WHEN was the last time a postcard landed on your doormat? When did you last send one?

These days it’s all about finding the wi-fi code when you’re away on holiday. The idea of sitting down with a pen and a pile of postcards and sending handwritten messages to the folks back home is as outdated as snoozing on a deckchair in socks and sandals, with a knotted hankie on your head.

But I love postcards. I collected them as a child, and I still bring a few home when I go on a trip. I always sent postcards to friends and family - the process of carefully selecting various postcards, writing a different message on each one, addressing them all (my address book was a staple item of my luggage), buying stamps and finding a postbox was a ritual of every holiday.

These days there are only two people I send postcards to: my friend and T&A colleague Helen Mead, who shares my love of them (we even send each other postcards from day trips) and my 92-year-old aunt, who can’t read so well these days but likes the pictures.

In an age when we share holiday photos on social media, there seems little point in sending postcards, which often don’t arrive until we’ve returned home. But it’s lovely to receive a handwritten message on a card that someone has taken the time to send, just for you.

It feels a bit niche, almost nerdy, buying a postcard. But they’re always there, on stands in souvenir shops, so I guess other people must buy and send them too. I like to buy postcards as a reminder of places I’ve been to. Some are arranged in albums, alongside holiday photos, and some are framed (including a collage of Barcelona postcards that are too beautiful to keep in a book).

Some people send themselves postcards; the locations and postage dates remind them of where they went and what they did, which is useful if you ever get around to writing a travel journal of your trip.

Postcards are time capsules. My grandparents didn’t go on holiday until they retired, when they jetted off on 1970s package deals to Spain, Italy and Malta. The postcards they sent seemed very exotic to me as a child - along with the Flamenco dancer dolls they brought back for me. Are holiday presents still a thing, or have they too gone the way of postcards?

Postcards date back to the mid-1800s; they swiftly became popular as a form of quick, cheap communication - the text messages of their time. Their heyday was the early 20th century, with more than 800 million sent each year in the Edwardian era. Bearing photographs of scenic vistas, family portraits, royal occasions, witty cartoons and military slogans, these cards were snapshots of the time. I went to an exhibition of First World War postcards and found it very moving to read handwritten messages, often jolly and matter-of-fact, sent to and from the Front by sweethearts, mothers and sons. Silk postcards with hand-embroidered designs, often flowers and regimental crests, were popular and soldiers, even prisoners-of-war, were encouraged to send them, to keep spirits up. “Try not to worry. The food isn’t bad, I’ve darned my socks. Cheerio for now” were often the last words posted home from a beloved boy in the trenches.

As holiday resorts developed, along with Victorian railways, postcards became synonymous with the seaside. Striped deckchairs, donkeys, piers and, later, the saucy seaside cartoons were all quintessential British postcards.

I have a particular soft spot for boring postcards. There really are postcards of ring roads, bus stations, shopping precincts, air traffic control towers, suburban bungalows, gas works, industrial parks and motorway bridges - all reflecting changing urban landscapes.

With just a few words scribbled across them, postcards down the ages are packed with social history. From romantic tokens to “Wish you were here” from the Costa, they have connected families, friends, neighbours and sweethearts across the sea for 150 years or so - landing on the doormat, with love.