I was a cartoon character

click photo to enlarge

The other day I became a cartoon character. I didn't choose to be one, and no one coerced me into the role: it came about by chance. Here's how it happened. For a while I'd been eyeing up a golden conifer, about 10 feet tall, that grows next to the path that leads from the pedestrian gate to our front door. For a couple of years it has been impinging on the path to the extent that I've trimmed it back a few times. However, it has always been clear that it is too close to the path, and has no long term future in that position. So I decided it had to go. I got the chainsaw and quickly toppled it, then cut it into bite-size pieces for disposal. After I'd cleared it away I surveyed the stump. I gave it a couple of touches with the chainsaw, but it was dense, wet wood, and the saw didn't make much of an impression. So, I went for the felling axe. This cut into it very well, and I went round the edge, severing the roots, then started attacking the centre.

As my axe kept thumping into the wood, making deep splits I felt an insect in my hair. I reached up, pulled it out and threw it down. Then I felt another and pulled that it out too. It was a wasp. At that moment I felt a sting on my back (through my shirt), then another, and another. I reached round to swat the wasps off me, and as I did so I felt another sting. Wasps were now flying all around my head and body and it finally dawned on me that I was experiencing a concerted attack. With that I dropped the axe and ran off to the house, arms waving, being stung again and again, shouting "Ow! Ow!" When I got to the back door I tried to brush off any remaining wasps, unbuttoned and took off my shirt, and my wife took over.

Later, when I'd settled down, I reflected on what had happened. It occurred to me that in my mad flight across the garden and round the house I must have looked like Tom in the Tom and Jerry cartoon when Jerry has tricked him into poking a stick into a tree and it stirs up a hornets' nest whose inhabitants take offence and give chase. The sage advice when bothered by wasps is not to wave your arms about. Whoever came up with that one has never experienced an onslaught by the malevolent little blighters! Later I went to find the source of the insects. They had a nest in a hole in the ground under a heather plant about twenty feet away from where I was working, and had clearly felt threatened by the sound and vibrations from my axe.

What has this to do with my photograph of gaillardia seed heads? Well, when I went to gather them the flowers were covered in bees, hoverflies and the odd wasp. I was much more circumspect than usual as I reached into the border to cut the stems!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/4
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Shades of Pompeii and Henry Moore

click photo to enlarge

I see a lot of tomb effigies on my visits to England's churches. The earliest are coffin-shaped slabs dating from the twelfth century, and have cross-shaped patterns, swords or low relief figures or part-figures. Effigies become more numerous and more elaborate in subsequent years, right up to the eighteenth century when they can have standing figures in contemporary or classical dress that are life-size or larger. The Victorians were also capable of grandiose monuments with detailed figures, frequently exuding nobility, often deeply sentimental. However, they tended to favour smaller scale wall monuments - plaques with urns, relief figures, palms, doves or Greek sarcophagi. Effigies dating from the twentieth century are extremely rare.

The remaining medieval effigies are often remarkable in terms of the detail that they retain: some look like they were cut yesterday. Alabaster and other kinds of "sculptural" stone is capable of expressing the intricacies of faces, armour, mail, fabric and hair, and sculptors took advantage of this in their work. Of course, many effigies bear the marks of time - vandalism, neglect, iconoclasts, restorers, and simple accidents have all taken their toll on church monuments. Many have succumbed to weather and water when a church roof has leaked or has vanished when the church fell in to a period of disuse. Others have sometimes suffered a spell in the churchyard, removed from their original place in the chancel or nave by zealous Protestants. Those shown in today's photograph, examples that date from 1287 and 1370, must have had some such experience, so smooth are they worn. I came across them in the church of St Michael the Archangel, Laxton, in Nottinghamshire. They represent two members of the de Everingham family. Other effigies from this local dynasty (in  much better condition) can also be seen in the church.

Why did I pass by the better monuments to photograph this battered pair? I think it was because they reminded of the petrified bodies revealed in the excavations of Pompeii, and more particularly the drawings and sculptures of Henry Moore, especially those that he did based on people sheltering in the London Underground during the Blitz of WW2. The smooth undulations, softly modelled by the light from nearby windows echoed, for me, the reclining and supine, abstracted bodies of this early work from which he expanded into his less figurative mature phase.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Oxton One prebendal house, Southwell

click photo to enlarge

An interesting feature of the Nottinghamshire town of Southwell is the prebendal houses that are found on the north and west sides of the Minster. A prebendary is an ecclesiastical post attached to a cathedral or minster, often a canon. The name coming from the word "prebend", which describes income generated by church-owned property. Southwell Minster, a Norman foundation, originally had 16 prebendaries. They lived in properties nearby, and over the years re-built them in ever grander style. Down the centuries the prebendaries were abolished, re-constituted, done away with and resurrected. Their final demise came with the death of the last remaining post-holder in 1873.

Today's photograph shows the finest of Southwell's prebendal houses, the former Oxton One, now called Cranfield House. It is a two-storey brick building with stone dressing, a segmental pediment over the main entrance (and another over the window above), a hipped roof with dormers, and steps with balustrades. The house was built in the early 1700s, probably by Canon George Mompesson. Looking out of the front windows of this miniature stately home the canon could see his place of work beyond his gravel driveway and the intervening road.

