Brick Victorian Gothic

click photo to enlarge

The building in today's photograph, the former Christian Association & Literary Institute at Spalding, Lincolnshire, was built in 1874, the end of the Mid-Victorian period in English architecture, when the "battle of the styles" between Classical and Gothic had been won by the Gothicists, and when common brick had been widely accepted as a suitable material in which to build even the grandest, most noble of structures. This particular building isn't grand, nor is it noble, but it does exhibit a feature that was rampant at the time, and which in later years would cause architectural historians to look down their noses at much that the Victorians built in England, namely exuberance!

That denigratory attitude continues in some quarters today. For example, this former institute has not been awarded Listed Building status despite the fact that it remains very much as it was built, is a fine regional and local example of a building style that was once common, and is, to my mind, one of the most interesting Victorian exteriors in the town. If it was the work of a major architect - a Scott, Butterfield, Pearson or Burges - it would have a better overall form, more refined details, and would usually feature cut stone or sculpture that was specifically commissioned for the building. As far as I can see this uses ready-made bricks and stonework that many architectural and building suppliers of the period would furnish. Possibly the datestone over the door was cut to order, but even that was probably part of the ready made piece that surrounds it with the central panel awaiting the final chisel. It seems to me that this building is too "common" - in both senses of that word - to warrant the honour and recognition of  Listing at even Grade II. Pity.

My photograph and the Google Street View image show some of the characteristic and not so common features of this style of brick building. The dressed stone is reserved for the doorways, windows, platbands and gable shoulders. Blue-black brick is used to outline openings and for decorative strips. Projecting, stepped brickwork features on the gable and, curiously, on the side elevation. At the top of the tower and above the central first floor window it suggests machicolations. This building isn't especially well proportioned, it doesn't exhibit qualities that can't be seen elsewhere, it has no special historical significance of which I'm aware, nor is it an integral part of a larger scheme in this area of the town. But it is of greater than usual interest in this location, possesses an exterior that remains much as it was when first erected, and it exemplifies that under-rated quality of Victorian exuberance. For those reasons I think it warrants greater recognition.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Spalding station silhouettes

click photo to enlarge

Silhouettes are a reasonably regular feature of my photographic output. This year I've posted silhouettes of pollarded poplars, electricity pylons, rooks and lights, the disembarking Lynn ferry, and the Observatory Cafe at "The Deep" aquarium, Hull. Quite a few other images, whilst not as obviously featuring silhouettes as strongly the examples cited, nevertheless leaned heavily on dark shapes against a lighter background: shots such as this fishing boat and these shoppers for shoes.

In fact, when I look back at my "Best of..." silhouettes figure quite prominently in most of the photographic categories. For anyone who hasn't dipped into my back catalogue here are a few examples: St Anne's pier, roller coaster repair, street lights, ducks and water, Mount Pavilion, Fleetwood, dead tree, promenade seat, and one of my personal favourites, the bait digger's bike.

I find silhouettes appealing for a number of reasons. They are strikingly bold, dramatic takes on reality, a way of instantly turning the mundane into something visually arresting. Their positive/negative qualities, whereby the outline of the subject creates both the flat dark shape and the light shape that intersect like jigsaw pieces, endows images with a semi-abstract quality that I like. Then there's the counter-intuitive fact that a silhouette of an object often leads your eye to linger longer and often results in you taking in more detail than you would from a well lit photograph of the same thing. Don't believe that? Look at the photograph of the bait digger's bike again and consider whether you'd have explored it as much if the sun had been behind the camera.

Today's photograph was taken on a shopping expedition to Spalding, Lincolnshire. It was taken from a supermarket car park and shows the prominent chimneys of the railway station, a subject I've featured before. Interestingly, as I was writing this piece I remembered that today's photograph is not the first one I've taken featuring silhouetted chimneys, the end of the day and birds flying to roost. This one was taken in Fleetwood, Lancashire, in 2006.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Christmas and tradition

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When I was young Christmas card pictures could, by and large, be grouped into three categories: the robin, religious themes and "traditional" scenes. The robin (Erithacus rubecula) was (and still is) popular because it's a bird that is seen more frequently in winter: it visits gardens more often at that time of year because food is scarcer in its usual haunts. Consequently, in many English minds it is thought of as a bird of winter and Christmas, though it is in fact a resident species. The religious themes were drawn mainly from the biblical story of the nativity. Since Christmas is at heart a religious festival it isn't surprising that such cards were, and remain, popular. Then there were the "traditional" scene cards. These showed a snowy Victorian setting, often at early evening. It would be populated with people in frock coats, top hats, bonnets, long dresses, mufflers and the like doing "Christmasy" things - carol singing, wassailing, going to or from a church that had glowing stained glass windows, welcoming Christmas visitors from a stagecoach, carrying lanterns as they visited neighbours etc. Such cards are still available, though not as popular as they once were.

It seemed odd to me at the time that a Victorian Christmas should be the one that we fondly gazed back upon. However, the rise of the modern Christmas owes much to that era. Christmas trees, cards, wrapping paper, multiple presents, and more were invented or popularised in the nineteenth century. Some details, such as mistletoe and the yule log were ancient customs, pre-Christian, but they too were brought centre stage at that time. It's often said that the great English novelist, Charles Dickens, invented Christmas as we know it. I think that is to overstate his influence. Through novels such as "A Christmas Carol" he tapped into a current that was already flowing quite strongly, and, though he certainly made a strong impact on how we see the festival (and is probably partly responsible for the "traditional" scene cards), his role was as a contributor, not an inventor .

