The significance of man

click photo to enlarge
"The significance of man is that he is insignificant and is aware of it."
Carl Becker (1873-1945), U.S. historian

If only! Carl Becker was right to emphasise a high level of self-awareness as one of the things that separates man from other living organisms. However, one wonders whether, had he been living in the last quarter of the twentieth century, or today, he would have been so easy in penning those last five words. It's true that a large section of mankind as a whole, in terms of much of its art, philosophy and religion, recognises its own unimportance in the grand scheme of things. But, at an individual level, there are too many inhabitants of this planet who think that they are the centre of the universe and that all else revolves around them.

It was always thus of course, to a greater or lesser degree. Yet I can't help but think it very strange that at a time when we know our position in the universe so much better than ever before, and we are aware of our place in our community, society, country, continent and world as never before, our species seems to be more self-centred and self-important than at any time in our history. We consume the earth's resources with a wilful disregard for the future, seek through riches to provide all our own needs and wants and sefishly divorce ourselves from our communities, and try our best to achieve economic and social advantage for our offspring with little regard for others. Our politicians - if the current campaigning for next week's general election in the UK is anything to go by - seek to be elected by appealing directly to this self-centred attitude, with no clear political philosophy, vision or thought of building a community in which all can share, prosper and be fulfilled, featuring anywhere in their manifestos. We seem to be well on the way to becoming a society that only considers "what's in it for me", full of too many individuals who think themselves the only significant actor in their personal universe. No, Carl Becker, surely couldn't have written that sentence in 2010.

Today's photograph of two parents with their small children, walking in a sunlit slice of the beach at Great Yarmouth, Norfolk, reminded me of that quotation, and prompted today's rather pessimistic reflection. There's nothing like the open sky, the vastness of the sea and an empty beach to give a proper significance to the human form. I composed this shot with wide zoom lens near its widest setting to emphasise the smallness of the people in their location.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 21mm (42mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/4000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cool pink rose

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Yesterday I went with a group from the local garden club to view a selection of church flower festivals. As well as seeing some fine arrangements of flowers based on themes, and having the opportunity to look around churches that are usually closed, this is also a chance to grab a few close-up shots of flowers. The LX3 is a good camera for this. The dark interiors of churches need its bright f2 lens, the image stabilisation allows hand-holding and renders the tripod redundant, and the excellent macro facility makes securing the images relatively easy.

I took quite a few shots, some of which will be used on the garden club's blog, and a couple that I'll feature here. The churches usually display their flowers for a week, and our visit was a little later than in the past two years. Consequently some of the blooms were starting to wilt. Coming upon a display of dusky pink roses I noticed that they'd been misted with water in an attempt to prolong their radiance, so I took the opportunity to feature the water droplets that were glinting in the light from a stained glass window. The cold light from the shadows gave the rose a cool tint that quite appealed to me. This isn't a fresh, bright, joyous "first rose of summer": the coolness gives it a melancholy feel, but it's a touch that I quite like.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Norwich cathedral organ

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Having spent thirty odd years looking at ecclesiastical architecture I know that Sunday morning isn't the best time to visit a church if you wish to have unrestricted access to the building. There's an old joke about vicars only working one day a week, and Sunday morning is the time many churches are open for "business", so those in search of architecture, history and the rest, have to fit in when and where they can. But, sometimes your schedule is such that Sunday morning can't be avoided, and so it was last weekend when we called in at Norwich Cathedral.

As we cycled down to the cloister entrance the number of cars in the car park was the first clue that the building was in use. Then, when we entered the cloisters, the thunder of the organ and massed voices raised in hymns of praise confirmed it for us. However, we weren't down-hearted; in fact we were relieved, because we had just cycled eight or so miles into the city, and the threatening clouds had started to produce rain. So, we took advantage of the signs indicating that the chancel remained open to visitors, went in for a look around and some photographs, and then sat in the covered walk-way of the cloisters to wait for the service and the rain to stop.

After forty minutes or so people began to pour out of the building and we went in to view the nave and the other parts that we'd missed. I'd never visited this particular cathedral before, and my initial impressions are that I'm somewhat disappointed by the exterior, but impressed by the interior. I'll perhaps enlarge on that when I post some other shots. Today's image was one of those that forces itself upon you. It shows the heavy Norman columns and arches supporting the beautiful Gothic vaulting, with the attenuated organ pipes below. The floodlight roof and nave walls made an interesting warm background for the chancel and organ that remained unlit as it had been throughout the service.

