Jewels and Stones

click photo to enlarge

"You can't always get what you want,
But if you try sometimes,
Well you just might find,
You get what you need!"
from "You Can't Always Get What You Want", M. Jagger/K. Richards, 1968, on the album "Let it Bleed" 1969

I was never a big fan of the Rolling Stones - the musicianship, songwriting prowess and originality of the Beatles appealed much more. And, though I would listen with interest to their borrowings from the blues, and thought it was interesting how they developed their brand of rock, I wasn't motivated to buy their music. I found Mick Jagger's singing style and posturing ludicrous, but grudgingly recognised that he wrote a few good songs. However, Keith Richards' guitar playing, and his very inventive riffs were definitely worth a listen. As were the second guitarists who came along periodically to fill the gap left by Brian Jones' early demise: I had a particular liking for Mick Taylor. But, as a total experience the Stones didn't do it for me. Until, that is, "Let it Bleed" - the only Stones music I ever bought - came along. This album had a few excellent songs, particularly the one quoted above, but also the peerless "Gimme Shelter". It was the latter song, where Merry Clayton takes the lead voice, that made me realise what it was that the Rolling Stones needed - a female singer in place of Jagger! However, rock bands like the Rolling Stones are successful not only for their music, but also because of their image, and since that revolved around their lead singer, I always knew that my idea would never materialise.

You're perhaps wondering what the Rolling Stones have got to do with my photograph of a spider's web laden with dew drops? Well, I've been feeling that I needed to inject a bit more variety into the images I've been posting, so the first thick fog of the year prompted me to see if I could get a shot of pylons and wind turbines sticking up through the low-lying murk. However, when I went out I thought I'd better first see if there were any shots to be found outside my house. After a bit of looking I came upon a few webs decorating my drive gates, and captured this image. My subsequent foggy expedition turned up not one decent shot, and as I headed home these words came into my head (join in with either a Jagger drawl-cum-sneer, or a London Bach Choir angelic voice) "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, well you just might find, you get what you need!"

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Reflecting on reflections

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Reflections in water are a popular subject for photographers. By and large, the better the reflection, the more likely it is that it will be captured by a camera. Snow capped mountains mirrored in an ice cold lake is a particular favourite. So too are reflected buildings in ornamental ponds or rivers. Or ducks on a still sheet of water, each bird with its inverted double immediately below. I've taken my share of these shots, such as this building, these trees, and this heron. Less popular is the reflection made by disturbed water, yet it has much to commend it.

The painterly effect that such a reflection produces can be very satisfying. The broken image, impressionistically rendered, with strokes that suggest the marks of a watercolour brush on wet paper have a pleasing quality. A few examples from my previous posts include this railway bridge , this fence, and this stormy sky behind sharply captured, newly emerged, water lily leaves.

My most recent foray into this area is shown above. It was taken from a bridge over the River Welland in Spalding, Lincolnshire, though it could be anywhere. The brief appearance of the sun through a small hole in an angry sky prompted the shot. I was looking for an image that drew its strength from the bright point in a tonally differentiated, but largely monochrome and fractured surface. Circular ripples made by either rising bubbles or fish kept appearing at unforeseeable points and intervals, so I waited for a few and included those too. Not a shot that will appeal to many I suppose, but it pleases me, and that's what matters!!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 36mm (72mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Chess and design

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What is good design? That's a simple question that is not so simply answered. Some say good design is what works well and pleases someone, and does so regardless of the time in which it is made. Others maintain that a good design can only be related to the period in which it appeared. I think there is a universality about a good design so here are my suggestions about what constitutes this difficult art.

A good design has simplicity, like the claw hammer . A good design is beautiful - not in the sense of having a style superimposed like an "E Type" Jaguar, but a beauty that comes from the unity of form and function, like the Citroen 2CV! A good design works - every time, and goes on working for a long time, like the double-lever corkscrew. A good design has enduring appeal, like a William Morris chintz, a Wedgwood coffee pot, or Le Corbusier's chaise longue. And finally, a good design looks right, obvious, inevitable, and makes you think that this is the way the object should be made!

