The Lynn Ferry

click photo to enlarge
In the UK there has been, for many years, a discernible drift away from the principle of narrowing the gulf in weath between the poorest, least advantaged in society and the well-off by taxing the latter and redistributing the money to the former. This approach was universally supported by all the major political parties for a long period after the Second World War. However, for the past thirty or so years the Conservatives have sought, through their policies, quite the opposite; to transfer resources from the poor and the middle classes to the richer sections of society, business, commerce and the City. The recent financial crisis has allowed them to accelerate what they are doctrinally disposed to favour under the guise of "necessity." The Labour party during its time in government, though making some efforts at redistribution, were so half-hearted that the effect was nowhere near what was possible given their duration in office and the resources that they commanded. Today's Liberal Democrats will have to speak for themselves on this matter because I find it very difficult to discern what, if any, principles they now espouse.

Part of the problem is that politics and politicians have eschewed principles and philosophy in favour of managerialism. Dealing with immediate issues has become an end in itself rather than a means of achieving a vision. The problem with most managers, of course, is that they know the price of everything but the value of nothing. So, instead of universal provision and the equalising across the country of the prices of essential items such as utilities, healthcare and transport in the interests of affordability for all, but especially the less well off in society, we are seeing the growth of regional pricing structures, the decline of cross-subsidisation and unitary pricing.

One consequence of all this is that enterprises such as the Lynn Ferry (see photograph) that regularly crosses the River Great Ouse to link the small, relatively deprived community of West Lynn with the large market town of King's Lynn face the possibility of a loss of subsidy at a time when its users face declining incomes. The ferry subsidy is £25,000 per year which allows the operators to charge fares of 80p single and £1.40 return (reduced to 60p and £1.00 for children). There is a need for fares to remain competitive with the cost of either driving round by the nearest bridge and paying for a parking space or using an infrequent bus service. More than that, there is every reason to ensure that the residents of West Lynn remain in regular contact with the major part of their community, one that they can almost reach out and touch. And, there is a need to recognise that West Lynn grew, in part because of the existence of the river ferry and to cause its closure would be iniquitous.

I photographed the ferry landing on the King's Lynn side of the river at low tide. Unfortunately the number of passengers doesn't make my case very well - two young girls heading for town and a woman crossing to West Lynn. I've tried for this silhouette shot before (when passenger numbers have been higher), but this is my best attempt so far.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 300mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Super-size curve stitching

click photo to enlarge

Last year, in a post showing a photograph of church organ pipes, I briefly touched on the subject of curve stitching (often called string or pin and thread art) - that is to say, the assembly of straight lines of thread in such a way that they produce curves. It's an activity that I associate with my own years as a primary school pupil. However, it must still be quite popular because I see from my hit counter that particular blog page being regularly landed on by people searching using the phrase "curve stitching". The activity is, to my mind, a craft. However, the other day at the National Centre for Craft and Design at Sleaford, Lincolnshire, I came upon an example on a giant scale that bridged the gap between craft and art.

The main exhibition gallery was filled with a piece by Gabriel Dawe called Plexus No. 10. Accompanying text by the artist described his arrangement of taut, visible spectrum coloured threads arranged in lines and curve-stitching- style arcs that the viewer can walk between as "materialising the structure of light." To wander into the piece was a fascinating journey because the coloursof the threads changed depending on your position, as did their shape, from some angles resembling the slats of venetian blinds. An interesting phenomenon was the way that the viewer sometimes became disorientated, losing a sense of how near the threads were. We often descend on the N.C.C.D. at a time when we are the only visitors, or when there are just one or two others. On this occasion there were quite a few people and it was interesting to hear and see their reaction. There were lots of smiles, gasps and much careful peering to see how the structures were constructed and why they behaved as they did. In this piece Gabriel Dawe has clearly pulled of that most difficult of tricks by creating a work that is both good, popular and fun. The exhibition opened on 22 October and continues until 15 January 2012. I thoroughly recommend it.

With permission I took several photographs, none of which effectively describe the sight, experience and fun of moving around the installation - fitting three dimensions into two often has that result. However, they do give an indication of what I've been talking about and were interesting to shoot. Here are my best three.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 102mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

hub becomes nccd

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It seems that the hub (lower case) has become nccd (also lower case). An improvement, certainly, but wouldn't it have been so much better to have gone the whole hog and made it N.C.C.D.?