Looking at my photograph of the centre of the small Lincolnshire village of Bicker set this train of thought in motion. The orange glow of the street lights, the light dusting of snow, the fast-fading light in the sky and the smoke from a chimney all brought to mind traditional scene cards. But it does need those cars to be replaced by a carriage and four!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/15
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Church memorials and spelling

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"Lexicographer: a writer of dictionaries; a harmless drudge that busies himself in tracing the original and detailing the signification of words", definition from "A Dictionary of the English Language" (1755) by Samuel Johnson (1709-1784), English writer, poet, editor and lexicographer

English church memorials of the late sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries are very distinctive. They typically feature a debased classical style with the elements handled rather clumsily, large and small scale figure sculpture, heraldic devices, a descriptive text and striking paintwork.

Today's photograph shows all of these things. It can be found in the church of St Nicholas in King's Lynn, Norfolk and is one of several excellent examples of the type adorning its walls. The memorial commemorates Thomas Snelling who died in 1623. He is shown devoutly kneeling before a bible opposite his wife. Below are smaller representations of his children - a very common feature of such memorials. Corinthian columns frame the main figures, a broken segmental pediment tops the piece and at the bottom is a winged cherub's head and classical scrolls. An interesting feature is the crowned, winged skull in the top panel, presumably a reminder of the inevitable triumph of death. However, on this particular memorial it was the dedicatory panel that interested me. At the time I took the shot I'd recently been reading about the genesis of Samuel Johnson's "A Dictionary of the English Language" (1755), and the wayward spelling of the text on this piece clearly signals the need that his work was designed, in part, to address.

The second photograph is a detail from the first that shows the panel enlarged. It makes an interesting read, not only for the way it eulogises and describes the deceased (it is much less effusive than usual), also for the verse that constitutes the bottom half, but especially for that whimsical spelling and the fact that the punctuation comprises a single colon (used to abbreviate Matthew to Matt:) and one full stop. For anyone unused to reading such things it may help to know that J and Y being substituted with I, V instead of U, abbreviations such as YE (THE), W with smaller TH meaning WITH, W with smaller CH meaning WHICH, and the shortened form of ANNO DOMINI were common on such memorials and elsewhere, serving to reduce the amount of text and often to make  the line of writing fit in the allotted space.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 65mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

King's Lynn street view

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Strolling through King's Lynn in Norfolk a short while ago I came upon the scene above after walking almost the length of Queen Street. The low, yellow tinged winter sun was creating deep shadows and strongly highlighted areas and the limestone of the twin towers of the medieval church of St Margaret positively glowed. So I composed my photograph with the Romanesque and Gothic church framed by the mainly newer, C17, C18 and C19 brick buildings of the street.

When you take a photograph you are, in general terms, aware of what it contains. But, on the whole, the photographer's mind is fixed on the main things he or she wants to include and those objects that need to be omitted: but the smaller details are sometimes overlooked. I knew I'd have to crop out a white door on the left that would detract from the main subject. And I had to accept the distracting presence of the clutter of cars parked in Saturday Market Place next to the church. What I hadn't noticed, however, was the triangular traffic warning signs in the centre of the shot. They are obviously designed to be seen and in the shaft of sunlight coming from College Lane, with the deep shadow behind them, they shouted their presence. What's a photographer to do? I'm not one for removing objects so I toned them down until they could be seen for what they are but are less intrusive.

I photograph a lot of architecture and I find street signs, lamp posts, telegraph poles and wires, roof and wall mounted aerials and dishes, and parked cars, the bane of my life. They are so common that it's virtually impossible to exclude them from shots. Often they are not so noticeable and I can cope with them, but sometimes they cause me to lower my camera and walk on. Perhaps I'm overly sensitive about these things. But, sometimes I wonder at the planners and conservation officers who allow such things as the grey, utilitarian street light seen above the cars in this photograph: if they can specify "sympathetic" bollards for conservation areas such as this, why not more sensitively designed street lights?

Anyone with an interest in English architecture will have noted the stone Gothic (C15) doorway in the brick building on the right. This is Thoresby College, a building built c.1500 for thirteen chantry priests attached to the Trinity Guild. The elevation to Queen Street has three such doors, one with its original wooden door still in use. The rebuilding of the two main storeys dates from the late C18, but, interestingly, the "Dutch" style dormers are earlier.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 45mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Ponds, marl pits and pingos

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When I moved from East Yorkshire to the Fylde Coast in Lancashire I was struck by the number of small ponds in the fields around where I lived. The geology of the area, the location of the ponds relative to field boundaries, the sheer amount, and the evidence of "spoil" at the edges of some, led me to the conclusion that they were marl pits, holes deliberately dug to find lime-rich clay to spread over a light, impoverished soil to improve its fertility and water-holding capacity. Such pits, which frequently become ponds, are common in many lowland areas of Britain. Cheshire abounds with them, though it also has large ponds the size of small lakes (meres) caused by gravel extraction or the subsidence of salt workings.

Britain's man-made ponds were also dug as watering places for cattle and sheep and perhaps some of those on the Fylde Coast were made for that reason - or served that purpose after the marl had been extracted. The period from 1750 was when many of these kinds of ponds were created. But not all field ponds are man-made. Some occur naturally where soil type and water flow lead to the build up of water. This kind of pond is often dry in high summer, but has varying levels of water at other times of year. Several of the Cheshire meres are thought to have been created thousands of years ago when glacial ice that was embedded in moraines melted. The eastern edge of the Fens and the Brecklands valleys have ponds that have been identified as pingos. These were formed during the last glaciation when ice below the surface caused mounds which collapsed when temperatures rose, creating ponds.

What of today's pond in the Fens photographed on a foggy day? It's my guess that it's man-made. In this area that was once littered with ponds and meres of varying sizes caused by the poor drainage of low-lying land there are, today, hardly any left. Agricultural improvement banished them, and with their disappearance went the wildlife that frequented them. This happened not only in the Fens but right across the country. In fact, three-quarters of our field ponds have been filled in or drained since the second world war. So, examples such as the one above are not only a worthy photographic subject, but are in need of preservation as precious ecological and scenic resources.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.2mm (48mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Early thoughts of Christmas

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The 17th December is unusually early for me to be thinking about Christmas. In fact, it's unusual for me to be thinking about Christmas at all. My modus operandi in recent years has been to do what is necessary - cards, presents, food etc - quite near to the big day, suffer the event, then forget Christmas and look forward to the new year. But it wasn't always so.