The Staunton chess set, shown in today's photograph, incorporates all these qualities. The basic design dates from 1849 and arose from the need to standardise pieces so that they were familiar to all players, regardless of nationality. The first sets, made in London by Nathaniel Cook and his brother-in-law, John Jaques, showed slight differences between the King's Knight and Rook compared with those of the Queen. But, since no real need existed for this variation, it was soon abandoned. The shape of all the pieces could be largely completed on a lathe, with the exception of the Knight which needed more hand-finishing. Apparently its design came from a horse on the Elgin Marbles, ancient Greek sculptures from the Parthenon held by the British Museum. Howard Staunton, a noted English player and writer on chess, endorsed the design and his name has been associated with it ever since. Today the Staunton design is the most widely used chess set, and the mandatory form in many national and international tournaments.

This image was made using natural light from a window above and beyond the chess set. A longish focal length lens helped to give a sense of depth, and I placed a white card behind the board to silhouette the pieces.

P.S. Chess enthusiasts will note the not-so-deliberate mistake in the placing of the pieces on a board set up for a photo-op rather than a game!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 31mm (62mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/4
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Patience pays off

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People who know that I'm interested in photography often ask me how I get a good image. That's not a question that can be answered succinctly. The questioner often assumes it's down to the camera, but that piece of technology is usually the least significant factor, only marginally more important than the brand of brushes a painter uses, or the type of pen a writer favours! Those with a little more knowledge of photography think the lens must be a factor, and in truth it is usually more important than the camera body, but it's not usually critical.

When I reply that the ability to "see" images, to mentally put together compositions, to strongly want to create a photograph, to have an interest in light, tone, colour, composition, story telling, etc. then people glaze over! And if I add that, in my case, an interest in fine art (painting) is very important, and that I don't find reading books about cameras very helpful, then they switch off further. The ultimate turn off, though, is when I mention the importance of digital processing using the computer. But all of these factors are very important for me. For other photographers, however, it will be different. Many think that photography means travel, and for some photographers it does. For me it's not important: most of my best images come from the area in which I live, and are secured by repeatedly visiting the same locations at different times of day and year.

However, one attribute that I think is vital in securing a good image is patience: the willingness to re-visit a place many times, and more specifically, the ability to wait around until all the elements necessary for capturing the photograph as you envisage it, are in place. Take this shot of the church of St Andrew, Butterwick, Lincolnshire, a medieval building with an eighteenth century tower and Victorian additions, that I've been to a few times. The other day I was resigned to making an image of the building with flat lighting under a brooding sky. However, there was sufficient movement in the clouds for me to hope that the sun might get through and model the building better. So, as my wife went to explore the inside of the church, I remained outside and waited. And waited. And waited. Until finally I was rewarded by a pool of sunlight that moved towards, then over, the building. I fired off some shots, with a range of camera settings, aiming to ensure I got the photograph that I wanted. When I came to process the images, and particularly when I converted one to black and white, I was struck by how much the light and shadows made it look like a nineteenth century engraving. I really liked it and thought to myself, "That's the reward for your patience!"

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Two old buoys

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I've always been amazed by the fact that we continue to have traffic lights that use green to signify "Go" and red to indicate "Stop". Given that up to 8% of males and 2% of females experience red/green colour blindness you'd think that we'd have taken this into account in their design, or have long ago changed the colours to ones that aren't mis-read so frequently. Colour blind drivers are known to use the position of the lights to determine what to do, and I don't often read about accidents caused by this reason, so perhaps its not the problem I imagine it to be.