Ever since I moved to Lincolnshire I've visited the National Centre for Craft & Design in Sleaford. I've been delighted, bemused, exasperated and despairing as I've viewed their regular exhibitions. And that's exactly how it should be. There's absolutely no reason why I should like everything that is shown. I much prefer to see a wide range of exhibitions that bring me experiences that are new, different and challenging, and that necessarily means, as far as I personally am concerned, there'll be hits and misses. The next blog post will feature the current main exhibition which I think is a definite hit. However, for today let's stick with the "re-branding" exercise.

It makes much more sense to use the initials of the centre's official name rather than the generic title of "the hub". There are too many other places with that name which leads to confusion, and anyway it's become a touch passe. But why keep the lower case? Surely that's a fashion that's had its day too. Moreover, lower case becomes either confusing ot unreadable when written in a block of text. I would rather that capitalized initials had featured in the new advertising and that subsequent updates to the style and signage simply modified them. I do, however, quite like the overlapping angular shapes that accompany the revised name, and the painting of them on one side of the building works well too. So well in fact that I had to photograph them with the window reflecting a nearby tree.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 40mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Early 1800s terraced housing

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The Norfolk market town of King's Lynn is a mecca for anyone interested in English architectural history. As a measure of its wealth in this regard the Borough of King's Lynn and West Norfolk has 1,878 listed buildings of which 111 are Grade 1 i.e of national as well as local importance. Within the town there are a number streets that draw visitors with the range and quality of their buildings. One such is Nelson Street that extends south from near St Margaret's church. From Hampton Court  - a courtyard development that has been in use and added to from the fourteenth century to the present day - to seventeenth and eighteenth century merchant's houses such as No. 15 and Oxley House, this short road offers interest in every elevation.

However, it's not one of the more obviously historic or showpiece structures that I photographed on my recent visit. Instead, it is a section of a terrace - Nos. 14-20 Nelson Street. These houses stand out from their neighbours as being rather dour, somewhat industrial, and on a smaller scale. They were built in 1819 at the tail end of the Georgian period when mass housing started to take on a Victorian countenance. The materials chosen for this row are red brick with gault brick for the facades and Welsh slate on the roofs. Each house is two bays wide with the blind window above the door filled in from the outset. Chimney stacks and a raised firebreak mark the division between the properties at roof level. The original doors and some original sash windows are still in use. To the right (out of shot) is a basket-arched carriage arch that presumably gave access to the rear of all the properties.

The gault brick, as is often the case, hasn't aged very well and looks somewhat grubby giving a time-worn appearance even though it is still in pretty good condition. What drew my eye and caused me to take this photograph was the brightly painted doors. I don't imagine that there is a great deal of similarity to how they looked in 1819, but today, given the somewhat drab brickwork that surrounds them, they offer welcome brightness as well as a focus for this passing photographer's composition.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Romanesque and Gothic at Tewkesbury

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Today's photograph shows the interior of the nave of Tewkesbury Abbey, Gloucestershire. A Saxon abbey founded c.715AD was the first building on this site, but nothing of it remains today. The present church is a Norman foundation of the eleventh century with most of the structure dating from the 1100s, a little from the 1200s, the ambulatory chapels and vaulting the 1300s, and small areas elsewhere of more recent dates.

Looking at the photograph we can see that the drum piers (columns), the rounded arches and the triforium (dark passage with light shining from it) are of the Norman (or Romanesque) period. They were complete by the time of the abbey's consecration in the 1120s and are characteristically heavy compared with the lighter appearance of the later Gothic style. For the student of architectural history there are two particular points of interest in this photograph. Firstly, the piers are relatively tall and plain, a regional characteristic of the Norman style whilst the triforium is quite small, almost insignificant compared with most similar buildings of the period (compare with this example at Peterborough Cathedral). The second thing to note is that the vaulting of both the aisles and the nave dates from 1330-1350, what is stylistically called the Decorated period of Gothic architecture.

The rounded arches of the Norman period were poor at spanning spaces as wide as a nave and consequently most Norman naves had flat timber ceilings, rather than stone vaulting. However, the narrower aisles were often covered with tunnel or groin vaulting. Here at Tewkesbury the Norman nave had no clerestory so the present one was inserted in the fourteenth century when the lierne vaulting of the nave and the quadripartite with ridge ribs vaulting of the aisles was built. To anyone who visits large churches regularly the Gothic vaulting on Romanesque piers looks odd. It also accounts for the half-hidden and relatively ineffectiveness of the clerestory which was squeezed in and then partly obscured by the springing of the vaulting. However, in the middle ages, as today, architects were keen to build in a contemporary way, and the idea of building vaulting or a clerestory in 1340 in a style from over one hundred years earlier was thought ridiculous, just as building today in the manner of the late Victorians would be. It would, wouldn't it?

