a massive U-boat campaign that almost altered the outcome of World War II.  The Museum of Science & Industry invites you to step inside the real U-505 — the only German submarine in the United States and, now, a national memorial to the 55,000 American sailors who gave their lives on the high seas in WW I and WW II.”

That’s a pretty good summary, considering that it had to fit on the back of this postcard.  Here’s the rest of the story:

A Naval Task Force consisting of the aircraft carrier Guadalcanal and five destroyer escorts, including Chatelain, searched the general area off the coast of Africa for two weeks in May and June of 1944, using radio direction finders to try to triangulate on the position of any radio transmitters — that is, any U-boats.  Their mission was to find and capture a U-boat, along with its Enigma codebooks.  By 4 June, they were running low on fuel and heading for Casablanca for more, when Chatelain made sonar contact with U-505 just 800 yards in front of them.

After six minutes of attacks with depth charges from Chatelain and from Guadalcanal aircraft, the sub, taking on water, surfaced 700 yards from Chatelain.  The ship opened fire on the decks with surface guns, and were joined by two other destroyers and two aircraft.  (One German sailor was killed, more were wounded.)  U-505‘s commander ordered his crew to abandon ship and, so efficiently did they do this, that they neglected to stop the engines or prepare the ship to be scuttled.

American sailors rescued the Germans, got aboard U-505, killed the engines, and grabbed their codebooks and cypher gear.  Guadalcanal‘s chief engineer managed to use U-505‘s engines to charge her dead batteries and pump out the water, and the sub was towed to Bermuda.

If word of U-505‘s capture had gotten out, the Germans would have known that some of their codes and cyphers had been compromised, and the Navy briefly considered court martialing Guadalcanal‘s captain, Daniel Gallery.  However, the capture remained a secret, and all involved were highly decorated.

After the war, U-505 was scheduled to be used for target practice.  However, Captain Gallery’s brother, a Chicago priest, learned of the plan and contacted the Museum, which had always been interested in acquiring a submarine.  The US Government donated it to Chicago in 1954, and the interior was refitted with parts provided by the Germans for free.  U-505 was exhibited outdoors for 50 years and, in 2004, was moved into an interior space in the Museum.  After some repairs, the exhibit was reopened in 2005.

This card came to me from Kristin, who volunteers at the Museum.  She sent it after learning that my last visit to the Museum was in 1988, and wanted to bring me up to date.  Postcards: the next best thing to being there.

When Natalia in Saint Petersburg, Russia proposed a postcard swap some weeks ago, I could hardly resist.  In exchange for a handful of postcards promoting social causes, she sent me several beautiful views of her city at night.  Serendipitously, these cards fit in very nicely with Postcardy’s Postcard Scavenger Hunt for July: Night/Lights.

The backs of these cards have large, bold titles in Russian and English, with smaller titles in German, French, Spanish, and Italian.  Then the photo and publisher credits are listed in English and Russian, along with the publisher’s logo.  As you might imagine, and like many Russian cards (and Soviet cards before them), this leaves very little room for any message you might want to send along with the card.

Without further ado, please enjoy these views of Saint Petersburg at night. 

It took me some time to decide which lake this is; there is no English-language caption on the card, and Winnie, who drew a very cute self-portrait on the back of the card, told me only that the picture “is a famous lake in Taiwan”, and even then only as a postscript.  On the other hand, it’s always nice to get a postcard on which the subject of the message is something besides the postcard itself.  As for the messages that I myself send out, I plead the fifth.

Ultimately, I was able to puzzle out the Chinese caption on the front of the card.  Sun Moon Lake  (日月潭) is named from the notion that  the lake’s east side is round like the Sun, while the west side is in the shape of a crescent moon.  It’s also the place to be in Taiwan if you’re on your honeymoon, much as Niagara Falls used to be the traditional destination for honeymooners in the US.

In the middle of the lake, between the sun and the moon, is Lalu Island, which is sacred ground to the Thao tribe (or Shao, depending on who you ask), who are a people aboriginal to Taiwan.  As a result, no non-tribesman are allowed on the island, nor is swimming allowed in the lake, except for a few special events.

All the way from Vaasa, Finland comes today’s postcard of a painting by Albert Edelfelt (1854-1905), a founder of the Realist art movement in Finland, and one of the first Finnish artists to become internationally famous, at least in his own time.  I believe that this is my first exposure to his work; a website called Vaasa Pages features more of Edelfelt’s paintings.

Anneli writes: “I very much like the atmosphere on this picture. The boys seem to have fun!”  I agree, but I’m afraid that boys of today (my grandsons included) are too jaded by 21st century technology to take amusement from the simple pleasures pictured.  Fortunately, I am not.

Among the dozen items in my mailbox today (and thank you, senders, and please allow me some time to post your amazing items) was this card from the lovely Ineke, who writes: “On the card you’ll see the traditional dresses from Holland, but nobody wears them nowadays. The children are doing touwtje springen (rope jumping).” I like the Dutch language because, as a native English speaker, I can almost read it. My Babel fish says that “the cow jumped over the moon” translates to De koe die over de maan is gesprongen.

This card actually seems to be composed of two pieces: the matte black picture frame, if you will, with a photochrome print inside the embossed edge. Given that the card has no description, I suspect that the “frames” are sold with several different images.

This white-border card with its deckled edge bears no description of any kind on the back. The stampbox, asking for one cent postage, indicates that it was published prior to 1952, but I suspect it is much older — possibly dating as far back as the late ’30s. Published by the Asheville Post Card Company.

This is a postcard my Aunt Brenda picked up on one our many trips to Western Pennsylvania, to my grandma’s old homestead. It has a post-publication stamp on the back reading “Greetings from Perryopolis, PA”.

In case you’re wondering, Izaak Walton was the author of The Compleat Angler.

Linen postcard in pristine condition. This is “A ‘Colourpicture’ Publication, Cambridge, Mass.”, and was (originally) sold by Frank M. Shurtleff of Gloucester, probably a shopkeeper or distributor. The stampbox specifies postage of one cent.

This is a Christmas postcard sent to my great-grandfather, in care of his father, James Henry Smith. It was sent perhaps as early as (but no earlier than) 1907. The sender is unknown, and there is no message.

This card has some unique features. For one thing, there is no indication (that I can see, even after close examination of the high-resolution scan) that there was ever a stamp placed on this card. There is a cancellation mark over the stampbox itself, with the number “1″ breaking one of the lines of the mark. Did this number denote that the one-penny postage had been paid? I have not seen another instance like it among my collection.

There is also the publisher’s mark: the notation “SL & CO” within a circle, and the circle with angel’s wings on either side. This is the mark of S. Langsdorf and Company, of New York and Germany. The card, like most pre-World War I cards, was printed in Germany and presumably exported to the New York office for sale in the United States.

There are several cards without messages in the collection (which will be posted, eventually), and many of those were apparently hand-delivered — probably similar to the way that the younger kids exchange Valentines today.

“Painted by Emanuel Leutze in 1851, this famous canvas, measuring 21 by 12 feet, has been on display since February 1952 in the Washington Crossing Methodist Church at Washington Crossing, Pennsylvania. The painting is on loan from the Metropolitan Museum of Art to the Washington Crossing Park Commission. Here it has been viewed annually by more than 100,000 visitors who have come to admire America’s best known historical painting.”

This card is marked as copyrighted in 1962, with an item number of 56470, and published by The Scheller Company of Hackettstown, New Jersey. The actual painting has since been returned to the Met.