I was thinking about this as I photographed two buoys on the docks at King's Lynn, Norfolk. They were very faded, but were clearly red and green. Pairs of newer and better painted buoys nearby were also red or green, but much brighter. Their juxtaposition made me wonder if sailors experienced the same potential for confusion when steering by these buoys that mark channels. However, in preparing this piece I read that in most of the world (except the Americas, the Philippines and Japan) green buoys are conical and indicate starboard, and red buoys are cylindrical and show port. So, the designers of this navigation aid contrived a system that was legible in high contrast light (silhouette) and by colour blind people. But why did they use potentially confusing red and green? Was it simply to mimic the lights that ships carry? It seems that many of our designs, like the QWERTY keyboard on which I am writing this blog entry, have a life that extends much longer than good sense would dictate, and inertia is as strong a force in our "ever changing" world as it ever was!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 20mm (40mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Summer morning churchyard

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Twice this year I've made the journey to the top of the tower of St Swithun, Bicker. The first was on a foggy, frosty day, and the second when it was warm and sunny, but slightly hazy. Only on that brighter day did I get a few photographs of the view over the the flat Fenland landscape.

The ascent of the tower starts by entering an internal low, narrow door that leads to steps spiralling up to the ringing floor. This level of the tower is where the bell ringers stand to ring the eight bells of the church's peal. It's a cosy place decked out, as these places often are, with photographs of previous ringers and records of notable ringing feats. A wooden ladder is needed to get to the next level of the tower where the bells are held in an elaborate and solid framework of steel and wood. Once there, contortions are required to get to a steel ladder up to the trap-door that leads out on to the roof itself. This is a shallow, lead-covered pyramid surrounded by the old stone battlements. Successive generations have inscribed names, dates and outlines of of their feet on the lead surface. The oldest date I recall seeing was from the nineteenth century, so I imagine the roof was re-covered in Victorian times.

It's said that from the top of the tower, on a clear day, 14 medieval church towers can be seen. On my second visit I could see (or imagined I could see - I'd forgotten my binoculars!) the big towers of Boston, Swineshead, Donington, Quadring, Heckington, Helpringham, Swaton, and Gosberton. However, I struggled to see others because of the tall churchyard and roadside trees, and the heat haze that hung over the horizon. A clear winter day, when the trees are bare, perhaps will extend the view to Billingborough, Horbling, Threekingham, Surfleet, Sutterton, and maybe Great Hale or Pinchbeck. I think I'll have to choose my day more carefully for my next climb!

Today's photograph was taken on a sunny August morning with the early sun throwing long shadows in the churchyard.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Battered but not broken

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The climate of the British Isles is classified as "temperate". The summers don't usually get too hot, the winters are never that cold, and rain is fairly regular. Snow doesn't fall as often as children would like, and frost is a winter regular but is usually not too harsh. One of the effects of weather with these characteristics is that ancient buildings slowly crumble unless serious efforts are made to conserve them. Freeze-thaw, rain (including the acid variety), wind and general damp take their toll on mortar joints, roof coverings, bricks, stone and foundations. Metal rusts easily, and wood rots.

It's salutary to compare the Roman remains of Britain with those of the drier, warmer Mediterranean countries. Hadrian's Wall that crosses Northern England is a visible structure of clearly cut stones, but details, sculpture, lettering etc are difficult to find, and the best examples are those that received the protection of being buried for centuries. There is no remaining, standing, Roman triumphal arch in Britain, yet beautifully detailed examples can be found in Southern France, Italy and elsewhere.

The same is true of medieval work. Italian buildings of the thirteenth century look fresher, and have more detail, than those of the same date in Britain.With all this in mind, many people are surprised to find that original wood and ironwork on the exterior of medieval buildings can still be found in this islands. Today's image, the south door of c.1250AD on the church of St Andrew, Sempringham, Lincolnshire, is a subject that I've photographed and written about before here. I had the opportunity to capture it again yesterday, and this time I included the handle of the door. The thumb lever has been worn extremely thin over the centuries, yet it still, like the door itself, performs its useful task perfectly. In fairness, at the end of the Victorian period a porch was built over the south door, so for just over a century the metal and wood has been protected from the elements. However, it is a tribute to the skill of the original crafstmen and to the reverence for this aged artefact that has existed down the ages, that in Britain's climate it is still there at all!