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 2500
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Where do photographs come from?

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The answer to today's title question seems fairly obvious - from a camera, or perhaps a printer. And so they do, but the genesis of every photographic image is in someone's mind. Before it is captured by the camera or printed on paper it is conceived by someone looking and thinking.

I do quite a bit of DIY. I find it interesting, often quite relaxing, sometimes fulfilling, and invariably a money saver. When it comes to embarking on a project I know that the most crucial part of the process is the "thinking time" before I buy the materials and pick up the tools. So too with photography: most of my images are preceded by a period of thought and in that thinking time I'm pondering what I see before me, what I will include in the frame, what I'll leave out, what kind of composition I want, what the subject might look like from a different angle, whether there are any dissonant objects or conjunctions that will interfere with the image, etc. But there are occasions too when I take a shot instinctively; when the elements of an image present themselves, seemingly register on my subconscious and I raise the camera and press the shutter in one quick movement without much conscious thought.

Today's image is one of those shots. I was leaving a service building (a dairy I think) at Audley End House in Essex when I noticed the raking light emphasising the raised pattern on the door. I must have subconsciously taken in the bright areas of the sunlit door, ground and sky, the contrasting shadows and the two people passing in front of the dark yew hedge. Moreover, I must have registered the importance of the figures in the whole composition because I quickly grabbed my shot before they walked out of view. It's not my usual way of working but sometimes I find myself doing it and often liking the result. I wish I could do it more often!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 21mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Abbey Mill, Tewkesbury

click photo to enlarge

We recently stayed for a few days near Ledbury, Herefordshire, and during our time in the area took a short trip to Tewkesbury. We've visited the town a couple of times before to see the abbey, and we viewed it again, but on this occasion we also had a walk by the river. Tewkesbury stands at the confluence of the River Avon and the River Severn, and as well as being known for its fine medieval abbey and its delightful buildings of all periods, especially the black and white half-timbered Tudor houses and pubs, it is recognized as a place that is prone to flooding. Mention the town today and many will recall a famous photograph from 2007 which shows the abbey seeming to stand on an island surrounded by water.

Autumn weather has started to make its presence felt in the the UK in the form of stronger winds, lower temperatures and rain, and on our visit to Tewkesbury it looked like we might get a little precipitation. Fortunately the dark clouds passed and the sun made an appearance. But not before I'd taken a photograph under those clouds of a building with which I wasn't familiar - Abbey Mill on the River Avon.

This water mill is an attractive and complex three-storey building with an attic level. It has three mill-races to undershot wheels and a weir alongside. A bridge connects the two banks of the river, running under part of the mill buildings (small photograph). Abbey Mill was erected in 1793 and has nineteenth and twentieth century additions. It is built mainly of brick and weatherboarding with cast iron columns, some with spreader plates. Flour was milled here until 1933 but now the building comprises a number of desirable apartments.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

In praise of blur

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I've said elsewhere in this blog that the technical and technological side of photography doesn't interest me very much. In fact, I engage in it only to the extent that I have to in order to make the photographs that I require. The truth is that I pursue photography because I like making pictures.

I do, however, occasionally visit photography forums and one thing I have gleaned in my surfing is the extent to which many photographers value sharpness above all other qualities in a camera/lens combination. Consequently lens acuity as measured in lines per millimetre seem to be very important to many. Questions about new lenses or lenses that someone is considering buying often solicit forum members' evidence of sharpness. Colour rendition, bokeh, contrast, flare handling and all the other qualities that are desirable in a lens come well down the list of sought after features - if they are considered at all. Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate a sharp lens, and I also understand that a sharp lens can be manipulated to lose some of its sharpness whereas a lens that isn't very sharp is difficult to sharpen. But, sharpness isn't everything, and some subjects are the worse for it. Moreover, using your lens in ways other than to secure maximum detail is often the right thing to do.