I passed Cranfield House on a few occasions recently, and took photographs each time. This is the best of the crop, taken when the sky was overcast and the clouds were quite low, but with sufficent breaks in them for the odd shaft of filtered sunlight to reach the ground. The symmetry of both garden and house seemed to demand a symmetrical composition, and that is what I took.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Guardians of the countryside?

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I remember hearing, many years ago, a representative of the National Farmers Union (NFU) being interviewed on the radio. He was defending the actions of his members against criticism that their practices were largely responsible for the massive reduction, during the past fifty years, in farmland bird species and wild flowers. He argued, very cogently, that farmers had responded to the demand by retailers and consumers for cheaper food, and that lower prices had come about by increased efficiency, including mechanization, a smaller workforce, and larger farms and fields. And, whilst he acknowledged that this had changed the character of farms, and to some extent, the appearance of the countryside, he was at pains to point out that the landscape was something farmers cared about and conserved. He felt it was wrong to characterise them as destructive. However, he then went on to describe his members as "guardians of the countryside", a description that I felt was more than a little flattering.

I have come across, and known, farmers who thoroughly deserve this title, people who do farm with landscape and wildlife as more than an afterthought: clearly there are many such people. Unfortunately, there are also those who pay no regard to biodiversity, who see wild flora and fauna as competitors to their main business, and seem to conduct a campaign of despoilation in the search for ever higher yields. A few days cycling in the Nottinghamshire countryside have recently highlighted one of these practices. We passed mile after mile of hedgerows that had been smashed ("cut" does describe the way they were savaged), often with a powered grass flail rather than a purpose-built hedge trimmer. A farmer, still busy in the distance pulverizing the hedges, had littered the verge and road we were navigating with splintered hawthorn debris. But then, by way of pleasant contrast, we came across hedges that had been sensitively cut, at a time of year that didn't destroy nests, and fields such as the one in today's photograph, where oak trees had been left to grow despite the inconvenience that they must present to tractors, ploughs and combine harvesters. We were left to wonder what made farmers act in such clearly different ways?

Our time away coincided with some unsettled weather, and this image was taken as we pedalled home in the knowledge that rain was imminent. The lone trees, tractor lines and the brooding clouds made for a simple landscape that appealed to me, and I used the LX3's 16:9 format to capture the sweeping undulations of the stubble covered field.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 9.3mm (44mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Fydell House, Boston

click photo to enlarge

I don't watch a great deal of television so my observations on the medium are not as well-informed as they might be. However, it's my feeling that one of the mainstays of recent years - the house makeover programme - seems to be in fairly steep decline. Apart from the grinning presenters with their mock bonhomie and ill-timed, over-exuberant hand gestures, can there be anyone who is lamenting the passing of this drivel, the audio-visual equivalent of food bulking agents?

Unfortunately the pressing need to find programme formats to fill the ever increasing number of channels means that equally tawdry replacements are already filling the airwaves. As I scan the listings looking for the odd film or two I come across such titles as The Great British Bake Off, Come Dine With Me, and Jedward Let Loose. The synopses of these programmes suggest they are every bit as mind-numbing as those they replace, and to call their underlying ideas threadbare is to imply that there was something of substance that has been worn out in their gestation: the fact is they are completely bereft of any redeeming features. And then, lurking in the listings, sandwiched between the soaps, I came across what must be the successor to the house makeover series. It is called DIY SOS, and as far as I can make out involves "experts" helping a DIY householder who has ruined his property (perhaps by following the ideas in an earlier house makeover programme!) to put it to rights. Televisual tripe it may be, but even I can see that the concept is brilliant: you devise programmes to encourage viewers to trash their houses whilst thinking they are making improvements and adding value, then you come up with another series that shows these poor saps being helped to sort it all out.

I was reflecting on these things as I photographed the staircase of Fydell House, Boston. This early eighteenth century building, possibly by William Sands of Spalding, is one of the town's finest. Its main staircase has walls and ceiling decorated with plaster moulding and stucco panels and it is lit by a tall, arched window. It occurred to me, as I gazed at the two hundred year old decoration, that doing a job well and sticking with the original design long enough for it to have passed the point of being "out of fashion" and to have become plain "old", is much better than frequent cheap makeovers designed to show how up-to-date you are. I used the LX3 for this photograph, and applied a sepia tint to a black and white conversion.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

King's Lynn buoys

click photo to enlarge

Earth colours and subtle, matching hues are all very well, but sometimes, for a photographer, there's nothing better, than to happen upon some good, strong primary colours. I did just that the other day when I visited King's Lynn in Norfolk. I'd been to the particular location before, and knew that it was the place where buoys used in the River Great Ouse and The Wash are renovated and re-painted (see previous photographs here and here). However, nothing prepared me for the brilliance of the colour I encountered. Perhaps it was the deep blue of the sky, itself accentuated by the soft, white clouds, that gave the yellows and reds of the buoys their extra "punch". Or maybe it was the newly painted examples sitting on the boat, ready to be taken to their turbulent moorings. The fresh green and the battered green added to the effect, giving me the opportunity to take a photograph that was as much about the colour as it was about the subjects depicted.

