There’s a strange charm in flicking through the pages of an old British annual or children’s book. The illustrations linger—snatches of a different era, when a drawing told the story just as much as the words. If you look at postwar publishing, the scene is bursting with talent that was all too happy to let their work quietly speak for itself. Back then, photography wasn't king—at least, not in the way it is now. Magazines and annuals needed something more, something crafted by hand. Enter the illustrators.
One of the brightest spots in this constellation was John Minton (1917–1957). If you know British illustration, you know his line—expressive, slightly melancholic, hard to forget. Minton was more than just a painter; he collaborated with some of Britain’s best writers, like the cricket broadcaster John Arlott. Their work in the 1948/49 F.A. Book for Boys is a snapshot of the era—Minton’s drawings give postwar Britain a restless, contemplative energy. His legacy is so substantial that Martin Salisbury, a leading professor at Cambridge’s Ruskin School, catalogued nearly everything Minton ever published in The Snail that climbed the Eiffel Tower and other drawings by John Minton. If you ever get the chance to handle one of those original annuals Salisbury researched so thoroughly, count yourself lucky.
One of the brightest spots in this constellation was John Minton (1917–1957). If you know British illustration, you know his line—expressive, slightly melancholic, hard to forget. Minton was more than just a painter; he collaborated with some of Britain’s best writers, like the cricket broadcaster John Arlott. Their work in the 1948/49 F.A. Book for Boys is a snapshot of the era—Minton’s drawings give postwar Britain a restless, contemplative energy. His legacy is so substantial that Martin Salisbury, a leading professor at Cambridge’s Ruskin School, catalogued nearly everything Minton ever published in The Snail that climbed the Eiffel Tower and other drawings by John Minton. If you ever get the chance to handle one of those original annuals Salisbury researched so thoroughly, count yourself lucky.
But it wasn’t just the big names. The period is full of lesser-known figures whose work peeks out from beneath the surface. Minton’s students, for example—like Robert Hunt—were brought in on projects such as the F.A. annuals, sometimes credited, sometimes quietly anonymous. It’s almost a game for collectors now, hunting for the near-invisible signatures these artists left behind. Little clues in a margin or the curve of a line let us map out who was there—at least for those willing to do the detective work. Faith Jaques (1923–1997) stands out in any conversation about the era. Her style is playful, rich with character—a perfect match for British children’s books, from Great Expectations to The Borrowers Avenged. Jaques didn’t just illustrate stories; her work gave them a kind of gentle warmth that’s still unmistakable decades later. When you find her illustrations in old annuals and magazines, you get a sense of just how much she shaped British visual culture for young readers.
Then there’s the artists lost to history, like Diana John. Her presence is barely a whisper—artwork signed in a hard-to-read scrawl on page 107 of an old annual. There’s almost nothing about her in official records, yet there she is: working in the late '40s, contributing to a tradition she never got credit for. Sometimes all you can do is admire the art and wonder about the person behind it.
And while the covers on these books don’t usually get as much attention, William Stobbs (1914–2000) made them count. Lively, approachable, quietly humorous—his covers are among the most welcoming in mid-century children's publishing. Stobbs’ designs tied everything together, offering the perfect gateway into the illustrated world inside.
The late 1940s, then, weren’t just an interesting footnote for illustrators. This was a golden age that blended established talent and hidden gems, where art schools buzzed with collaboration and the resulting works shaped how generations of children and collectors saw the world. The illustrations endure, and so does the thrill of discovering who drew them—whether their names were ever recorded or now just hinted at in a swirling signature.
Welcome! This Work-in-Progress was started on 24/10/2025. There’s plenty of great content still to come as I keep digging into forgotten artists and the hidden corners of British illustration. Research is ongoing, and I’ll be sharing new discoveries and posts as the story unfolds—so check back soon for updates. If you have insights, forgotten references, or stories of your own, I’d love to hear from you. Please use the comments below to share what you know. This is a living investigation, piecing together history in real time, and your contributions could make all the difference. The story will take shape here—long before it ever finds its way to print.