When we came out of the cathedral it was still raining so we had a further wait until we felt able to venture out in to the city that, as well as a cathedral, also holds 35 medieval parish churches.

photograph & text T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

DIY and flower arranging

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I've aways considered myself to be reasonably "handy", in the sense that I can turn my hand to a variety of household chores and DIY tasks. Over the years I've replaced floors, taken out walls, installed rolled-steel joists, laid paths and paving, made furniture, decorated rooms, tiled floors and walls, cut down trees, and much else. On the whole I've enjoyed doing these tasks: they made a break from my day job that involved managing an organisation and people, talking, writing, making decisions, and dealing with problems of my own and others' making. However, there are two jobs that I have never become acceptably competent at doing: plastering and brick-laying. I never set myself much of this kind of work, but that which I did undertake was not completed to a standard that pleased me. I'd like to think that my under-achievement was due to my not having done enough to learn the skills well enough. Perhaps, but perhaps not.

But then, when I think a little more on this subject, there are quite a few things that I wish I could do better. Take flower arranging. I'm never going to do a great deal of it when my wife is so much better at it than me. But, I would like to be able to put flowers in a vase so that they didn't look like they'd been yanked out of the garden and stuffed in by someone wearing welders' gloves! (Writing that line reminds me that the few times I tried welding I wasn't particularly competent either).

The other day, visiting a church, I came upon the flowers featured in today's photograph. It was placed in a recess in the nave, and the attractiveness of the pot and arrangement against the stark background, immediately caught my eye. Someone - and it was surely a woman - had selected the red tulips and narcissi, and by the judicious addition of euonymus, grass and some dark leaves, turned them into a very attractive display. There is no sense that these flowers and foliage have been casually rammed into their container: the grasses are designed to be above the blooms, their silhouettes offering a delicate note, the greens are intensifying the reds of the tulips, the narcissi "stars" contrast with the tulip "cups", and the dark leaves are placed lower to add further silhouettes and give a more globular overall shape. It would take me a long time and much practice to do this sort of thing, so I think I'll continue to deploy one of my managerial skills and carry on delegating the task to someone who does it better.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Tractors and crabs

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A few years ago, when I lived near the North Lancashire coast, I took a photograph of old tractors on a beach at Lytham. They were used for catching shrimps and for launching small fishing boats. The tractors are necessary because the estuary of the River Ribble at this point is often almost empty of water, and boats have to be taken to the channel to be launched, and must be dragged above the high tide line to be stored.

Today's photograph shows some more old tractors at Cromer in Norfolk. This fishing port is on an open section of coast with no harbour. Consequently boats have to be launched and retrieved with trailers hauled by vehicles. The boats shown are used for catching the famous Cromer crabs (and lobsters). Each has a one or two man crew, and sets pots on a bank about three miles off shore. The crabs they catch are smaller than many, but afficionados declare them to be the tastiest in Britain. The tractors are two Fordsons (Major models I believe), and the third I can't identify. They must date from the 1950s, and the fact that they are still working fifty or sixty years after they were made is a testament to the durability of the design and materials. Salt water and sea air is a corrosive mixture, and doubtless the tractors have received repairs and regular maintenance down the decades, but I still find it remarkable that they continue in daily use.

I took a few shots of the tractors at work, but this one, I think, is the best. I like it for the composition and the distant dog walker. I cropped the shot to remove excess sand and sky, and have ended up with a shot that looks like it might have been produced by the 16:9 aspect setting on the LX3.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Look at this

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One of the pleasures of photography is that it lets us re-live childhood. Or to be more specific, an aspect of childhood. When children gaze upon the world they are captivated by its peculiarities, singularities and great variety. I remember my oldest son aged about one year old, sitting in his pushchair on a path next to a field, looking at a donkey that had come to look at him, and absolutely laughing his head off with delight at what he had never seen before. At other times my children would seize me and take me to look at something they had found - a fallen branch, a hole under a rock, an insect on a bench - things that adults would pass by, but which they, seeing them for the first time, would recognise as fascinating and worthy of deeper examination and reflection. "Look at this!" they would say. And that is the aspect of childhood that photographers re-discover when they turn their camera loose upon the world; the ability to look with fresh eyes at everyday objects and present them in such a way as to say "Look at this!"

Today's photograph is that kind of image. Standing on a Thames-side path in London, with a clear blue sky above, a row of plane trees and street lights by my side, I was motivated by the shape of the tree silhouetted against the plain background to take a photograph. It was probably those knobbly branches with the tendril-like fresh growth at the end of each one that caught my eye. Considering it I decided that, rather than compose an image of the tree alone, I would include a street light and introduced contrast and a compositional element that would allow me to place the tree off-centre yet retain balance. It isn't the greatest photograph I've ever made, but its starkness, interest and juxtaposioion are enough for me to say, "Look at this!"

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.4mm (26mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Greensted Church, a wooden survivor

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Architectural historians the length and breadth of Britain know of Greensted church in Essex. I've been familiar with it through books for thirty odd years, but only got to visit it a few days ago. What makes this church so famous (if any parish church can be said to be so)? Well, it is the only surviving example in Britain of a type that in Saxon times was widespread - the log church.