Over the years I've often found myself, toward the end of a cold, dark winter, craving the colour that a sun higher in the sky, and the season of spring itself, promises. My bee-line to the first flowers in the garden usually beats the real bees, and the flowers that my wife buys to arrange in our vases during this period are also a draw. This year, in mid-February, I found myself manufacturing the effect of sun shining through the petals of a flower. I even stole the title and sentiments of George Harrison's "Here Comes The Sun" as a hook for the "reflection" as well as for the title of the post. However, in mid-August, after a summer that has had as much, and possibly more, sun as the average English summer, what excuse can I profer for gleefully photographing some brightly painted buoys. I can only plead a surfeit of rural vegetative greens and browns. It's true that Lincolnshire's landscape is punctuated by roofs of orange pantiles, and the over-arching sky is often of the deepest blue, but my photographic diet in recent weeks (quick trips to bustling Lincoln and the glitz of Skegness notwithstanding) has been pretty much one featuring rural "earth colours". So, like a schoolboy whose sweets have been confiscated, I was craving the sugar of primary colours, and I took the opportunity to get my fill in King's Lynn.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The Tower Hamlets Trayned Bandes

click photo to enlarge

I received an email the other day. It was a good humoured complaint. The writer was concerned to point out that the two photographs I posted of members of The Tower Hamlets Trayned Bandes re-enactment group (here and here) didn't reflect the pleasure that comes from taking part in such activities. My correspondent was complimentary about my images in all other respects, but wondered if I'd taken any shots that showed the members of the English Civil War organisation with smiles on their faces.

I'm pleased to say that not only did the Bandes' members generally go about their business smiling, I actually caught them in the act, and today I'm happy to post the proof. However, why some of them were smiling as they trooped back to their encampment after a skirmish I don't know, because they'd just been shot to death! I suppose the ability to rise from the dead after the battle is over and go and have a a bit of food and drink in the bosom of your family and friends is one of the pleasures of this kind of activity.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 102mm (204mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Rusty relics

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In a recent post I was pondering the attraction of decay, and the reasons why photographers are often drawn to scenes of dilapidation and dereliction. Look at any online galleries by enthusiast photographers and you will usually find examples of this genre. Moreover, if you look carefully you will also see photographs that constitute a subset of the category, namely the abandoned vehicle. Photographers in the United States seem drawn to shooting rusting cars and trucks abandoned in rural areas, vehicles thirty, forty, fifty years old and more, that are gradually succumbing to the weather and the weeds. Such images are certainly taken by people in the U.K., but I get the feeling that they are relatively far fewer, and I have sometimes wondered why this should be.

It's probably to do with land area and the density of population. In our small, crowded islands, space is at a premium, and waste ground where it does exist, tends to be put to a fresh use quite quickly. Many farmers (though by no means all) are obsessively tidy and dispose of old vehicles fairly promptly. Then there's the scrap metal price that attaches to such things. I've always thought that these are the reasons for fewer abandoned vehicles and hence fewer photographs: the luxury of unused open space of the sort that exists in the United States simply militates against it.

This open shed, stuffed with the gleanings of decades, shows what happens to a few old vehicles: they get put to one side, collected with other odds and ends that might be useful or that could be renovated in years to come. The two old tractors and the small car tucked away at the back appear to be about sixty or so years old. Those wheels on the right look like they might be from traction engines. And the old lawn mower appears to have been stored with the intention of being repaired, and then forgotten. Whatever the reason for the collection I thought it might make an interesting photograph to pore over.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 13mm (26mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/15
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Maud Foster windmill, Boston

click photo to enlarge

Approximately 300 windmills are known to have existed down the centuries in the area that we now know as Greater London. A few of these date from the period between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries, but most were built in the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Much of this area was rural in the distant past, and the windmills in the villages that were swallowed up by the capital city's spread would have looked much like the village mills that are sprinkled across eastern and southern England today. However, many of London's windmills were in the heavily built up parts of the city. For example, sixteen windmills are known to have operated in West Ham, and Whitechapel had three. There were even windmills in Mayfair and Marylebone. The information about London's mills comes from written documents, but also from paintings and drawings of the city. Interestingly there are only eight windmills remaining in Greater London today.

Windmills are often thought of as structures of towns, villages and the countryside. In fact, many large towns and cities had them within their boundaries. That's not surprising really because in an urban area the market for a mill's produce is on its doorstep. When I lived in Kingston upon Hull, many years ago, I was always aware of a derelict mill on Holderness Road. Today it is restored and adjoins a pub, the only remaining survivor of over twenty windmills that once graced the city.