As a child I liked Christmas - most children do. As a father with young children I loved Christmas because of what it meant to them. But, since my children left the nest and embarked upon the long journey that is adulthood, Christmas hasn't been quite the same. Until this year. What is different about 2011 you may ask? The answer is the arrival of a grandchild. So, I've been buying presents with more than usual interest, and I've even bought some strings of flashing LEDs to brighten up the hall and living room. Nothing excessively festive, you'll notice, but I am definitely showing much more willing than formerly.

Mind you, the early onset of Christmas in the shops nearly plunged me into pre-Christmas depression. Today's photograph was taken on 12th November. I don't know when these giant baubles were erected in Covent Garden, or when the large tree in the piazza was erected and decorated, but by my reckoning they will be on display for two months of the year - far too long. And yet on my visit any despondency that might have settled upon me was banished by the sight of my grand-daughter gazing in fascination at the colours, lights, and moving mirror-ball reflections. So, as a record and memory of the event I took a few photographs of which this is one of the better examples.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 104mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/00
ISO: 2500
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cinema and birds

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The Majestic cinema in King's Lynn opened on 23rd May, 1928. This event is recorded in the building in a stained glass window. Anyone interested in the architectural history of Britain could easily guess that the decade in which it was built was the 1920s because the style and details simply shout it. The asymmetrically placed tower with a copper-covered dome, the brick with plentiful contrasting stone or concrete, the pared down Corinthian style of the pilasters at first floor level, and the Ionic of the ground floor arcades are familiar from countless town halls, public libraries and other civic buildings that feature a freely treated Jacobean-cum-Baroque style. Here the architects were the King's Lynn team of John Laurie Carnell and William Dymoke White.

Many cinemas of this era have closed and found other uses as bingo halls, carpet showrooms and such. It's good that the Majestic continues as a cinema. I've tried to photograph this building before without much success - it's in a group of fairly narrow streets. Today's prospects didn't look too good either with the sun low down behind the building. However, as I tried a few shots some scavenging gulls came swooping down to clean up someone's spilled take-away food and so I seized my moment and managed to place a couple of them in the empty space at top right.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Stained glass knights

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There is not as much medieval stained glass in England as might be expected. Many continental European countries that saw land warfare in WW1 and WW2 suffered great losses. Similarly, those that were the subject of heavy and systematic aerial bombing lost much in the major cities. England experienced no ground warfare, but was heavily bombed. However, though these major wars did destroy some of our remaining old stained glass they were not the main cause of its disappearance. That had happened much earlier in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

The Protestant Reformation produced national protestant churches that either replaced or complemented the existing Roman Catholic religion. Its clergy and congregations often saw stained glass as idolatrous. It did not fit with the new churches' ideas of what should be found in a building dedicated to worship. Consequently much was broken and disposed of, and much was sold. In England the Dissolution of the Monasteries following Henry VIII's assumption of the role of head of the church of England saw the deliberate destruction of monastic abbeys, priories, convents, friaries etc, with their wealth being seized by the crown and their property sold. In the following years zealots and iconoclasts before and during the English Civil War smashed yet more ancient glass in cathedrals and parish churches. But, this wanton destruction notwithstanding, today it is not unusual to come across re-assembled fragments, some whole windows and a few quite complete schemes.

Today's photograph shows part of a window, one of seven of the fourteenth century, in the chancel clerestory at Tewkesbury Abbey in Gloucestershire. The heraldry of the knights' surcoats suggests a date of around 1340. The families represented are, from left to right, Fitzroy, de Clare, le Despenser and Fitzhamon. It is thought that the donor was Eleanor de Clare (d.1337) and the scheme was supervised by her son, Hugh le Despenser. Most of this glass is original. Some re-assembled fragments can be seen in the shields of the four shapes across the bottom of the image. The windows were restored to their present beauty by Kempe & Co. in 1923-4.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 161mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 1600
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Photographing the commonplace

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One of the achievements of photography is to draw our attention to the commonplace - to the everyday, the banal, the humdrum, the mundane, call it what you will - that is part of everyone's experience. Some photographers devote their time to nothing else and produce work that the man in the street often characterises as dull, boring, prosaic, vapid - again, choose your own word. However, framing a selection of our everyday surroundings is a worthwhile undertaking because it allows us to see it afresh, "elevated" through the attention given to it by the act of photography. It's a process that helps us to better appreciate what we've previously taken for granted and can enlarge our understanding and appreciation of our surroundings. Of course one man's commonplace is another man's exotic: what an inhabitant of, say, the Gulf states sees as banal will be viewed as alien, almost otherworldly, by a North European, and vice versa.

I was reflecting on this as I took today's photograph. It shows a view of the edge of a smallholding seen from a narrow Fenland drove road. A couple of small oak trees, the last of their leaves still clinging on, frames part of the smallholder's plot that is ploughed and carries a small crop of brassicas. A couple of home-made bird scarers fashioned out of orange plastic sacks flutter over the vegetables. Beyond is a large field of brussel sprouts and on the horizon a village that is marked by a few houses, a low church tower and a cluster of trees. It's a scene of not a great deal enlivened by its contre jour character. But, I think it is as deserving of a photograph as anything else at which I point my camera.

Today's theme is one I've touched on before, as in the accompanying text to this photograph of a Lancashire seawall and this wet Fenland track.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Games, money, myopia and heritage

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Our government of political pygmies makes much of the need for cuts in public expenditure and the fact that, as far as the current financial crisis goes, "we're all in it together". However, virtually every day they do something that undermines these claims; that demonstrates it's the poor, women, the old, public sector workers, the marginalised and the cultural community who will bear the brunt of the spending cuts.