My recent visit to see the door gleaned one fact that is at variance with my original description of its construction: apparently the wood is "fir" (yew perhaps?) and not oak.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.5
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -1.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Appreciating clouds

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I am one of the 13,175 (and counting) fully paid up members of The Cloud Appreciation Society, an organisation that proclaims the beauty and interest of clouds, that fights the banality of "blue sky thinking", and urges everyone to live life with their head in the clouds!

It's not surprising that this UK-based organisation has found more than half its membership in this group of islands: the British Isles are noted, not always favourably, for the clouds that stream overhead. However, members can be found across the world, in 66 very different countries, so it is obvious that elsewhere there are people who walk around looking upwards, appreciating the beauty of the meteorological phenomenon that makes our planet (as far as we know) unique.

If, like me, you can't conceive of living in a place where clouds don't form part of your everyday experience, and you want to maximise the pleasure that this marvel of nature offers, then you could do worse than visit the Cloud Appreciation Society's website. Here you will find information about types of cloud, photographs that illustrate the beauty of clouds, images of clouds that look like animals and objects, cloud art, poetry and prose, and much more.

I was thinking about the beauty of clouds (and this inexpensive, fun Society) as I took this photograph of a Lincolnshire wind farm. The past week has produced some particularly lovely skies, and I was pleased to be able to use these very three-dimensional fair weather clouds (stratocumulus) as a backdrop to the turbines.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 1/500
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Colour or monochrome?

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When colour photography was invented most people thought that it would totally eclipse its monochrome predecessor. After all, we see the real world in colour not shades of grey, and photography, on the whole, records what our eyes see. But it never quite worked out that way.

Perhaps people were seduced by the analogy with fine art. The "best" paintings were done in oil colours. Monochrome was, by and large, confined to sketches, inks and washes, preparatory works and the odd painting by the even odder artist - usually German or Russian - working under the "modernist" banner. However, surprisingly, black and white photography continued, supported by those who couldn't afford the higher cost of colour, or who wanted the control that comes from processing your own negatives and prints, and by those working in the field of "fine art photography". The latter development is quite ironic, since in a sense it was the reverse of what was happening in painting. But, many of this kind of photographer refused to be seduced by upstart colour, felt no restriction in limiting themselves to monochrome, and were happy to continue the tradition of black and white work that was, by the middle of the twentieth century, very well established. Perhaps too there was an element of not wanting to use the medium that was being embraced by the masses - artists like to be select!

These thoughts came to mind as I was thinking that I must do some sketching, and was wondering whether to take up my crayons or do some pencil work instead. In a quandary I looked at the crayons and the idea for this photograph popped into my head. I'm not a great fan of computer enhanced images that mix colour and black and white - you know the sort, a black and white scene with a single object rendered in its original colour. In my judgement there are few circumstances where this technique says anything more or better than a straight colour or black and white image could. That's maybe true of this image, but I made it nonetheless!

photograph & text (c) T.Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f16
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Reflecting on the Olympics

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The other day someone asked me if I'd been watching the Olympics. I hadn't. I still haven't. I don't devote a lot of time to watching sport on television, but when I do it tends to be team games that interest me. The Olympics include these, but it also has many "sports" that were never intended to be watched by a large audience. And many are so technical it isn't apparent to the lay-person who won or why they won! Even athletic events like the 100m aren't, in my opinion, spectator sports. The camera and commentators spend far more time on the periods before and after that race than they do on it, action replays notwithstanding, and all to see someone complete a course a fraction of a second faster than someone else. It's lost on me!

I watch football (soccer) reasonably regularly on TV, and I often enjoy what I see. It occurred to me the other day that soccer gets the appellation, "the beautiful game", for good reasons. Firstly it is a game of almost continuous action, with few pauses, and those usually quite brief. Secondly, you can deduce most of the rules of the game simply by watching it. And thirdly, at the end of the game it's very obvious which is the winning team, or if it's a drawn match. These seem to me quite important attributes for any spectator sport. The Olympics consists of too many "sports" where these three qualities are absent.