The nave walls of Greensted church are made of 51 oak logs cut lengthwise. Grooves in the sides of the logs took long tongues of wood that sealed any gaps. The logs had tenons at the base to slot into a wooden sill (now replaced with a brick wall due to rot). At the corner of the wall, where it turns towards the timber spire, a log with a quarter section removed was used. Only one of these remains today. Dendrochronology shows that these wooden walls were erected between 1063 and 1100. This makes them Saxo-Norman in architectural terms. Inside the church the flat sides of the logs form the wall surface. In fact, like many Essex churches (an area of little good building stone) much of this building is made of timber and like almost all old parish churches it has been altered several times down the centuries. The brick chancel is early sixteenth century, the weatherboarded west tower is probably eighteenth century, and the nave roof and south porch are Victorian.

Greensted church is a remarkable survivor, not only the sole remaining representative of the log churches, but also the oldest standing timber building in the country (and Europe according to the church guide). I broke off my recent journey to London to take in Greensted, and was fortunate to arrive when the late afternoon sun was showing through the cloud. At that time of day a church with a west tower is best photographed from the south west to avoid glare and too much shadow on the building. For the first shot I placed myself as far back as the churchyard boundary and trees would allow. The second shot, showing the north side, was much easier to get.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.) (17mm (34mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/500 (1/250)
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 (-0.3) EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Is perfection overrated?

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Surfing the net a few days ago I came across a photographer's tips for taking good photographs of flowers. The very first sentence explained that to take a fine flower photograph you first had to find flawless flowers. That pulled me up short (and not only because of the alliteration!). If he'd said that to take photographs of the sort that are wanted by greeting card manufacturers, calendar designers, seed companies, etc, you must select perfect flowers, then I wouldn't have had a problem: these commercial concerns have a need for images of unblemished blooms that show no signs of age, disease or malformation. But, to assert that imperfect flowers cannot be the subject of a good photograph is nonsense.

Even a cursory knowledge of the history of painting reveals the deliberate and widespread use of flawed blooms by painters for the attractive, melancholic and symbolic qualities that they place before the viewer. And where the still life paintings of the seventeenth and subsequent centuries went in this regard, so too, in the past 160 years have many photographers. A while ago I posted such an image, showing a vase of hydrangeas that were well past their "best", but whose faded qualities attracted my meagre skills.

However, I have a feeling that today's photograph may well have been the sort that the photographer had in mind. It is about as close to perfect as I am able to get in terms of the blooms and the composition. These immaculate red tulips were in a churchyard, and I decided to use a long focal length to achieve sharp flowers at the centre of the shot, with those in front and behind out of focus. It's the sort of trick that photographers use to give a shot depth, and to focus the viewer's attention on a particular part of a composition. Oh, and you perhaps won't be surprised to find that we've selected this image for a few of our home-made birthday cards this year!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

New uses for old porticos

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Our weekend walk along the South Bank in London involved a detour due to building work. This took us along a road I'd never been on before, one that presented me with a puzzling sight.

Number 57 Stamford Street is a modern block of flats, not especially different from many other expensive developments in London. The facade facing the road is concave, mainly black, with a grid of balconies and supports. The side has similar (though flat) balconies set into a background of orange brick. Had this been all the building amounted to I'd have passed it by with a glance, a brief thought or two, and nothing more. What caused me to pause, think a little more deeply, and then take this photograph, was the incongruous and anachronistic looking hexastyle portico in the Greek Doric style right in the centre of the Stamford Street elevation. It is painted white, looks quite severe, and initially made me wonder whether it was some kind of Post-Modern architectural joke. However, a closer look revealed that it was from the 1800s and probably dated from the time of the Greek Revival in the early part of that century. It serves as the main entrance to the new block, and was clearly either re-sited or had been retained when the site was cleared for the present building. Then I wondered about the white painted (stucco?) first floor. Was any of that original? My final thought was this: the old portico on the modern structure doesn't really work because there's not enough connection between the new and the old, and the contrast in styles between the two is simply too great.

When I got home the modern wonder that is the internet revealed that the portico was from a Unitarian Chapel of 1823 designed by Charles Parker, which does indeed make it a Greek Revival piece. Parker built quite a few churches and houses, though he is better known to many for publishing Villa Rustica (1832), a book that brought Italian house design to the attention of British architects and was influential in popularising the English villa with an "Italianate" tower. His chapel was demolished in 1963, but the portico was retained. This sort of architectural salvage is something I've seen happen in a few cities, for example this facade of the former Hull Co-operative Institute (1833) that is incorporated into modern flats. The source I found didn't say whether the London portico is in situ or has been moved, but I'm guessing it's the former.