Last week the government shot themselves in their collective feet once again. Fearing that the opening ceremony of the 2012 Olympic Games might be a touch underwhelming compared with the efforts of previous Games they immediately sanctioned a further £41m taking the budget for this single short spectacle to over £80m. Then, turning their attention to security, decided to almost double that budget too - from £282m to £553m. If, like me, you see the Olympic Games as an optional, low importance expenditure, you can only gaze open-mouthed at the facile way in which sums of this magnitude are found and disbursed. Then wonder turns to anger when you consider what it might have been spent on.

I can think of countless more worthy recipients of £300+m but I'll mention just one. The body that channels public funding into helping to maintain our architectural heritage - including buildings such as the one shown in today's photograph - is called English Heritage. In October 2010 it had its grant cut by 32%. A reduction of that order is not so much a cut as an amputation. Surely, even the most myopic politician is capable of seeing that the few tens of millions it would take to restore the funding would generate revenue year on year from increased tourism. In fact, our politicians don't seem to understand the main reasons why visitors come to Britain and seem to think that the Olympic Games and their increased spending will be repaid by more tourists. Fat chance say I.

Today's image shows the porch on the west range at Castle Acre Priory in Norfolk. This religious site was was closed in 1537 and fell into disrepair and ruin. However it is still possible to see something of what it was from the extant walls, buildings and foundations. Much of the site dates from the late C11 and C12, with additions from each subsequent century until its demise. The porch is a relatively late building with a fine mixture of local styles represented on its facade.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 50mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Peterscourt, Peterborough

click photo to enlarge

As I've said elsewhere in this blog much of my photography is incidental. By that I mean the subjects that I photograph are the ones that present themselves to me as I go about my immediate locality and the wider world. So, when I set off on a pleasurable walk somewhere I take my camera and usually return home with some shots. If I go to explore a village, town or city my camera is pointed at anything that looks to be a suitable subject. It is unusual for me not to carry a camera when I'm out and about, and consequently the majority of the images in this blog were taken almost as a by-product of another activity.

However, every now and then I set my mind to photographing a specific subject. Or I shoot a subject and make a mental note to do so again in better or different light, weather or season. Today's photograph is an example of the latter. I've photographed Peterscourt before but only ever produced one shot (in September of this year) that I thought worthy of posting. It's a large brick building in Peterborough dating from 1856-64, the work of the eminent Victorian architect, Sir George Gilbert Scott. Peterscourt isn't a spectacular building, nor is it sufficiently feted to appear in many books about architectural history. Rather, it's one of those quietly competent,visually interesting, well-made buildings that can be found in most cities and which in their own undemonstrative way, grace our streets and make our passage through them a pleasanter experience.

I've struggled in the past to get a shot that shows the whole of the building. Parked vehicles, roadworks, the position of the sun and much else has conspired to get in the way. But, on a recent visit to Peterborough to do some Christmas shopping I took this shot in more favourable circumstances. It shows the asymmetrical nature of Peterscourt, the prominence given to the chimneys and dormers, the unassuming and functionally positioned main entrance and the dark brick detailing. Anyone interested in English architectural history will have noted the awkwardness of the white painted Georgian doorway within the Gothic, pointed arch of the entrance. Scott did not design the building this way. The doorcase was brought to the city from the London Guildhall when it was damaged during the second world war. Its prominent placement here detracts from Scott's overall conception but at least conserves an interesting piece of history.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 45mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Oysters and porter

click photo to enlarge

In recent years I've visited Borough Market in Southwark fairly regularly, often to grab something to eat or to have a drink. I've developed a particular liking for the pork, stuffing and apple sauce sandwiches from a stall that's been a regular fixture since I first went there. As a place to watch people, browse for food, listen to street musicians and generally soak up the character of London few places can beat this market and the surrounding streets.

However, one thing I have noticed, and found curious, is the way in which up-market eateries and high-price fast food joints in this part of London often affect a beat-up, artisan look. Places where a coffee costs £3 think that price will be more easily prised from the punter if the tables have an artfully battered look, the seating consists of communal benches and the decor harks back to what a costermonger of c.1910 might have experienced. Or so it seems to this provincial.

Take the oyster and porter house shown in today's photograph. There may have been a time when such an establishment used barrels instead of tables - but I doubt it. Yet today many people see this as desirable attribute, "authentic" in some way or other, and a reason for paying high prices. I think it most strange, but then I suppose I'm not the target market, either for the oysters or the barrels.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 1600
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

An orrery

click photo to enlarge

I've said elsewhere that I welcome the increasing number of sculptures and monuments that the past twenty years or so has brought to the public spaces of Britain. Even when they are of no more than routine quality they often add a focus and some interest to a location. Good examples do more than that, of course, contributing high quality art and lifting not only the spirits of those who see them but also lifting the place and its surroundings. But what about the less than admirable examples? Few of these actually make a completely negative contribution but some leave you wondering what they do offer - or indeed, quite what they are.

I came across an example of the latter in the Market Place at Grantham in Lincolnshire recently. On first inspection the piece has something of Soviet era "heroic" sculpture about it, though it would need to be several times its actual size to be from those days. After further study it's clear that the big reflective ball rests on a polar axial mount and therefore probably represents the earth, and consequently the adjacent, smaller sphere must be the moon. Unless of course it's the sun and the earth. The visitor is left to suppose that it is here at all because the King's School, Grantham, is where Isaac Newton received several years of his early education, and the physical laws that he first stated are in some way referred to through the sculpture. If the sculpture had a descriptive panel all might be clear to the inquisitive viewer, but such a simple expedient seems to have been overlooked. A quick search online found the sculptor's site and his statement that it is "based on Sir Isaac Newton's First Law of Motion...celebrates his work", and takes "the form of an orrery". I also came across comments by local people, very critical of the piece which was, apparently, the most voted for of three offerings.