The two variations of the French game, boules, namely petanque and boule lyonnaise, are not on the Olympic menu, though in 1900 it was, apparently, a demonstration sport. However, I think that if ice dance, BMX, handball, synchronized swimming and weight lifting qualify as Olympic sports, boules can claim a place. It is a game of simple rules, is easy to watch, easy to play, requires no specialist playing surface, and uses inexpensive equipment. An uninformed bystander can easily see who has won a game. And, it is a game that can be played by people of all ages, even the elderly. So let's start a campaign to include boules in the 2012 London Olympics. Vive la France and the entente cordiale!

Today's photograph is one of my reflected self-portraits. A new set of boules seemed the perfect opportunity for another in the ongoing series.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The carrion crow

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"Carein Crowes...neuer medle with any quicke flesh."
The earliest known record of the name Carrion Crow in English, 1528

Standardized names for British Birds appeared much later than is generally realised. Not until A List of British Birds by a Committee of the British Ornithologists' Union in 1883 was a comprehensive list compiled that used only one vernacular name for each species. Yarrell, from 1843 onwards had attempted standardization, but used multiple names for some species. In 1768 Pennant's British Zoology (Birds) had adapted English names to match Linnaeus' scientific classification. In fact, not until the second half of the seventeenth century did bird books appear in English, though authors like Merrett (1667), Charleton (1668) and Ray (1678) translated or used Latin names or borrowings from continental authors.

Of course, the great majority of our bird names are folk names that arose anonymously. They often show regional variation (e.g. Lapwing, Green Plover, Peewit, Tewit), apply to the more common birds, and were sometimes shared between those that we now recognise as separate species (e.g. Marsh Tit, Willow Tit). In the distant past no distinction was made between the Carrion Crow and the Rook: they were both called simply "crows". However, with the rise of the study of natural history observers noted the rook's whitish beak, feathered legs, different call, more gregarious habits and greenish (as opposed to purplish) iridescence. And, later, the similarity of the carrion crow to another crow with patches of grey was realised, as was the interbreeding where their ranges overlapped. Consequently carrion crows became Corvus corone corone, and Royston crows, later called hooded crows, the sub-specific Corvus corone cornix.

However, none of this improved on the bad name that the carrion crow had with country people. Far from being seen as a useful scavenger that cleared the land of dead carcases, its habit of raiding poultry pens, game-bird hatcheries and the nests of songbirds, ensured that its name was as black as its feathers, and it remained the subject of persecution. In literature Shakespeare, Blake, Poe and others used the bird to represent the dead, or as an omen of impending doom. Which is a shame, because carrion crows are attractive birds that can be enjoyed in a wide variety of habitats from mountain-sides to the sea-shore. Today's image was taken on the slopes of the Pennines and shows a bird in a characteristic pose, searching for food from the vantage point of a dead tree. Unfortunately, the way I've taken the shot, in ominous-looking evening light and silhouette, reinforces the stereotype of the species as a lone, malevolent, brooding presence, ever on the look-out for its prey!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E500
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: N/A

Above us only sky

click photo to enlarge

From the mid -eighteenth century, through painters like Richard Wilson (1713 - 1782), Thomas Gains- borough (1727 - 1788) and Alexander Cozens (1717 - 1786), English landscape painting found its feet. Yet, their art still shows that century's belief in man's superiority over nature, and the idea that it can and must be "improved". It was the group of artists who followed them - Thomas Girtin (1775-1802), John Crome (1768-1821), John Sell Cotman (1782-1842), J.M.W. Turner (1775-1851) and, pre-eminently, John Constable (1776-1837), who cast aside this mindset in pursuit of the natural world as they found it, and created "a prodigious flowering of landscape painting in England, unparalleled in any one country on the Continent."