Several windmills are also known to have been built in the Lincolnshire town of Boston. Today the only remaining example is the Maud Foster Windmill that stands beside the Maud Foster Drain. And what an example! It is a fine, five-sailed, seven storey, brick tower mill built in 1819. Unlike many Lincolnshire mills it wasn't painted with black bitumen to keep out the rain, and its rustic brickwork blends beautifully with the white paint of the windows, wooden gallery, ogee cap, sails and fan-tail. I passed Maud Foster on a day when the sky was filled with soft, fleeting clouds blown on a wind that was turning the sails to mill the flour that is sold to visitors. The photograph I captured contrasts strongly with one that I took a few months after I settled in Lincolnshire.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 20mm (40mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1600
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Commemorated in slate

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In a post a while ago I commented that anyone wanting to erect a permanent memorial to themselves could do worse than have one made in brass. However, if that memorial was to be placed outside then a better choice might be a fine slate such as that found at Swithland in Leicestershire, a material that comes in grey, bluish grey or with a greenish tinge.

During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in particular the slate from this location found its way into many churchyards in the East Midlands, Lincolnshire and even further afield. Stone masons prized it for the way very detailed patterns and letters could be cut into its smooth surface. I have a particular fondness for examples from the 1700s when florid scripts, loops, curls and swirls were used on gravestones and wall memorials made of this Swithland slate. Many churchyards in the South Holland area of Lincolnshire where I live have fine examples of this style. The memorial in today's photograph is mounted on an outside wall of the church of St Mary and the Holy Rood at Donington. It commemorates the death of a ten year old boy, Tycho Wing, who must have been a pupil at The Thomas Cowley School in Donington. The fluid script, flourishes, curving underlines, loops that emphasise, and the frame of leaf-like fronds make for a wonderfully delicate effect. Only the slightly black-letter Gothic of the word "Pickworth" departs from the overall style, and even that is brought into the design by the curls that surround it. That this piece of carved stone has been exposed to the weather for 231 years, and still carries the detail that the mason incised, is a testament to its durability and its suitability for this purpose: many of the limestone and sandstone gravestones and wall plaques of that time are now illegible.

Incidentally, the boy commemorated on this memorial must be related to the philosopher, astronomer, astrologer and instrument maker, Tycho Wing (1696-1750), who also came from Pickworth.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Blogging and popularity

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Ever since I started blogging I've used a hit counter to give me some idea of the level and sources of the traffic that comes my way. For years I've used a free version of Sitemeter, and found it supplied all my needs. However, for a while the policies of Sitemeter with regard to cookies has been questionable. So, when Blogger introduced Stats* several weeks ago, I thought I'd dispense with my old hit counter and use the "in house" offering. But, the information I am now provided with is slightly different and in some ways less useful: it has more aggregation of results and less information about individual hits. Consequently I've added Google Analytics as well. I've been familiar with this evolving tool for a few years, using it on another website that I have. What both these counters do that Sitemeter doesn't is rank the most popular pages on my blog by All Time, Month, Week, Day and Now. When I looked at the All Time (in this case only several weeks) information it surprised me: the list doesn't include any of what I consider my best photographs or supporting texts, and I've been pondering why these specific pages are popular. Here is then, the current All Time top ten with my thoughts on why they prove more attractive than the rest of my PhotoReflect offerings.

1 Tree shadows and architectural drawings
Surely it can only be architecture students looking for CAD symbols.
2 Lichfield Cathedral
All those vertical lines and arches say "cathedral" to a lot of people, plus, Lichfield is probably less photographed than many other English cathedrals.
3 Promenade silhouettes
It's an eye catching shot - but not much else.
4 The megapixels war and dynamic range
This piece got picked up and referred to by a few online sites and blogs so that accounts for its popularity.
5 The corrugated chair
Making chairs out of found materials seems to be on the curriculum of some educational institutions, and the corrugated chair in question is not particularly widely illustrated.
6 Dog daisies
I have no idea! Perhaps my name for the flowers draws others who also use it rather than the more widely used ox-eye daisy and marguerite.
7 St Leonard, Kirkstead, Lincolnshire
I can only think that this small building in Lincolnshire's rural fastness is not widely covered on the web.
8 Plates of meat
Maybe I'm attracting gourmands rather than people who know that the term is Cockney rhyming slang for feet!
9 The fan vault
Probably another subject with relatively little illustration or text on the web.
10 River Welland landscape
Not one of my best landscapes, though one that is in the English tradition. Perhaps the River Welland doesn't have many such images on the web.

What has all this to do with my photograph of a section of the neon sign that proclaims Skegness Pier? Nothing. The fact is I had little to say about the photograph other than that I liked the colour combinations chosen for the neon tubes and their backgrounds. Oh and the fact that despite my shutter speed being rather slow for the focal length the shot is pretty sharp.

* only currently available (I think) for those using Blogger in Draft

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Bringing the past closer

click photo to enlarge

A couple of weeks ago I pulled over by the side of the road near Horncastle in Lincolnshire, and read an information board that is sited there. It explained that on the nearby fields on 11th October 1643, during the English Civil War, the Battle of Winceby was fought.The Parliamentary forces were led by the Earl of Manchester, Edward Montagu, with Oliver Cromwell as his second in command. Sir William Widdrington commanded the Royalists, with Sir John Henderson and William Saville. Each side had a force of about 3,000 mounted men. Through a combination of Cromwell's better tactics and confusion over orders among the Royalists the battle resulted in a decisive victory for the Parliamentarians. Widdrington's force lost in the region of 300 men killed and around 800 taken prisoner, whilst Cromwell suffered about 20 killed. The battle was a significant action in the sequence of events that resulted in Lincolnshire being wrested from the Royalists.