So, how do you photograph such a thing in the narrow, dark canyon of a London street with the sun low in the late afternoon. I decided that symmetry demanded symmetry and stood directly opposite the portico - you can see my reflection in the glass of the entrance door. The original shot had converging verticals from me having to tilt the camera upwards. I have corrected these in post processing.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

River Thames sculler

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I am fortunate to be able to stay in London in a flat on the Thames, and over the years this experience has opened my eyes to the life of the river. Birds, in the form of cormorants, gulls, terns, ducks, crows and pigeons are reasonably plentiful. My son has been fortunate enough to see a seal and a whale, but I haven't. The other day we found crabs on the narrow beach that is revealed when the tide goes out, and the water these days holds many fish, though they are only visible to the angler.

Then there are the ships and boats that are constantly to-ing and fro-ing. Just as there is a hierarchy of wildlife, so too is there with the craft. At the very top are the warships and cruise liners that can venture as far as Tower Bridge. Next, I imagine, are the tall sailing ships and large, expensive cruisers. Then there are the Thames Clippers, high-powered, fast catamarans, that offer a "bus service" between jetties along the river. Occasionally the refuse barges and original Thames sailing barges pass. Most frequent are the trippers' boats, brimming with people during the day, listening to commentaries about the sights to be seen. It's always fun to wave to them and receive waves in return. Many of these boats are transformed at night and pulsate to a disco beat as revellers party afloat. Further down the scale are the police launches, sailing boats, small launches and powered inflatables. Right at the bottom of the hierarchy are the canoeists who travel in groups, hugging the edge of the river, wary of the wakes from the bigger, faster boats. And, only one step above them, are the scullers, often members of clubs, each craft holding a single person, two, four and occasionally more. They are faster than the canoes, stay farther out into the river, and are sometimes accompanied by the sound of a cox with a megaphone.

The absence of aircraft noise on Saturday morning allowed me to hear the approach of the scullers when I was indoors with a balcony door ajar. Without the omnipresent sound of jet engines the splash of the oars or the quiet chat of the crews was enough to alert me to their presence. I took a few shots of these rowing enthusiasts, including this lone man going upstream on the tide - and consequently using his oars rather less than he otherwise might - a small, sharp shape on the expanse of dark water.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

On Stave Hill

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On Sunday morning, with two companions, I walked to the top of Stave Hill in Rotherhithe and surveyed the young woodland below the summit of the 30 feet high, man-made mound. The new leaves on the saplings and bushes below had that yellow-green glow of spring, and from the tree tops and thickets came the sound of birds proclaiming their territory. Listening carefully I could pick out blackbirds, a song thrush, great tits, a dunnock, and the harsh, grating call of a magpie. Nothing remarkable about that in mid-April in England you might say. However, Stave Hill is in the middle of London, and the flying creatures that usually fill the air with sound at this location are the 747, the Airbus, and the sundry helicopters that clatter about the city. The suspension of all commercial flights in the UK following the arrival of ash clouds from the Icelandic volcanic eruption, gave Londoners a taste of what life would be like without the constant noise of Heathrow-bound aircraft. And very pleasant it was too.

There are those who see the suspension of air flights across Europe as a catastrophe. I'm not one of them. I like the reduction in noise that it has brought. As a regular photographer I'm also enjoying the absence of aerial graffiti, also known as vapour trails. And finally, I'm pleased to see mankind having to give way to Mother Nature rather than imperiously, trampling all over her as is usually the case. I took a few photographs around and on Stave Hill, and I may post a couple more soon. However, this was the first one, taken against the light, after I'd waited for my companions to be silhouetted against the sky at the summit.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 19mm (38mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1600
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Aspect ratios and old stations

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When I used 35mm film cameras I never thought twice about the aspect ratio of the format: the fact that 36mm X 24mm is a ratio of 3:2 was something I just didn't consider. Processing my own black and white photographs I would sometimes crop the image (with a guillotine) to make a better composition, but doing this was very much the exception.

When I started to use a digital camera in 2000 it also had an aspect ratio of 3:2, and once again I thought little of it, perhaps because it was familiar to me. However, processing the images on a computer led me to crop many more images than I did when I used negatives and an enlarger. This may have been because it was so much easier. But, when I acquired an Olympus DSLR and found the aspect ratio was 3:4 then I did start to think more about these things. I find that I have a strong preference for 3:4 over 3:2 in landscape format, but occasionally prefer the latter in portrait format. It's purely a personal thing, and I don't believe there are any objective reasons (golden section included) to choose one over the other. The Panasonic LX3 offers an embarrassment of riches in this regard - 3:4, 3:2, 16:9 and 1:1 - all of which can be used at the time of composition. Looking back over my images made using this camera I find that I use 4:3 for about 75% of my shots, 16:9 for about 15%, 1:1 for almost all the others, and 3:2 rarely. I think I use 4:3 as the default because it is a rectangle that I prefer more than 3:2, and it suits many shots. 1:1 is a format I like to compose in (though I know many hate it), and I think it is perfect for some subjects. My reasonably heavy use of 16:9 is the one that surprises me. When I first got the camera I ignored it, but gradually I've come to use it quite a bit, especially for landscapes, but also for shots such as today's.