The fact is, this unexceptional piece is lost in the expanse of the market place, and when one finds it some of its limitations become more evident. Foremost, from a photographer's perspective, is the fact that the shiny ball that has the potential to nicely reflect the surroundings is marked by rain and anything else that falls from the sky and pigeons. It needs to be cleaned regularly, but doesn't seem to be. Consequently in my photograph it has had to be digitally cleaned to the best of my ability.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 82mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Copper coloured leaves

click photo to enlarge

Quite a few plants have so-called "copper" leaf variants. One of the most noticeable in the UK is the copper beech tree.Usually seen as a single specimen, sometimes in the form of a hedge, its shiny brown leaves catch the eye when it's planted next to ranks of green leaved trees and shrubs, and it can bring welcome contrast and interest to a scene. But not always.

Sometimes you see a situation where people have been bitten by the copper leaf bug, and every third tree has them. Then the effect is gloomy and grim: darkness replaces the lightness of sun-dappled and translucent green leaves. The worst example I know of being seduced by copper-leaved trees can be seen on the perimeter of a large rural garden some miles from me. The owner has alternated dark conifers with copper-leaved trees. In spring and summer when other trees look at their best this row looks very depressing.

The other common copper-leaved tree is the maple. These can look great in spring, summer and autumn because of the way the leaves change and produce interesting hues. However, my feelings about them are coloured by the fact that I lived in a house where the neighbours' garden had one close by the boundary fence between us and them. Only when all the other trees had shed their leaves and they'd been collected would this maple drop its own: and then only if the wind was blowing towards my garden!

Plenty of smaller plants have copper variants. I particularly like the dark brown heuchera. I have some of these in my garden, as I do an example of that other favourite, the copper/red-leaved berberis (Berberis thunbergii atropurpurea). This plant looks great when its yellow flowers are alongside the leaves and also when the red berries are showing. But, it's late autumn when the leaves change colour that it looks at its most radiant. Then the red/brown disappears to be replaced by yellows, pinks, purples and almost-blues. When seen against a background of blue-green leaved plants these colours look magnificent.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm (macro)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Rotten apples and Gothic novels

click photo to enlarge

Horror is one of the genres of film that I pass by. I can't take it seriously nor can I accept it as a tongue in cheek exercise. The plotting is often puerile, the acting awful and the photography feckless. Even where this isn't the case I'm invariably unwilling to suspend my disbelief. I feel the same about the Gothic novel too. Many years ago I read Horace Walpole's, "The Castle of Otranto" (1764), the novel that is credited with initiating this branch of fiction, and went on to Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" (1818), a few Edgar Allan Poe stories and sundry other examples of the type. My experiences didn't encourage me to look further, something you may find surprising in someone who spends so much time photographing Gothic architecture.

It's not the core elements of the Gothic novel - terror, death, gloom, decay, darkness etc - that I take issue with so much as the fact they are the centre and totality of the experience offered: there is no light against which to contrast the deep shade (to use a vaguely photographic metaphor). In fact, decay is something that I do like. That's perhaps not surprising since it is claimed to be a feature of the English psyche that recurs in literature, painting and architecture down the ages.

I've posted quite a few images of decay on the blog, for example these hydrangeas and water lilies, and I've even got a few involving death, such as these moles and a swan. Last November I photographed some windfall apples as they started to discolour. Today's photograph is another attempt at this subject, a little later in the year and with, perhaps, a little less focus on decay and a touch more on semi-abstract pattern making. I particularly liked the effect of the interloper willow leaf that had settled like an acute accent over the very decomposed apple on the right.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm (macro)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

The Angel and Royal Hotel

click photos to enlarge

Several establishments claim to be England's oldest inn. The Old Ferryboat at St Ives, Cambridgeshire, proposes a date of 560AD and Ye Olde Fighting Cocks in St Albans says its origins go back to 795AD? Many would think the most ancient was Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem in Nottingham, a building that includes construction of  around 1189 and a cavern excavated in a cliff face. Today's photographs show The Angel and Royal Hotel at Grantham in Lincolnshire. The earliest date it claims is 1203 though cellars and foundations are reputed to stretch back to the 800s. So though decidedly venerable it probably can't be called the very oldest inn. However, what is indisputable is that there can be few with so much history attached to them as this Lincolnshire hostelry.

The building started life as a property of the Knights Templars during which time, in 1213, King John thought it would make a good stopping off point for his court during its tour of the country. Then the building came into the ownership of the Knights Hospitallers who, like the Templars, were known for offering hospitality to travellers. In the fourteenth century Edward III and his queen visited. The gilded angel holding a crown is said to be a tribute to his patronage. In 1483 Richard III stayed at the hotel and in the Chambre de Roi (now the King's Room Restaurant) set in motion the order for the execution of the Duke of Buckingham. Charles I stayed there in 1633 and in 1643 Oliver Cromwell was a visitor following his success in battle near Grantham. In the eighteenth century The Angel (as it was then known) became a notable coaching inn offering accommodation for travellers, including George IV, on the Great North Way. The name of the inn was changed to the The Angel and Royal after the visit in 1866 of the Prince of Wales. He later became Edward VII.

The main elevation of the building we see today is stone-faced, two storeyed, with bays, buttresses, a parapet, rather fine grotesques and gargoyles, and dates from the late 1400s. The central carriage arch is now glazed with doors. Above is an oriel window supported by the gilded demi-angel holding a crown. There is an eighteenth century extension to the left (out of shot), and internal rooms show details of, principally, the fifteenth, sixteenth and eighteenth centuries.