As we looked at the battlefield and its sign I commented that 1643 wasn't too long ago. That isn't a remark that I could have made in my teenage years or even in my twenties or thirties. However, it has been my experience that advancing years and an increasing knowledge of history has given me a more informed overview of the years between then and now, and this "joining of the dots" has brought those relatively remote times closer. As I watched the re-enactment of Civil War skirmishes performed by The Tower Hamlets Trayned Bands at Tattershall Castle, and during my walk around their faithfully re-constructed encampment, I wondered if the years contracted in a similar way for these "actors". Does inhabiting the seventeenth century for many weekends of the year bring that time closer? I imagine it does. Today's photograph shows one of the women who were particpating in the re-enactment. With other women and a group of children she was explaining about the domestic duties and implements of the Civil War period.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The English Civil War

click photo to enlarge

The English Civil War (or English Revolution) and the ensuing Commonwealth and Protectorate of the seventeenth century have always seemed to me to be neglected periods of English history. Schools often treat them in a fleeting manner, skimming over the essentials, but rarely dwelling on their deeper significance. Higher education gives every impression of finding other periods more attractive. I get the feeling too that there are fewer books about this era than about other, often less interesting times. Moreover, it's my impression that the average English person actually knows more about the American Civil War and its outcome than about our home-grown conflict and its consequences, probably due to the wide coverage of the former in Hollywood films.

Which, of course, begs the question of why this should be. Is it because England's revolution appears as an aberration in our (almost) seamless sequence of monarch succeeding monarch? Does violent revolt and regicide appeal less to British sensibilities than to those of the French or all the other nations that replaced a monarchy with a republic? Are we so besotted with a class structure that has a royal family at its apex that we can't countenance greater egality? Or are we a conservative nation for whom change must be gradual, if it comes at all? There may be other reasons, but none that immediately spring to the mind of this confirmed republican.

A recent visit to Tattershall Castle in Lincolnshire co-incided with a display by an English Civil War re-enactment group. When we decided to go the castle, a brick building dating from the 1440s, we hadn't known that the The Tower Hamlets Trayned Bandes, a re-creation of a Civil War Parliamentarian militia would be there, skirmishing and laying seige to the fortification. So, as well as photographs of the architecture (and my family) I also managed a few of the members of the re-enactment group as they went about their business.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 64mm (128mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Perceptions

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Sometimes things aren't what they seem, our perceptions are distorted, and a changing viewpoint or a close inspection is required to reveal the underlying reality. Take UK politics and government. Most British people grow up thinking they live in a parliamentary democracy run by politicians who, to a greater or lesser extent, subscribe to a political agenda that is distinct from that of the other politicians who form an opposition. However, the current coalition government has disabused a lot of people of this rather naive idea, supplying a different perspective that has provoked this insight. Seeing politicians of different parties working together has hardened the cynicism of many and made them realise that a lot of those who seek public office are simply chancers looking to enrich themselves and their social group at the expense of the rest of the populace. Our prime minister and deputy prime minister come across as a pair of "Blair wannabes", both distinctly "Blair-lite", frantically adopting the former Labour PM's earnest, direct, "personal" approach to winning the electorate's support, both spouting drivel about us all being "in this together" whilst carrying out the same old "bash and demonise the poor" and "favour the rich" policies of old. Whether enough of the electorate see through this to make a difference when it comes to the next election (or when the coalition crumbles) is open to doubt. But, the sight of politicians grubbily ditching their principles in order to grab power must surely cause many voters to think more deeply about what they themselves believe in, and to try and cast their ballot accordingly.

And the connection with today's photograph of wind turbines and electricity pylons? Wind farms have a way of seeming to be both relatively small and quite big. From several miles away the towers can seem enormous. Get a bit closer and the huge towers tend to shrink. Get very close and they appear both big and not so big at one and the same time. I still haven't worked out why my perceptions change in this way. A few days ago, however, I took this photograph which, to my mind, does say something about their size. I came upon this, for me, different view as I scanned them with my lens. I liked the way the very big pylon (about as big as they get in the UK) is dwarfed by the pair of turbines that sandwich it.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 119mm (238mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The Engine Shed, Lincoln

click photo to enlarge
When the Royal Institute of British Architects announced that The Engine Shed, a concert hall and cafe built on the site of a former railway engine shed in Lincoln, was one of its RIBA EM Award Winners of 2007, it must have been on the basis of a professional appraisal of the structure compared with other buildings erected that year. The assessors undoubtedly looked at the interior and exterior, judged its fitness for purpose, considered how the old and new have been combined, and reflected on its contribution to its location. I can't comment on the quality of their decision as far as the building as a whole goes - it may be a model of utility and a sensitive conversion internally - but I've never been inside so I don't know. However, as far as the exterior goes, and the contribution it makes to its location, all I can say is, "What were they thinking of!"