This image, taken at the preserved railway at Sheringham in Norfolk, reminds me of one of those Victorian paintings that shows an urban scene peopled by a group of contrasting characters: the sort of piece that the eye lingers over, searching out details. I looked at this scene with 3:4 selected, but immediately switched to 16:9 because it just seemed the obvious choice for filling the frame with interest.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 8.8mm (41mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Public seating - again!

click photo to enlarge
I've said it before and I'll say it again - I seem to have an obsession with making photographs out of uncomfortable, jazzed up public seating!

The other day I was in Kirton with a few minutes to kill (Kirton in Holland that is, not Kirton in Lindsey), so I wandered around the centre of the large village with my LX3 looking for photographs. I took a couple of shots of the statue of William Dennis, "The Potato King", and several of the exterior of the medieval church. I was pleased to see that a few trees have been cut down around the church. Normally I lament the passing of big trees, but there are plenty left in this locality, and the removal of a few specimens has opened up the view of the church to great advantage, not only for the passing photographer but also for the look of the centre of the settlement. I took a couple of shots around the war memorial too, and noted that the recently installed gates with two figures looked very "heroic Soviet-era" in style. However, none of what I captured was particularly great, so I wandered a bit more.

I'd already passed the brightly painted seats-cum-sculpture that were installed in Kirton a few years ago amid some controversy, but thought I'd look at them again. I don't know about you, but I find that sometimes photographs don't appear to me until I've pondered a potential subject on a few separate occasions. And so it proved on this day. The metal seats are pierced with decorative, leaf-like shapes, with those on the seat section having mesh behind the holes, whilst those on the back of the seat are open. All of the apertures were making highlights in the strong shadows that were being thrown on the block paving, so I thought I'd try a semi-abstract shot that included part of the seat and part of its shadow, aiming to capitalise on the light shapes against the darkness. This is the shot that most pleased me. The seat is bright green, but I found that the image had greater force when converted to black and white.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Curve stitching, string art and organ pipes

click photo to enlarge
When I was in primary school, aged about ten years old, a teacher introduced us to curve stitching - the art/mathematics of arranging straight lines in such a way that they produced optical curves and circles. First of all we were shown how to do it with a ruler and pencil on paper, then we progressed to making pictures using this principle: that involved card and coloured threads. I seem to recall that my piece of work involved a yacht under sail on a rolling sea with the sun overhead. It was engrossing fun. Pictures made in this way are often called "string art", though there is very little art involved in the process.

Those lessons from decades ago came to mind when I was processing this photograph of some church organ pipes. The builder of this particular instrument - G. M. Holdich of 4 Judd Place East, New Road, King's Cross, London, according to an affixed plate - had arranged the mouths of the pipes in a curve that was higher in the centre. This gave me the opportunity to select an ogee section of these in the viewfinder and compose a shot that incorporated a "line of beauty." However, when I came to process the image on the computer what should have been obvious, had I given it any thought, then struck me quite forcibly: the "curve" was actually made of a series of horizontal lines each stepped slightly in relation to the other. Not curve stitching proper, perhaps, but a curve made of straight lines, nonetheless, hence my memory of the fun in school.

These organ pipes are not as decorative as those I posted a while ago. However, a bright day was causing them to reflect shafts of sunlight on stone columns and walls that were coloured by light through stained glass in such a way that I thought them worthy of a photograph

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/50
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Norfolk's round church towers

click photo to enlarge
The eastern counties of England include the lands of the round tower churches. There are about 180 such buildings in Britain, with more than two thirds of these in Norfolk. To anyone who has never ventured into this part of England, and is therefore used to square cornered towers, they come as something of a surprise - decidedly odd. The question of why these towers were built, and when, has long vexed architectural historians, and continues to do so to this day.

Let's consider the question of "why" first of all. It is suggested that the absence of good building stone for constructing corners and quoins forced the shape on those who constructed them. This is not a persuasive argument. The plentiful flint can and has been used to build square towers, and the carstone of west Norfolk, where round towers were built, could easily have been turned to this purpose there and elsewhere, and would have made construction much easier. Then there is the belief that they were built as watch-towers or with defensive purposes in mind. Again, more easily built square towers would have served just as well. Probably the strongest arguments for the shape is stylistic: round towers exist in a few countries bordering the North Sea, and migrations may have distributed people with a knowledge of, and a liking for this particular style into these areas of eastern of England.

The "when" of round towers has changed over the years. It was originally thought that all of them were of Saxon origin, pre-dating the Conquest. Their lack of ornament, apparent simplicity of style and the widespread use of round-headed arches in their windows and bell-openings were the principal reasons for this school of thought. Today the consensus is that a minority date from Saxon times, but most are Norman i.e. built during the late eleventh and twelfth centuries, and so the term Romanesque is the only architectural style name that embraces them all.