Drawing his inspiration from Titian backgrounds, the work of Rubens and Dutch landscape painters, as well as the English artists of that earlier generation, Constable painted scenes from around his home in Suffolk. Cottages, barns, trees, ruins, waggons and horses - all were worthy subjects in his view. However, his interpretations were mediated by an English sensibility and depend for their power on his rendering of the changing English sky. Constable called the sky "the keynote" of a landscape painting. He gave much of his energy to capturing the fleeting beauty of clouds and light at different times of day and different seasons. The lessons he learned from his cloud studies were transferred into his major paintings. Constable's skies are suffused with the variations that come from weather that originates over the Atlantic, is moderated by passing above our small island, and is further changed by never being far from the influence of the sea. These qualities can be seen in paintings such as Weymouth Bay (1816), Brighton Beach with Colliers (1824), Hadleigh Castle (1829), The Valley Farm (1835), or Norham Castle (1835-40).

Today some people appreciate Constable's work for its depiction of an idyllic, English countryside that has either disappeared or changed, except for in a few corners of our land. But, whilst Constable was not insensitive to the beauty of the English landscape of his time, he simply painted what he saw. In 1820 it was a haywain by a farm and stream: if he had been painting today I'd like to think it would have been a bright red combine harvester passing over a field of ripe, yellow wheat! And, whilst Constable would not have recognised this piece of modern farm machinery, he most certainly would recognise and celebrate the wonderful clouds drifting over these flat, Lincolnshire Fenland fields.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 40mm (80mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/1600
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Ripe for redevelopment?

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Each time my wife and I pass a tumbledown barn or an uninhabited and dilapidated cottage or farm, one of us says, "Ripe for redevelopment?" and the other smiles. We are referring to an estate agent's advertising copy next to a photograph of an absolute wreck of a building that we'd once read incredulously. In those distant days such buildings were regularly being rebuilt and turned into dwellings, often because planning permission was easier to acquire, especially in rural areas, when there was a "building" already on the site.

However, the recent credit crunch is likely to put a brake on such redevelopments, and picturesque piles will crumble for a few more years until the housing market picks up again. My post of the other day talked about rural depopulation, and across many areas of the country famhouses that were abandoned when farmers left the land and holdings were amalgamated, now stand empty: in Lincolnshire they are a reasonably common sight. Changes in farming practices mean that many barns no longer have a use, and these too are left to slowly decay. In places like the Yorkshire Dales, North Lancashire and Cumbria the barns are stone-built and much sought after for conversion into houses, to the point where planning permission is now difficult to secure. In Lincolnshire, they are usually made of brick, and conversions are quite commonly seen.

Today's photograph shows a barn that is part of an abandoned farm near the seventeenth century South Forty Foot Drain. The buildings look like they date from the nineteenth century, and the signs are that they fell out of use in the 1970s. Most of the structures are roofed, and the walls still stand, but the windows are all gone, and gutters and drainpipes hang at crazy angles. The fruit trees, once so carefully tended are growing wild, and former hedges are tangled masses of vegetation. Walking amongst the buildings I thought about the people who lived here; how hard it must have been to give up their home and their life's work, and wondered how they made the transition to fresh jobs, retirement, or whatever the next phase of their lives brought.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 64mm (128mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Not fade away

click photo to enlarge

Shortly after May 10th 1793, John Ladd was laid to rest in Quadring churchyard, Lincolnshire. He was 49 years old, and had died 21 years short of his "three score years and ten". I imagine he would have wished for longer. The gravestone poignantly notes that "Also 4 children lie near him".

Those who chose the memorial for John Ladd followed the fashions of the day. The monumental mason selected a heavy, rectangular slab of Lincolnshire limestone and gave the top a rounded arch. Below it he carved a winged cherub in the form of a classical putto, to represent a soul rising to heaven, and this he flanked with flowers. A raised panel with a curved top and straight sides, echoing the shape of the gravestone, received the simple inscription carved in elegant Roman lettering. It is similar to several nearby, and probably represents the work of someone based in the locality. What purpose did it serve? Like all such stones, it was a memorial and tribute to the man, and a place where family members would come to remember him. But is it anything else? It certainly claimed his place in the churchyard, and on the "best" and sunny south side of the attractive medieval church. More than that, it reminded the world that this man existed. A gravestone is a relatively inexpensive way of claiming some sort of immortality. But for how much longer? The rain, wind and frost of 215 winters have softened the edges of the mason's carving, and lichen has ravaged the stone. In another 100 years it will be difficult to read the inscription, and in twice that the putto and flowers will be indecipherable lumps. And, with their passing, you might imagine that the memory of John Ladd will have completely faded away.