Before I summarise my concerns let's start with what I like. The black and red are a good combination, a slab of bright colour against a dark glossy background. It could work, but not, in my judgement, when the red comes in such an ungainly shape against the relatively elegant glass curtain wall: it looks too much like a vandalised post-box. Furthermore, as a balcony it appears to be on the wrong elevation, because it looks over a narrow waterway to a very busy, noisy road. Then there's the way it sits alongside the other buildings adjacent to the Brayford Pool. The best you could say is that it is one of an eclectic collection because, by and large, each building ignores those around it. I recently posted a shot of the neighbour of The Engine Shed, and I defy anyone to say that they look comfortable bed-fellows.

My apprehensions about the treatment of Lincoln's Brayford Pool have deepened with each visit. I recently came across this article that also expresses concerns about what is being lost through the nature and scale of the waterside developments. Perhaps the economic downturn will ameliorate the further damage that will be inflicted, but I fear that it's probably too late to make this interesting space what it could have been.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm/35mm equiv.) (11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/400 (1/640)
ISO: 100 (100)
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV (-1.3EV)
Image Stabilisation: On

Windmill sack winch

click photo to enlarge

When I first saw the object in this photograph two thoughts crossed my mind. The first was that it reminded me of the old mangle (wringer in US-English) that I remember my mother using when I was very small. For those who are not familiar with such a device, it is the forerunner of the spin dryer and every subsequent machine designed to mechanically remove water from recently washed clothes. The second thought was that no, it's not a mangle, but it could be a dastardly instrument of torture! Anything with a big handle and cogs can bring to mind the medieval rack, and the two holes in the floor reminded me of the holes for wrists in some village stocks and reinforced that line of thought.
However, unless the miller was a rural Sweeney Todd, bulking out his produce with the dessicated remains of his victims, I had to concede that this was unlikely.

Our guide put my mind at rest by revealing that it was nothing more dangerous than a sack winch or hoist. Like all cogs in a mill this has a wheel with metal teeth that meshes with a wheel whose teeth are made of wood. The reason for this is to reduce the risk of fire or explosion caused by sparks igniting the flour dust that would fill the air when the windmill was at work. That also accounts for the leather hinges on the trapdoor in the floor.

I took this photograph during a tour of Dobson's Mill at Burgh le Marsh, Lincolnshire. The very directional light from the nearby window gave the old machine a strong silhouette and good shadows that suggested a photograph. I used the 16:9 aspect ratio of the LX3 in portrait format since it best fitted the subject. A couple of other shots from my visit to the windmill can be seen here.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The attraction of decay

click photo to enlarge

The attractive qualities that are sometimes ascribed to ruins and scenes of dereliction and decay has its roots in the Romanticism of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. This movement was a reaction against the dominant social and political values of the Age of Enlightenment, and the scientific rationalization of nature. It elevated strong emotion and the "sublime", proclaiming them worthy feelings capable of standing alongside reason.

Today painters and photographers generally eschew the ancient classical and Gothic ruins that feature in the works of Caspar David Friedrich and J.M.W. Turner, preferring the post-industrial scenes of our urban areas. Derelict buildings, graffiti, abandoned factories and dilapidated warehouses in inner-city wastelands have taken the place of the roofless churches, collapsed columns and decaying statues in arcadia or on precipitous heights. But, in finding such things attractive and worthy of recording in paint or with a camera, is there more than the late stirrings of Romanticism at work. Perhaps our latterday scenes that evoke feelings of repulsion and sublimity work at a visceral level reminding us of the transient nature of our society, and the fact that all we now value and revere has the potential to fall apart and be cast aside. For some that is a terrifying thought that undermines the contract that materialism offers us. For others it is a visual admonition of a truth that our culture tries to make us forget. And maybe that is what determines whether or not you like such images.

Today's photograph is not an example of urban decay and dereliction, but rather is its rural counterpart. I don't know what the original purpose of these abandoned units was: perhaps they housed pigs or some other livestock. But today they sit empty and forlorn at Monksthorpe in Lincolnshire, their asbestos panels slowly succumbing to the ravages of the wind, weeds growing up around them, a glimpse of someone's failed or superseded enterprise. As I walked past them one evening, the sun low in the sky, its light illuminating the underside of a bank of low, dark clouds, the buildings' abandoned character appealed to me, and I took this photograph.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 8.8mm (41mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.2
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Clean shots, obstructions and compromises

click photo to enlarge

I'm interested in architecture, and so I take photographs of buildings and structures of all kinds and all periods. In a country with a lot of history, such as England, it isn't difficult to find interesting and attractive subjects for the camera. Large, famous or important buildings such as churches, country houses, office blocks and the like are often sited with open space around them: they are designed to be seen, to impress, and to say something about the person who had them built. Consequently, securing a "clean" shot that includes the whole of the structure is usually relatively easy. In fact you can often take a number of such photographs that show different facades and illustrate the context in different ways. However, when you go down the scale to smaller houses, town churches, and other buildings in built-up areas, it is often very difficult to get that unimpeded shot.