I took today's photographs after, on a cold and clear day, we'd eaten lunch in the King's Room below sagging beams next to a stone fireplace, warmed by a roaring fire.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 65mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Southwark Cathedral chandelier

click photo to enlarge

Lanterns and chandeliers began to appear in churches from around 1600 to augment the candles and small oil lamps that had been used for centuries. The first, quite plain, English chandeliers were soon supplemented by more ornate models imported from Flanders. Drooping arms fixed to rings featured in seventeenth century examples and highly decorated finials were favoured at the top. By the eighteenth century they had become very ornate with scrolls, brass balls and often a flame as a finial, though doves were popular too: opened winged and feathered was the London style, closed winged and smooth if originating in Bristol.

The example shown in today's photograph is suspended under the crossing of Southwark Cathedral in London. It is inscribed, "The gift of Dorothye relict of Jno. Appleby Esqe to ye Parish Church of St Saviour Southwarke 1680" (the parish church of St Saviour was raised to cathedral status in 1905 though before the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1536 it was a priory - hence its large size). The design of this particular chandelier is quite forward looking and from a distance could be mistaken for one of the Georgian examples that are frequently to be seen in English parish churches.

The silhouette of the chandelier presented a fine shape to photograph in front of the illuminated Gothic vaulting of the nave. Anyone who has followed this blog's photography and discussion of vaulting might be forgiven for thinking it to be a fine example of Early English architecture, along with the lancet windows and the nave arcades, triforium and clerestory. However, they are the work of Arthur Blomfield and date from 1890-1897. Though quite a bit of Southwark Cathedral dates from medieval times successive fires have meant much rebuilding down the centuries and a visitor can glean quite a bit of enjoyment from working out what is original and what is later but in the Gothic style.

For a couple more of my photographs of chandeliers see here and here.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 65mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/50
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Gotobed East

click photo to enlarge

First names, often called Christian names, originated in a number of ways. Many are simply descriptive. For example, Charles comes from the Germanic for "man", Thomas is the Greek form of the Aramaic word meaning "twin", and Adam derives from the Hebrew for "man" which in turn comes from the word for "ruddy coloured" and links to "earth" (from which, according to the Bible Adam, the first man, came). Names such as Decimus, Septimus and Octavia usually describe the owners position in the family (tenth, seventh or eighth born). Other first names are linked to the circumstances of birth. Boys born over the period of Christmas are often called Noel, and girls are sometimes called Felicity or Prudence in the parents' hope that those qualities will attach to them throughout life. Then there are the invented names such as Pamela (from Samuel Richardson's 1740 novel of  that title) or Wendy, a name that makes its first appearance in J.M. Barrie's 1904 play, "Peter Pan". Some first names are created by pressing surnames into service for that purpose, for example Kingsley, Remington or Wilson. I suspect this may be the case with the very unusual first name featured on the memorial in today's photograph.

A Google search for Gotobed used as a first name turns up only a few references to this particular memorial and the person remembered in it. It looks like Gotobed East may have been unique in the possession of this first name. However, search for the same name as a surname and many sources can be found. Gotobed East's memorial can be found fixed to a wall at Ely Cathedral in Cambridgeshire. This location would only have been open to a wealthy and well-connected individual, and his memorial shows him to have been that as a gentleman and an officer of the Bedford Level drainage body. On his death he "left to the churchwardens of Holy Trinity parish 5 cottages in Newnham, to be occupied by 5 aged widows of the said parish", so he was clearly a benevolent person too.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 32mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/13
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation:N/A

Underneath the arches

click photo to enlarge

"Underneath the arches I dream my dreams away,
Underneath the arches, on cobblestones I lay"
 from the song (1931) by Reg Connelly(?) and Bud Flanagan

Everything we experience in the first twenty or so years of our existence is imprinted on us more strongly than most of our experiences in later life. People can usually remember a clear sequence of events and years relating to childhood and youth. But, unless momentous things happened, they struggle to differentiate the years of, say, their forties or fifties. These are often the times where a repetitive  pattern is established centred on work and leisure with fewer variations or "first" events of the kind that dominate our formative years. We tend to remember places we visited, people we met, books we read, songs we heard and much else from our youth far better than the equivalents of later years because so many are things that happened for the first time in our lives.

When I was a child my father would often sing songs, either to amuse himself or for the benefit of his children. They weren't usually contemporary songs but were those of his own childhood and youth. I didn't know it at the time but a couple of his favourites were songs made popular by the British singing and comedy act, Bud Flanagan (1896-1968) and Chesney Allen (1893-1982). The duo were at the peak of their fame just before and during the second world war. Songs such as "Run, Rabbit Run" and "We'll Smile Again" were hugely popular. The two I remember my father singing were "Underneath the Arches" and "The Umbrella Man". Though I remember the words of the second song better it's the first that always comes to mind when I walk through railway arches as I often do on my walks along the South Bank of the River Thames in London.

Today's photograph shows the pedestrian tunnel under the south end of Southwark Bridge. It is a popular spot for buskers, one of whom can be seen packing up at the end of his day, and it is one of a sequence of such arches and tunnels in this area. The brick arch is much as it was when first built. However, the ground has been resurfaced and repaired many times, and the walls now carry engraved slate murals of the medieval frost fairs that were held on the frozen River Thames. The very contrasty nature of the subject made me think that black and white would be a good treatment for the subject though it does make the tunnel look a great deal gloomier and more sinister than it is.

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:400
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Ely Cathedral

click photo to enlarge

The exterior of Ely Cathedral looks its best, in my opinion, from a distance of several miles as it rises above the small city on a low eminence in the flat Fenland landscape. To someone who is familiar with English cathedrals the exterior of Ely is a decided oddity, and the closer you get to it the odder it looks. A prominent west tower is common in a parish church but rare in a great church such as a cathedral, minster or abbey where the crossing tower usually dominates. The emphasis on embattled turrets rather than pinnacles is even rarer, suggesting a secular castle rather than a religious building. Ely didn't always look like it does today however. It too, like cathedrals across the land, once had a central crossing tower. But, in February 1322, the great Norman structure collapsed, probably due to the inadequacy of its foundations. In its place an octagonal lantern was erected, supported on stone, but constructed of oak, the whole structure making a bristling tower lower than the west tower and very different from the soaring culminations found elsewhere.