That, however, is to reckon without the power of the internet and the tenacity of family history enthusiasts! A quick Google reveals the following information. Apparently John Ladd was married to Jane Bradcher in Quadring church in 1777, and over a period of 12 years they had 7 children baptised there. Jane died a widow, aged 50. The next earthly apocalypse permitting, it seems that the memory of many of us may outlast our gravestones!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 15mm (30mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The staff of life

click photo to enlarge

Britain's farming population is in long-term decline. In 1996 there were 616,000 people employed in agriculture. By 2007 this had gone down to 526,000, the result of increasing mechanization, the amalgamation of farms into ever larger units, and the declining profitability of the sector. Over the same period the age profile of those employed in agriculture increased.

Changes in wheat farming are fairly typical of the sector as a whole. Over the same period the area devoted to cultivation declined from 1976,000 hectares to 1816,000 hectares, and the volume produced also went down.The income generated by milling wheat and feed wheat slumped, and the amount of wheat produced as a percentage of UK use fell from 125% to 106%. There was, and is, money to be made by producing wheat, but of the 60,000 cereal farmers in the UK it is principally the large landowners and corporate bodies who can benefit from larger subsidies who are making it. The smaller, independent farmers have seen incomes fall drastically, then rally slightly recently. A consequence of this is that a significant number of cereal farms, with hundreds of acres under cultivation, are now worked by the farmer alone, assisted by no permanently employed farm hands. Family members, friends, and occasionally some bought-in contract hours, are the only additional help. It's true to say that the main ingredient of the "staff of life" is grown and harvested with virtually no staff at all! Not surprisingly, since as much of the work as possible is mechanized, the land (and landscape) where these crops are grown is tailored to be managed by farm machinery.

I gleaned this information some time ago from the Statistics pages of UK Agriculture, and from Corporate Watch, and it came to mind as I was looking at this photograph of a combine harvester. I took it a while ago on the Yorkshire Wolds near Weaverthorpe. The solitary driver, alone in his cab in the large, regimented, rolling fields of this cereal growing upland area, seemed to encapsulate the predicament of today's wheat farmer in Britain.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E500
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 134mm (268mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: N/A

Mass-produced

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There seems to be a general feeling that "hand-made" objects are individual, high quality and expensive. And often they are. However, in many cases a better description is individual, shoddy and expensive. Conversely, mass-produced objects are frequently looked down on for their ubiquity, uniformity, low cost and low quality. Sometimes that's the case. However, it isn't always so!

Take cars. The very best examples of automotive design are invariably the less expensive, mass-produced small vehicles - the VW Beetle and Golf, Mini, Fiat 500, Toyota Corolla, Citroen 2CV, etc. These are the innovative and "different" designs that moved car construction forwards. The low volume Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Aston Martins, etc, that so many drivers lust after, may have a larger proportion of hand-assembly and finishing, and are certainly lavishly styled, but they are rarely good examples of design. What's more their reliability is usually considerably worse than that of their diminutive brethren. It's a fact that much of the best design of today is produced by designers working for industrial companies that make mass-produced objects - from hair-dryers to cafe chairs.

I was reminded of this when an indoor watering can costing 35 pence came into my home recently. It is made of a single piece of moulded plastic. The spout is simply an elongated groove, and the handle is part groove, part tapering tube. It's a design that is stackable, and is remarkably strong, its rigidity coming from the curves and folds that give it a very sensuous shape. More to the point, it performs its primary task wonderfully well - a great example of inexpensive, thoughtful, mass-produced design! As I looked at it the other day I saw a photograph in its swelling curves and tight folds, and gave it a shadowy, high contrast black and white treatment to emphasise these elegant and seductive qualities. The other reason I chose black and white is that I can't stand its lime-green colour!!!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off