Month: February 2026
Name, Number, Next of Kin
American identity discs from the Second World War are among the most recognisable pieces of twentieth-century militaria, yet even they evolved as the conflict intensified. This early matched pair to Joseph S Swierszcz tells a fuller story than most later examples.
Stamped with his full name and service number – 12087834 – the discs also record T43, indicating his tetanus shot in 1943, along with the complete name and address of his next of kin: Mrs B Swierszcz, 2093 Mohegan Ave, New York, N.Y. It is that level of personal detail that marks these out as an early-war issue.
As American involvement deepened, reports emerged that German forces were broadcasting captured prisoners’ home addresses over the radio. In response, identity discs were simplified to include only name, number and tetanus year. Earlier discs bearing full next-of-kin details were soon discontinued, making surviving examples like this pair increasingly desirable.
Both discs are identical, machine-punched from one side. The shorter chain was designed so one tag could be removed if a soldier fell, leaving the second for identification. The small groove opposite the chain hole simply secured the blank in the stamping machine – despite the persistent myth that it was meant to hold the disc between a soldier’s teeth.
A modest object in size, perhaps, but rich in personal history and wartime adaptation.
Hulme, Sweet Hulme
Tokens turn up in all shapes and sizes, and they’re often found mixed in with old copper coinage – which makes them one of the best “accidental discoveries” in collecting.
This group is a cracking example of how tokens can act as miniature time-capsules for everyday life.
The first is a days shooting token, featuring a woodcock above crossed rifles. The crossed rifles detail is especially nice – it’s the classic marksman badge motif, instantly tying the piece to shooting culture and rural sport.
Then we have a token linked to Lancashire, Hulme, Manchester: the White House Hotel and Pleasure Gardens. Dating to the 1830s, it reflects a time when guests could be offered shooting rights in what is now inner-city Manchester – which feels pretty surreal today! The public house itself closed in 1882 and was later demolished, leaving the token as one of the few tangible traces of a vanished leisure spot.
Finally, there’s a wonderfully Victorian promotional piece: a one penny Glow-worm Pictorial Newspaper token, c.1860, showing a glowing worm. The paper’s proprietor, William Wybrow Robertson, had a life that reads like a novel – civil service in Bombay, management at London’s Royal Aquarium Theatre, and four marriages across a long career.
Word of the Day: Digitubalism
Digitubalism is the proper term for wearing a thimble, which feels like the sort of word that should earn you a free coffee just for knowing it. And once you start looking at thimbles closely, it’s easy to see why they’ve been collected for generations. Thimbles might be small, but as collectables they carry a surprising amount of history in the palm of your hand.
The earliest thimbles go back a very long way, even pre-medieval, and the medieval examples are often known as “beehives” because of their distinctive domed shape. The thimbles shown here are much later versions, made for everyday sewing and tailoring – but they still tell a brilliant story of changing materials, styles, and social habits.
One of the easiest ways to spot how thimbles evolved is simply by comparing sizes. In the first photo, you can see adult and children’s thimbles from the early 1900s, typically made in steel or brass. Alongside them are open-ended stitching thimbles, designed for a slightly different grip and sewing technique.
There’s also a wonderful group of American advertising thimbles, including a Coca-Cola example from the era when Coke was priced at just five cents – a tiny time capsule of everyday life.
For collectors, fully hallmarked silver thimbles are always a premium, but perhaps the most fascinating are the wartime pieces. During the war effort, a Bakelite thimble was issued as part of the personal military sewing kit, known as a “housewife”.
And then, for something completely different: a Kingswood wooden thimble, and finally a gold example… which, if you’re feeling romantic, may once have belonged to a princess.
Londinium’s Glass Act
Here’s a tiny piece of Roman glass, measuring just 1.7cm across – and somehow still packed with detail.
Found on the Thames foreshore, this is the kind of mudlarking discovery often described as “eyes only”: small, easily missed, but instantly exciting once spotted. The glass is a pale, light green, and carved as an intaglio with the image of a male lion. At the upper left edge, you can also make out the sun.
Although the piece is slightly off-circular, that’s likely down to the manufacturing process. In its original life it would probably have been fitted into a mount, which would have hidden the irregular edge and allowed the design to be used as intended.
The lion and sun motif appears across many cultures, but in the Roman world it commonly represented power, strength, and divine authority – a visual shorthand for “everything under the sun”. Lions also feature heavily in Roman symbolism, with figures such as Venus and Hercules often associated with them to suggest ferocity and bravery.
It’s hard not to marvel at the thought behind it: in Roman times, the only place most people would ever see a living lion was at the gladiatorial games. Perhaps this was a souvenir from a bustling market stall in Londinium – lost, buried, and then rediscovered centuries later… before eventually making its way to Charing Cross Market. What’s certain is that the finder had very sharp eyesight…
(£1 coin shown for scale.)