You may gather from this that I find the exterior of Ely lacking compared with say,York, Lincoln, Durham, Salisbury or, in fact, most other cathedrals. I do. That's not to say that it lacks interest, but for me the overall form of the building doesn't match the beauty of other major cathedrals. However, the collapse that led to the construction of the octagon produced on the interior one of the finest sights that any English cathedral can offer, one that brings distinction to the building and makes it a place worth going out of your way to see.

Today's main photograph and one of the secondary images show what your eyes behold when you pause below Ely's crossing and look up. At the top left is the painted roof of the very long Norman nave. Opposite, at the bottom right is the elaborate Gothic vaulting of the nave. The other two roofs cover the transepts. Windows fill the spaces between the eight stone piers and from the top of each of the latter spreads a fan of ribs that reach to each of the bottom edges of the octagon itself. This is painted with a ring of angels, has stellar vaulting with Christ on the centre, and the whole is ringed with stained glass that lights the space.

We made the journey to Ely on the back of a weather forecast that promised sun and cloud. The drab photograph of the west tower shows how accurate that was!

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 2500
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation:N/A

Photography in the fog

click photo to enlarge

When I lived in Hull and the weather was foggy I often heard the sound of the ships' foghorns as they negotiated the River Humber into the port or went out into the North Sea. Living on the Lancashire coast I heard them occasionally: there were fewer ships, fog was infrequent, and technology had advanced compared with when I lived near the east coast. Now that I'm in Lincolnshire I experience more fog than in either of the other locations but I recall hearing a ship's foghorn only once. I suppose I'm too far from the sea and ships in The Wash are relatively few, smaller, and fairly quiet.

In common with much of eastern England we've recently had a few days of mist and fog and I've made a point of going out with my camera to see what I could snap. As I've said elsewhere in this blog, fog is one of those weather conditions - like snow - that transforms a landscape and allows the photographer to make very different images in very familiar surroundings. Unfortunately inspiration seemed to have deserted me on my forays into the gloom and I came back with very little that satisfies me. The two shots I post today are the best of my meagre pickings.

Certainly, to my mind, they don't compare with some of my earlier efforts such as this jetty and yacht, this tree, this cottage or this Fenland "view". The smaller of today's offerings shows a new footbridge over a dyke on a footpath near Donington. The main image is the west end of Donington church. This marvellous piece of medieval architecture has a very interesting west doorway. It dates from the fourteenth century and, unusually for a village church, has a projecting hood with an ogee arch that protects the inner arch and door. Time and weather have eroded the sharp details of this feature, but the sculpted leaves and other mouldings can still be discerned under its current generous covering of moss.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -1.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Charing Cross escalators

click photo to enlarge

Just over a month ago - October 4th to be precise - it was the 100th anniversary of the opening of the first escalator on the London Underground. The two machines that linked the Piccadilly and District/Circle Lines  underwent a one month trial period to establish their safety. They must have passed because between 1911 and 1915 another 22 were installed. Today the network has 422.

I've always been fascinated by the London Underground escalators. Although they all work on essentially the same principles and look pretty similar architects have frequently sought to inject difference through the surrounding architecture and decor. I was impressed by the totally stainless steel aesthetic of Canada Water station when I first saw it. Recently I passed the escalators at Charing Cross (above) and enjoyed their big circles and the mirrors that played tricks with the space. In fact, looking at these examples I felt transported into Fritz Lang's "Metropolis" or perhaps Ridley Scott's "Blade Runner". I definitely got the feeling that the architect (Terry Farrell) had been inspired by cinematic visions of the future when it came to the look at this station.

Incidentally, I'm the only person in this image with the time and inclination to stop, stand and stare. And perhaps one of a minority who was wondering whether it really is possible to fall down an up escalator for half an hour, as the old joke has it.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 1600
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Autumn at Deeping St James

click photo to enlarge

The other evening, with a friend, I gave a talk to a group in the village about photography. We divided the alphabet up between us and we each spoke about 13 of our own images (a couple with secondary images to support the main one). At one point I mentioned a quotation by Aaron Rose that I have always liked and which I first used very early in the life of this blog: "In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary". This observation makes the important point that light has the power to change things, even the most mundane, into objects of beauty and visual interest. I think the author and most people, me included, assume the quote is about the value of strongly directional light, and a lot of my photography - in fact quite a bit of every photographer's output - makes use of this kind of illumination.

However, as I've got older I've come to realise that every sort of light has qualities that can be used in photography, even the uninspiring flat light that is produced by a blanket of stratus cloud. Whereas hard, directional light makes for contrast, drama and in-your-face eye-catching qualities, diffuse, almost directionless light softens the scene, mutes everything and confers a quiet quality that can be very appealing in its own way. I blogged about this in connection with a photograph I took last year of some boats drawn up on the shingle beach at Aldeburgh, Suffolk. A couple of days ago similar light prevailed when I took this photograph of the River Welland at Deeping St James in Lincolnshire. I think it's not only the subject but also the light that gives the photograph some of the qualities that I admire in English landscape painting of the first half of the nineteenth century. Who knows, it may be a liking for the work of artists such as Crome, Cotman, Constable, Stark, Stannard and Colkett (mainly members of the "Norwich School") that accounts for me every now and then producing images like the one above.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 65mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cleaning the Shard's windows

click photo to enlarge

"A window cleaner you would be,
If you can see what I can see,
When I'm cleanin' windows."
from the song, "When I'm Cleaning Windows sung by George Formby (1904-1961), British songwriter, comedian and actor

When I lived in Lancashire I could look out of my upstairs windows and, across the fields, see a house that once belonged to George Formby. It was called the Illawalla. Formby did a lot of work in the Blackpool area so I suppose a rural retreat a few miles inland was a good base for him.