Many of the round towers are topped with nothing other than a lip of stone. Others have castellation in brick, stones or ashlar. Where this is found it sometimes accompanies an octagonal stage, and is always a later embellishment, often Victorian. A few have a small spire, such as that at Titchwell, and these go quite well on top of towers that are essentially tapered cylinders. I took this photograph during a cycle ride that included my second visit to the church and tried to place the building in the context of its churchyard that April was bringing back to life.

photograph & text (c) T.Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Photographing on the promenade

click photo to enlarge
"Oh! I do like to be beside the seaside,
I do like to be beside the sea!
I do like to stroll upon the Prom, Prom, Prom!
Where the brass bands play: 'Tiddely-
om-pom-pom!'"
from the popular British music hall song of 1907 by John A. Glover-Kind

It's not often that you hear a brass brand on the British seaside promenade (prom) these days. In fact the sound of a brass brand anywhere is much less common than even fifty years ago. In 1907 they would have been commonplace.

But, whether there be a brass band or not, a stroll along the promenade is always a pleasure, and one that people enjoy these days whatever the weather. On our recent visit to Cromer we walked and cycled along early in the morning and found plenty of other people of similar mind, taking the air, gazing out to sea, and pausing to watch the crab boats being unloaded.

After living close to the Fylde Coast of Lancashire for twenty years I'm well aware of the photographic opportunities that the promenade can offer. In fact, some of my best images have been gleaned in such locations. So, when I looked at this sloping route that connects the various levels of the prom near the pier I thought it would make a good background for a shot of people. I waited a few minutes and took several photographs with individuals and groups at different positions. This one is the best of the collection for the location of the people at the intersection of lines and for the bright spot of red (and green/blue) among the monotone sky and dark surroundings.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 70mm (140mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Serendipity and an Atlantic crossing

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One of the pleasures of stopping by a small country church that you've never visited before is the possibility of coming upon the unexpected. Here is what serendipity offered up the other day when we were travelling in Norfolk.

In the churchyard of St Mary, Rougham, was a gravestone dating from 1919 with a carving of a twin-engined biplane on it. Today it isn't unusual to find gravestones with a tractor, a car, a cricket bat or some other illustration that refers to the deceased's work or hobby. However, it is quite unusual (masonic emblems excepted) in a memorial from the early twentieth century. The stone marks the final resting place of Thomas Keppel North, and notes that he designed the first aircraft - a Vickers Vimy bomber (suitably modified) - to make a non-stop flight across the Atlantic Ocean. This feat was accomplished in June 1919 by the British fliers, Alcock and Brown, who set off from St John's, Newfoundland, and landed in a bog at Clifden, Ireland, 16 hours later having flown at an average speed of 115 mph. The aircraft designer, unfortunately, did not live to hear of their accomplishment, having died in February, a victim of the influenza epidemic of that year.

This is what is recorded on the gravestone:

Here lies all that was mortal of
THOMAS KEPPEL NORTH O.B.E.
youngest son of the late CHARLES NORTH
of this parish who died at Crayford in the
county of Kent on the 10th day of February
in the year of our Lord 1919. Aged 43 yrs
He was there superintendent of Vickers
works and designed the first aeroplane
to cross the Atlantic Ocean.

"Seest thou a man diligent in his business?
he shall stand before Kings: he shall not
stand before mean men."
Proverbs XXII29

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Lumix LX3 (Olympus E510)
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.) (15mm (30mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f2.8 (5.6)
Shutter Speed: 1/400 (1/250)
ISO: 80 (100)
Exposure Compensation: 0 (-0.3) EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Bats and brasses

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Anyone wanting to erect a lasting memorial to themselves could do worse than have one made in brass. Placed in an old building that will be looked after for centuries to come, such as a church, the worst that's likely to happen is the depredations of thieves as the price of metal inexorably rises on world markets, or steady corrosion by bat urine. Yes, bat urine (not to be confused with "Bat" Guano, the U.S. Army colonel played by Peter Sellers in the film, "Dr Strangelove"). Intrigued? Read on!

Today's photographs show two images of the brass memorial to Sir Simon de Felbrigg and his first wife, Margaret. It was commisioned by him in 1416, the year Margaret died, and his own dates are consequently left blank (he died in 1442 and is buried in Norwich). This brass is one of a number in Felbrigg church - two of the others are protected by the distant mats you can see in the nave, and we had to take a similar mat off this one to photograph it. Along with the other brasses in the church it was restored and relaid in 1987, but this large (5 feet 4 inches) and beautiful piece of work still shows signs of the damage it has received down the centuries. A couple of pieces, notably the top of the right "buttress", have broken off, probably due to routine wear or an accident. However, the drawn details in the brass and the edges of the shapes are almost as sharp as the day they were engraved and cut, and the text remains perfectly readable. If Sir Simon had chosen stone, marble, wood or any of the other commonly used materials it would have been considerably more worn. But, this brass has suffered both an indignity and damage that has been the fate of many such pieces in churches throughout the land. Bat urine, ejected by the nocturnal flying mammals as they circumnavigate the building during the hours of darkness searching for their prey, has caused spotting and slight etching of the surface due to the acidic nature of the liquid. In the UK all bat species are protected, and removing them from churches is not a course that church councils can easily pursue. Brasses fixed to walls are less prone to this kind of airborne damage, but those on floors can suffer badly. Consequently most are covered with a piece of natural felt on top of which is a rug. This combination minimises the scratching from any grit that gets on to the brass, as well as providing a protection from the bats' "emissions".