There isn't a single overriding obstruction that impinges on photography in towns: there are many. And if one doesn't get you then another one surely will. Motor vehicles are omnipresent. There simply isn't enough space on our small island to provide off-street parking for everyone who would like it, therefore streets are littered with cars, and you have to accept them in your images. Frequently I'll be lining up a shot in a road that has signs forbidding parking, a situation where you can get a shot that doesn't include parked vehicles. But all too often a large delivery van will draw up in front of the chosen building and begin unloading. Ten minutes is the maximum allowed for this in no parking areas, and I tell you, that can feel like an hour when you're waiting for it to move on. Then there's street lights. These are spaced according to the needs of the pedestrian, which is fair enough, but I sometimes wish that they'd take account of the streetscape and the photographer! Traffic and other signs are also a problem. It's not only their obtruding physical presence, it's the bright colours - red, blue, white, etc, that are designed to be seen, and consequently glow like beacons in your images. And don't get me started on telegraph poles and overhead wires. Trees can be bothersome too when they screen the subject that you'd like to photograph.

I had that problem when I was framing this late eighteenth century house in Louth a few days ago.It's a distinguished building on a fine street that features buildings from the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries. The twin curved steps up to the main entrance on the piano nobile are reasonably common on such houses in large cities and towns, but less usual in a small place like Louth. However, I could not find a position on the pavement outside the house to compose the shot I wanted because the trees got in the way. In such circumstances you simply have to accept the compromise shot that is available. I settled on this one that uses the trees as contrast, offers framing of sorts, and which contextualises the building.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (22mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Almost gone

click photo to enlarge

The house that hides beneath this almost all-enveloping covering of Virginia Creeper (Parthenocissus tricuspidata) - also known as Boston Ivy - is of an age and kind found throughout Britain. It is a three-storeyed, three bayed structure with a symmetrical facade that dates from about 1830. The six-panel door (with rectangular overlight) is placed centrally between two ground floor, single-canted bay windows. The first and second floor have three windows, those at the top being smaller. To left and right are gable chimney stacks. In the winter of 2001, when it was photographed for archive purposes, the front of the house looks like it has a delicate fretwork of branches across all of its Flemish bond brickwork. A year or two ago when the Google Street View cameras captured it the Virginia Creeper appears to have been cut back, but then has re-grown and spread to the point where it is covering more than half of the facade and has reached the gutter. When I took my photograph a week ago there was little left to see of the front of the house apart from the door, the ground floor bays and the windows peeping through the luxuriant leaves. Will it completely disappear from view - one window has almost gone? Will the leaves be cut back from the windows to prevent them from disappearing? Will it simply be heavily pruned back to ground level? Or will the owner decide to remove the plant completely and try something a little less vigorous? Whatever course of action is chosen it won't be easy. I'll make a point of looking to see what happens next time I'm in Spilsby.

What did make me smile was the net curtains that covered the lower half of the first storey windows. Their job of giving a little more privacy to the occupants has been largely superseded by the spreading leaves.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 73mm (146mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3 Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Lacecap hydrangeas and garden fashions

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Conifer beds in suburban gardens are, it seems, out of fashion. How do I know? Because a writer in a gardening magazine told me so.They are "very 1970s" he opined. Other plants not to be countenanced are laurel (so Victorian), pampas grass (it shouts 1960s and 70s), and monkey puzzle trees (very 1930s but also a touch Victorian). I'm sure there are other plants that must be discounted as out of fashion, but I'm too unfashionable to know them (or to care).

And yet, there is some truth in what the writer says. Flowers, shrubs and trees do experience periods when they are popular, and widely planted. And people do tire of seeing them and they subsequently go out of favour. The Victorians loved ferns and planted them in every dark corner of the garden: today they are eschewed by the masses and remain only as the preserve of the enthusiast. In the 1960s flowering cherries seemed to be lined along the grass verges on each street of every newly created housing estate. Today they are still popular, but I detect that they are becoming less so. In the 1980s and 1990s architects seem to have noticed the architectural qualities of the New Zealand flax and placed them in front of offices and in courtyards, their spiky, angled leaves contrasting with the verticals and horizontals of the buildings. They are still used for this purpose: I recently saw some at the front of a newly completed retirement block.

A few days ago, in Woodhall Spa in Lincolnshire, I walked past a garden positively brimming with different kinds of lacecap hydrangea. This variety of flowering shrub, more especially in its "mop cap" variation, is to my mind, a plant that was more popular in the past than it is today. I see it most in the gardens of houses built in the first half of the twentieth century, and I'm I'm not aware that it is newly planted very much today (though I could be wrong). And yet it is a useful shrub, offering big blooms and bold colours in the border from mid-summer through into autumn. We have a few pink mop caps that are currently flowering, and a couple of climbing varieties as well. The sight of the blue lacecaps made my wife and I think that we might have to find a place for one of those too - even if they aren't terribly fashionable.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Enthusiast photographers and camera angst

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The general public seems to believe that a "better" camera produces "better" photographs. It's a view shared by many enthusiast photographers and quite a few who earn money by selling images, two groups who should know better. It seems to be forgotten that one of the reasons for the tiers of cameras produced by manufacturers, and for the frequent renewal of their model ranges is the desire to feed on the belief that as far as producing finer photographs goes, newer equals better. Yet nothing could be further from the truth. It is usually the case for enthusiasts that the camera is the least important element in securing higher quality photographs. It's true that if you specialise in particular areas of photography - for example wildlife, aviation or even weddings - you are better served by one model rather than another, but for the generalist photographer there are many cameras that will meet their needs. And therein lies the problem: too many photographers don't identify their own needs, but instead believe what they are told in online forums, magazines and the like. A new camera will, they convince themselves, allow a step forward in their photographic development. The holy grail for many seems to be an increase in "sharpness". Others fret about "noise". Then there are those who fixate on dynamic range, bokeh, burst rate, and a plethora of other technicalities. When I read such things I'm reminded of the hi-fi buffs who spend their time listening for the flaws in their equipment rather than to the music!