It was his best-known song, "When I'm Cleaning Windows" that came to mind when I saw these workmen doing just that hundreds of feet above me on the Shard. Not that the subjects mentioned in his ribald lyrics would be likely to be seen at this location. However, the London sights they do see from their various vantage points around the building must be amazing. It takes a particular kind of person to do the kind of work seen in today's photograph, and I can say that it most definitely wouldn't suit me.

If you look carefully at yesterday's photograph with the closer view of the Shard you can just make out the crane, cradle and the bright orange jackets seen in the picture above.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 300mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 320
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Shard November update

click photo to enlarge

It's probably a bit rich to describe this as an update on the progress of the Shard - the low cloud hid the "working" section at the top for much of the time I was in a position to get a shot. However, I did manage to incorporate into my main image some of a lower building that shares the same address as the Shard and together with the taller building comprises "The London Bridge Quarter". The hunk of concrete surrounded by cranes will become "The Place", a name that the workings already carry as it slowly rises above its neighours. It too will be a glass faced structure as its website shows.

It strikes me that "The Place" is an incredibly uninspiring name. It reminds me of "the hub" that is now "nccd" in Sleaford, Lincolnshire. It's a generic name, in some ways redolent of the 1960s (it conjures up a hang-out such as a coffee bar or small music venue), and is one which is unlikely to last very long.

The River Thames view is equally unrevealing of the Shard, and much less so than my earlier photograph from downstream taken in August. Even the night time shots that I took on my last visit show the building partially obscured by cloud. I suppose this is something the workers, visitors and residents of the Shard will have to get used to. Mind you, I bet the view is amazing when there's a temperature inversion.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Shoes and fashion

click photo to enlarge

"And, after all, what is a fashion? From the artistic point of view it is usually a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months."
Oscar Wilde (1854-1900) Irish playwright, poet and essayist

Oscar Wilde's jaundiced observation on fashion will not find favour with those who design, sell and buy it. But, as ever with him, there are serious points within his outrageous and forceful remark. All fashion is transient and consequently, though "looks" re-appear periodically, it is concerned with changing the surface appearance of people and objects and coming up with a "new look". But, the simple fact is you can't do that for decades - centuries even - and always end up with something that is a pleasure to look at: so often fashion is most certainly "intolerable" in one way or another. Many people will object to this and say that fashion is fun, interesting, harmless. I would argue that it is wasteful of resources and, because its main purpose is to transfer money from the pocket of the consumer into those of the manufacturers and sellers, wasteful of our hard earned cash. Moreover, good design (not usually the same as fashion at all) is perfectly capable of investing products with innate (rather than superficial) qualities that will make us choose one thing over another. For more of my thoughts on fashion, style and design see this post called, appropriately enough, Fashion, Style and Design.

Today's photograph was taken near Covent Garden in London. What amazed me about this shop was the way the shoes were displayed like works of art or revered pieces in a museum. I was also intrigued by how similar most of them were. Clearly these are shoes that are designed to be looked at rather than worn in any utilitarian, work-a-day way. Wouldn't it be interesting to return to the shop in six months and test the veracity of Wilde's remark.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 205mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 1250
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Floral Street memento mori

click photo to enlarge

At the weekend, once again visiting London, we found ourselves on Floral Street. This narrow road is lined with what I'm told are representatives of the more expensive end of the clothing trade - Paul Smith, Ted Baker etc. I hadn't taken leave of my senses and gone there to buy anything; we were just using the street as a cut through to Covent Garden. But, not wanting to waste an opportunity for a photograph, I cast my eye about for subjects. The throngs of people and the single-track nature of the road made that somewhat difficult. However, when my companions went to look at some merchandise I took the opportunity to give photography all my attention.

As I sauntered along the pavement past a shop with shoes that combined eye-watering colour, ludicrous styling and stratospheric prices, I saw a small window. It didn't appear to be part of a shop and featured a spotlit skull with a necklace on a stand. I suppose it may have been some kind of retail premises with a sales pitch so subtle or so esoteric that it was only recognisable as such by the cognoscenti. However, this passing photographer immediately saw the window display as a memento mori placed there as a countervailing presence to the offerings of mammon that were all around. Not very likely you might think, but it was a basis for coming up with a shot. The one I arrived at has three subjects - the skull, a reflected man gazing at either the skull or the reflected me, and a passer-by - an arrangement that might prompt a few thoughts about what's going on in the image, and whether there is a connection between the subjects. Not my usual approach to picture-making and street photography isn't my usual style, but it was a bit of fun that made a few minutes alone pass quickly.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 65mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Autumn at Woodhall Spa

click photo to enlarge

On a recent overcast day, we took a six or seven mile stroll through some woods and lanes in Lincolnshire, a county that is, in the popular consciousness, a treeless place. Our starting point was the village of Woodhall Spa, a place whose very name suggests that it may be a wooded spot. Located between the chalk and the limestone, Woodhall Spa features heather and bracken, many tree types including silver birch, beech and oak, and has soil that can support the widespread rhododendrons that the Victorians and Edwardians planted. Mature woodland adjoins and penetrates the large village and mature trees can be seen in many gardens. For anyone who doesn't know Woodhall Spa the late John Betjeman called it "that half-timbered Bournemouth-like settlement", a description that sums up the look and feel of the place quite well.

The English National Golf Centre and its courses are found here. Apparently - and I'm no golfer so I can't attest to this - the Hotchkin Course is a classic British heathland course and was voted "25th best course in the world" by Golf World Magazine. What I do know is that a public footpath winds through the courses and adjacent woodlands and the semi-wild landscape makes quite a nice start to a ramble from the village centre. On our walk the colours of the autumn leaves were just starting to decline in intensity but were still very attractive, and I managed a few shots as we followed a track through a tunnel of trees. In the one above my photographic assistant - aka my wife - was persuaded to be the focal point in the "tunnel".

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 183mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 1250
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On