The first of my two photographs is a symmetrical, composed image, taken from a low viewpoint that shows the brass in the narrow nave flanked by eighteenth century box pews and lit by the distant west window seen through the tower arch. I took this shot for the lighting and mood. The second image is a record shot designed to illustrate more of the details of the brass itself.

Anyone interested in the problem of dealing with bats in ancient buildings can find out more information here.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8 (2.0)
Shutter Speed: 1/125 (1/30)
ISO: 80 (125)
Exposure Compensation: -1.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Blue skies and starfish

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I've made no secret in the posts of this blog that blue, cloudless skies do not constitute my idea of good photographic weather. Azure skies are great in spring as a sign of the changing seasons and a marker of the warmer weather to come: they undoubtedly lift the spirits. In winter they give deep shadows and strong colours, and can break the monotony of a long run of dark, overcast days. But for the most part, to my mind, and especially in the British Isles, they more often than not present a photographic problem. When the sky is unbroken blue you have to compose your shots much more carefully to avoid filling a large area with blank "nothing".

I usually overcome this challenge in one of two ways. If trees are to hand I try to place some in the area of blue: that way I don't have to point the camera down more than I want to do. And that, of course, is the other technique - tilting the camera down to minimise (or remove) the area of blue. This isn't always desirable, or possible, particularly if you're trying to keep some verticals - say the edges of building - parallel. But with some subjects it works fine, and has the added bonus of prompting you to seek out more unusual compositions.

The other day, when I knew that the weather was going to be cloudless for my journey home from Norfolk, I was a little disappointed, because that was the weather I experienced the last time I drove along the county's beautiful north coast, and a little cloud in the sky would have helped me come up with some different landscapes. However, I tilted the camera down, and mined a different seam of snaps. Today's is one such, a starfish stranded on the beach at Salthouse. For this image I was fortunate to have a couple of distant fishermen who had strolled higher up the beach and were chatting. I was able to put the starfish slightly left and balance it with the men on the right, and also include a little sea, a touch of horizon, and enough clear blue sky to be interesting but not boring!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A bird pain?

click photo to enlarge
Which bird is the most disliked in Britain? I was pondering this thought the other day when watching a couple of amorous robins flitting around the hedge near my kitchen window. Books, TV programmes, websites, magazines and newspapers often feature articles on "Britain's Favourite Bird" - yes, it's usually the robin (Erithacus rubecula) - but few tackle the other end of the avian adulation spectrum.

I've heard many people express a dislike for starlings (Sturnus vulgaris), particularly those who feed birds in their garden. Such folk see the way they descend on the food mob-handed, briskly marching about, elbowing house sparrows and dunnocks aside, hoovering up the crumbs like demented Dysons, as unappealing. I suppose I can understand why they might think that, but it's not a view I share. Anyway, one has only to look at the breeding plumage of the starling - a star-speckled iridescent night sky - to forgive its table manners. Others save their expletives for the magpie (Pica pica), or "thieving magpie" as they usually refer to it. Its true they do purloin trinkets, and they definitely plunder nests for eggs and nestlings. But it is done with a piratical swagger that has its attraction, and anyway, the poor bird has to live. I often think that the magpie is Britain's "tropical" bird, so bright is its plumage. Then there's the herring gull, a species with habits that in seaside towns have earned it the soubriquet, "flying rat". Dive-bombing people (in defence of its rooftop territory when it has chicks), tearing open bin bags and foraging in litter bins in search of food, "spotting" cars, windows and people: these are not the actions that win admirers. And finally there's the collared dove (Streptopelia decaocto). Doves are a symbol of peace, known for their loving nature, and usually quite timid. So what is it about the collared dove that raises the ire? Well, it's that monotonous, insistent, trisyllabic "coo". The call, uttered from a house roof or tree-top vantage point early on a spring or summer morning, when people are trying to sleep, has been known to drive the most mild-mannered to violence. My house has collared doves that sit on our chimney pots, calling, so that their voices are heard clearly emanating from fireplaces of two of the ground-floor rooms. However, I'm pleased to say that I am able to filter the sound quite easily, and what irritates many, doesn't affect me. In fact I quite like the ubiquitous collared dove, and am old enough to remember the time when it had never been seen in Britain.