It occurred to me a while ago that there is a fairly easy way for the enthusiast photographer to remove the angst of camera ownership: simply look at the recommended models that produce output acceptable to a large stock agency. Here's the list for Alamy, one of the biggest, updated for June 2010. It shows most of the DSLRs that have been produced since sensor size commonly reached 8MP, and quite a few other models as well. If your camera is on that list (and in many, if not most, cases it will be) then it is, by a definition that should be acceptable to the majority of people, a very capable machine. So quit worrying, enjoy using it, and start working on the important aspects of photography such as subject, visualization, tone, colour, light, composition, etc. If your camera isn't on such a list (or is one of Alamy's unsuitable cameras) then, before you think about scrapping it, think about whether or not it provides for your photographic needs - these are all that matter - and if it does, then carry on using it.

Today's photograph shows a carrion crow sitting on a building surveying the throng of people below on the promenade at Skegness, Lincolnshire. He (or she) was perhaps hoping for a discarded chip, hot dog or burger fom the early evening crowds. What caught my eye, and pleased me, was how the crow was not deterred by the anti-bird devices fixed around the building's edge. I decided to try a shot that heavily emphasised the bird by framing a composition that is mainly cloud.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6 Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Dobson's Mill, Burgh le Marsh

click photo to enlarge
In recent years I've taken an interest in the half-machine/half-building that is the windmill. In my journeys around Britain I come across them reasonably regularly. They aren't evenly spread through these windy islands: in the hills and mountains of the north and west the water-powered mill located on a stream or river was more often favoured, though on the Fylde Plain of west Lancashire they were found (and still are found) in sufficient numbers that it was known as "windmill land". In the main, however, the east and south of England was the domain of the windmill and it is here that the majority of those that remain can be seen. Many windmills have lost their sails and remain as forlorn, tapering towers, sometimes with, but more often without, their original cap. A significant number of these have been turned into desirable residences. Those with sails are usually in the hands of local authorities, charitable trusts established for the purpose of maintaining the structure, or are the property of private owners. A while ago I visited Moulton windmill in south Lincolnshire: the other day I had a look at Dobson's Mill at Burgh le Marsh near Skegness, also in Lincolnshire.

This windmill is owned by the local council and looked after by a small group of enthusiastic volunteers. It is a tarred, brick-built, five storey structure erected in 1813 by Sam Oxley of Alford. One of the features that distinguishes it from most other tower windmills is the fact that its five sails are left-handed, which means they rotate clockwise. I had a tour of the inside, and found that quite a bit of the original, early nineteenth century fittings and machinery are still in place. My main photograph shows two of the millstones, the top one partly encased in wood of Georgian-period manufacture. Resting on it are a variety of old tools, including some that are used in re-cutting the heavy stones after they have become worn through the regular grinding of corn. The sight of these haphazardly assembled old implements seemed a good subject for a sepia-toned image, and that is how I present it.The smaller image shows the windmill in context with its attendant corrugated steel sheds.

photograph and 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 (6.3)
Shutter Speed: 1/30 (400)
ISO: 200 (100)
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV (-0.3 EV)
Image Stabilisation: On

Catching your eye

click photo to enlarge

A couple of evenings ago, during the course of a talk I was giving about photography, I made the observation that the human figure placed in a photograph will usually catch the viewer's eye before anything else. This is something that seems to be part of our natural makeup, and probably has its origins in the hundreds of thousands of years of our development when there was no rule of law. If you lived in a world where other people could be a mortal danger to you the ability to spot humans was one that you developed and honed as a matter of self-preservation.

Today, in our complex world there are, in countries where peace prevails, few direct dangers from other humans, but there are many other hazards. These range from fast moving cars to electrified rails and bottles of lethal liquids. Consequently societies have had to invent systems that warn people of these dangers, and which draw their attention to them. The other day, during my walk around the Brayford Pool in Lincoln, I noticed one such device. It was a multicoloured vertical chequered strip fixed to a wall just above the level of the water in the river. At the bottom it was white, the central section was day-glow yellow, and at the top it was day-glow red. I assume it was a variation on the depth gauges that are frequently seen by the edge of freshwater, but which more usually measure depth in metres, and presumably the colours showed the level of danger associated with the rise in the water level.

I say I saw it, but that's not strictly true. It was inaccessible to me, and what I saw was its reflection in the water just past the underside of a bridge. The very bright colours, moving from side to side with the waves, caught my eye, and their stark juxtaposition with predominantly earth colours suggested  a photograph. So, adjusting my position, and zooming in on a section, I composed this image.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On