There was a time when no trip to the British seaside was complete without picking up a postcard that featured a buxom woman, a hapless husband, and a pun so shamelessly awful it could curdle your ice cream. These gaudy, sun-bleached cards were a staple of souvenir shops from Blackpool to Brighton, gleefully dishing out double entendres, cartoonish exaggerations, and jokes about nosy mother-in-laws that were already outdated when your granddad was a lad.
But somewhere along the way, the great tradition of the British seaside postcard—those gloriously daft, mildly smutty little works of art—began to disappear. So, what happened? Have we become too sophisticated? Too easily offended? Or is it simply that fewer people are willing to send postcards at all, given that a text message can deliver the same crude joke in seconds, complete with emoji enhancement?
A Brief History of Questionable Taste
Seaside postcard humour as we know it really took off in the early 20th century, but it was in the post-war years that it flourished, largely thanks to the artistic contributions of one man: Donald McGill. Dubbed the “King of the Saucy Postcard,” McGill was responsible for thousands of designs that played on innuendo, British prudishness, and a national obsession with bad puns.
His work was simple yet effective: oversized women in polka-dot swimsuits, hapless men caught in unfortunate situations, and captions that relied heavily on the nation’s favourite pastime—suggesting something rude without actually saying it.
Example? A picture of a woman at a fortune teller’s booth with the line:
“I see something big in your future!”
Or a flustered vicar caught in a gust of wind near a shapely young lady, exclaiming:
“Blimey! That’s a strong one!”
By today’s standards, these jokes are almost charmingly tame. But at the time, they were considered scandalous. In 1954, McGill’s work was even the subject of an obscenity trial, because nothing screams British decency quite like dragging a man to court over a cartoon of a fat bloke struggling with his deckchair.
Changing Tastes, Changing Times
So, why did these postcards start to fade from view? Part of it, inevitably, is down to shifting social attitudes. What was once considered cheeky now runs the risk of being seen as outdated, sexist, or just a bit naff. Society has moved on from the days when the height of risqué humour involved a buxom landlady bending over with the caption:
“He likes a full pint, but he’s always happy with a half!”
Also, with the decline of the great British seaside holiday—thanks to cheap flights abroad—the traditional postcard-buying demographic has shrunk. People aren’t sending postcards home when they can WhatsApp a sunburnt selfie instead.
But the biggest change? The internet killed the postcard joke.
Where once you had to physically browse a rack of cards outside a gift shop to find a chuckle-worthy bit of smut, now you can get your fill of lowbrow humour via memes, Twitter, or WhatsApp group chats. Why buy a printed joke about an old man struggling with his deckchair when you can scroll through thousands of similar jokes online, often updated to reflect the latest cultural mishaps?
Are They Gone for Good?
Not entirely. Some traditional seaside towns—Blackpool, Scarborough, Skegness—still sell them, often featuring updated jokes that nod to modern sensibilities. You’re more likely to see jokes about hen dos, craft gin, and people being glued to their phones rather than the old “blonde bombshell” clichés.
But they’ve lost their dominance. A postcard stand that once displayed 50 variations of near-identical double entendres now has to compete with racks of novelty keyrings and plush seagulls wearing hats.
And maybe that’s fine. Maybe some jokes belong to a particular time and place. But there is something a little sad about the idea that the humble seaside postcard, once Britain’s most daring form of mass-produced filth, is now just another relic of a more innocent (yet somehow naughtier) time.
So, next time you’re at the British seaside, take a moment to appreciate the last remaining survivors of this once-thriving art form. And if you spot one that makes you groan and roll your eyes in equal measure, buy it. Stick it on the fridge. Keep the tradition alive.
After all, a joke about an old man struggling with his deckchair never really goes out of fashion.
Dwight Warner is the quintessential oddball Brit, with a weirdly American-sounding name, who has a knack for turning the mundane into the extraordinary. Hailing originally from London, now living in the sleepy depths of Lincolnshire but claiming an allegiance to the absurd, Dwight has perfected the art of finding the surreal in real life. Whether it’s a spirited rant about the philosophical implications of queueing or a deep dive into why tea tastes better in a mug older than you, his blogs blur the line between the abstract and the everyday.
With an irreverent wit and a penchant for tangents that somehow come full circle, Dwight Warner doesn’t just write; he performs on the page. His humour is both sharp and delightfully nonsensical, like Monty Python met your nosiest neighbour and they decided to co-write a diary.
Known for being gregarious, Dwight is the life of any (real or metaphorical) party, whether he’s deconstructing the existential crisis of mismatched socks or sharing his inexplicable theories about why pigeons are secretly running the economy.
A larger-than-life personality with a laugh as loud as his opinions, Dwight Warner invites readers to step into a world where everything’s slightly askew—and that’s exactly how he likes it.
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