The example in today's photograph sat very obligingly on an eighteenth century gravestone at Croyland Abbey whilst I took its photograph. I think if I'd have taken a step closer it would have taken fright and flight. Oh, and by the way, I still don't photograph birds.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

St James, Moulton Chapel

click photo to enlarge

Sometimes I get it wrong. When I first came upon the church of St James at Moulton Chapel, Lincolnshire, a couple of years ago, I thought I was looking at a nineteenth century building. I can only think that it was the rather industrial looking roof that fooled me, but as I stood on the path, near where I took this recent photograph, I was thinking it was a whimsical building from the period between 1820 and 1840, a time before Gothic had properly established itself as the only style for churches. However, as I walked towards it those thoughts soon disappeared as the eighteenth century details forced themselves upon my attention. In fact, I was about 100 years adrift with my initial estimation, because this octagonal church is the work of William Sands Senior, and was built in 1722 as a chapel of ease. The large, inscribed, scrolled cartouche decorated with palms above the main door was the first clue: its style is clearly Georgian. But, if I'd missed that, then the date prominently carved in it, MDCCXXII, was a bit of a giveaway! So too were the giant pilasters with ashlar capitals and bases and the details of the semi-circular headed windows and blank arches. Georgian architects occasionally toyed with novel Classical forms for churches, and if I'd remembered seeing the odd octagonal church attached to a medieval tower at Stoney Middleton in Derbyshire, then perhaps I wouldn't have been so easily fooled.

William Sands intended the building to have a cupola, a detail that would have been more in keeping with its eighteenth century origins. Another oddity of this building, and one that may have played its part in leading me astray, is the chancel (see smaller image) that was added to the octagon in 1886, using details sympathetic to the original work. It is visually quite clumsy, and detracts from the simplicity and elegance of the original concept.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cromer Pier now and then

click photo to enlarge
Frances Frith (1822-1898) was a Victorian entrepreneur, who, after making his money in wholesale groceries and printing, established himself as a photographer and a supplier of postcard views. It's likely that he took an amateur interest in the relatively new field of photography before he set off to photograph Egypt and the Holy Land in 1856. After his return to England he established a business in Reigate supplying postcards of the images he had taken overseas. However, his firm really took off when he set it the task of photographing every town and village in the British Isles, so that postcards could be sold in all these localities. Frith took many of the images himself, but increasingly employed staff to assist with the task. He persuaded the Post Office to stock his cards, as well as two thousand tobacconists, newsagents and other shops. His photographic postcards were printed in enormous quantities by a firm in Saxony. Frith tried not to just record the places and historic sites, but to compose images innovatively and sensitively, offering the buyer a record that was both pleasing and truthful. He never quite succeeded in his aim of photographing every location, but his firm was, nonetheless, a great success. It remained a family business until 1968, and in other hands continues to this day as The Francis Frith Collection.

I recently bought a book that features a large selection of Frith's photographs. They are shown in the context of Britain as it was in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, compared with photographs of the same scenes today. An extensive narrative comments on what the images depict, and opines on the changes that can be seen. It is the most disappointing book I've bought for a very long time. This is largely because the tone of the author's voice is, in the main, too negative and too condemnatory of change for my taste. He seems to have some difficulty seeing and writing about the changes for the better that are evident today, and to be too accepting of the superiority of the past. Fortunately I'd bought the book second-hand for very little!

I was reminded of my book when I was processing this photograph of Cromer Pier. It contains three photographs of the Norfolk coastal town. However, the search facility at The Frith Collection took me to a list 169 views! And very interesting and useful this proved too. I was able to compare my photograph with a view from 1901, the year before the pier's official opening, and get an idea of what remains of the original structure.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Another day, another cup of coffee...

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...and another photograph. A longer than usual shopping trip for food, concrete slabs and a replacement oven heating element (more DIY!!!) necessitated a break for a cup of coffee in a cafe in Spalding, Lincolnshire. On a recent visit to this first floor venue I'd taken a photograph that quite pleased me, so I thought I'd see if I could find another. This is the shot I came up with, once again taken with the camera resting on the table so that its polished surface would mirror some of the more distant scene.

Photographs of this sort don't come naturally to me, but I've made a mental note to try and secure more of them, if they come my way, because I quite enjoy composing them. I long ago came to the conclusion that I could never be a "street photographer" or someone whose subjects were mainly people, but I don't mind dipping my toe into those pools now and again. You may be wondering why I'm presenting this photograph in black and white rather than colour as I did with the earlier shot. There are two reasons: firstly, I like the medium of black and white, and it's the photographic style that I chose when I first began photography; and secondly, there are a number of Day Glo price labels fixed to some of the items on sale that really don't sit easily with the subdued colours in the rest of the shot, and they draw the eye far more than I would want. Which is interesting considering the subject of a recent post!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On