I was thinking about this when I photographed a bed of coneflowers the other day. I took a shot of the blooms aiming for sharp examples in the foreground and blurred heads behind. But, as I looked through the viewfinder I found I preferred the out of focus flowers to the sharp examples. So I took a few shots, some that resolved great detail, and others - like the one above - where nothing was sharp. Out of all the images that I gathered it was the out of focus ones that I preferred for their hazy, indistinct, painterly qualities.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 300mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 1250
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Bad whole, good detail

click photo to enlarge

It's a paradox of many man-made structures (and a few natural ones) that something that you dislike as an overall piece may well have details that you appreciate. Take automotive design. I've never been a great fan of Jaguar styling yet I've photographed bonnet and front details of the marque on more than one occasion because they appeal to me. Or how about contemporary architecture? The development near Tower Bridge in London with the ridiculous name of More London was justly short-listed for the 2007 Carbuncle Cup, an annual award for bad architecture, but I've taken a few photographs of the buildings' details that I really like.

The other day in London I entered a new building and noticed that the ceiling in the foyer above the receptionists' desks had sheets of undulating, perforated, reflective metal fixed to it. I can only assume that it was a styling feature though I suppose it may have fulfilled some acoustic purpose. My immediate thought was, "That doesn't work." In a very impressive and elegant structure this detail looked cheap by association. By that I mean it reminded me of foil covered cardboard packaging of the kind that is sometimes used in a vain attempt to "lift" the appearance of the contents of the box. But then I looked closely at the reflections that changed as I moved beneath it and I saw something that interested me. This photograph of a small part of the expanse of metal has a semi-abstract quality that I like. I rather regret not taking a shot of the whole of the location for comparison purposes, but I was pushing my luck getting this shot, and I think the receptionists might have taken exception to my camera being pointed at them rather than up at the ceiling.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 47mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 2000
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Shard October update

click photo to enlarge

Perhaps the above encounter between a barge, a Port of London Authority launch, a Fire Rescue boat and a Police launch (departing background right) wasn't an incident as such, more a planned coming together of vessels. However, the flashing blue lights on the Police launch and the speed at which it arrived on the scene suggested otherwise and drew the attention of this passing photographer as he trudged towards the centre of London under a leaden sky hoping for a shot or two to present themselves.

My most recent photographs of the construction of the Shard were posted on 29th and 30th August. I post today's images as my latest update on the progress of this tall and very visible building. Flipping back and forth between the two river views I can see that the glass reaches somewhat higher than it did in August. The concrete core has now reached its final height. There has always been a crane at the tallest point during construction. However, the crane that is now at the top of the Shard, which was put up on September 24th, is the tallest ever erected in Britain. It will be used to complete the "spire" that forms the uppermost part of the building.

The projected completion date for the Shard is May 2012.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 95mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Yew hedges and country houses

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A couple of weeks ago I was cutting my side of a conifer hedge that separates part of our garden from a neighbour's. It's about 10 feet high and 50 yards or so long. It took me and my wife a morning of hard work to accomplish the task. My relatively light travails came to mind the other day during my visit to Audley End House in Essex as we took a break from our journey down to London. When I got my first glimpse of the Jacobean country house I was impressed - by the size, symmetry and setting of the building - but moreso by the fine yew hedge that stretched diagonally forward from one end of the main facade.

The hedge must be about 15 feet tall, very wide and many yards long. It is cut in the "bumpy", abstract style that is favoured by many country house gardeners. One often sees topiarised yews and geometrically cut yew hedges in such settings, but frequently these cyclopean hedges feature too. Often they act as screens separating areas of garden or block views that offer little of interest or perhaps an eyesore. At Audley End it serves to mask the hotch-potch of service buildings - kitchen, dairy, laundry etc - from visitors as they approach the front of the house. The hedge, unusually, isn't wholly yew, a few other evergreen shrubs have been allowed to intermingle.

As yew hedges go it's one of the biggest I've come across. Not as big though as this example at Montacute House in Somerset that takes 4 gardeners three months to cut! For a couple more examples of this kind of hedge see this Spalding, Lincolnshire example and this one at Melbourne, Derbyshire.

click photo to enlarge

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 50mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Morris dancing

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"When he is dancing the true morris-man is serious of countenance, yet gay of heart; vigorous, yet restrained; a strong man rejoicing in his strength; yet graceful, controlled, and perfectly dignified withal."
Cecil Sharp (1859-1924), English folklore and folksong revivalist


Cecil Sharp had very clear and serious views on the revival of traditional English folk dance and song: the quotation above underlines this. What then would he have made of the morris dancing that I experienced at the Old Brewery, Greenwich recently. There were some serious countenances among the assembled morris men and women - mainly from the bandsmen - but in the main there was delight and enjoyment on the faces of the dancers in doing what they did.

Last year I watched some morris dancing in Pershore, Worcestershire, and reflected in the blog post that accompanied my photographs on Thomas Hardy's views about such performances. He distinguished between survivalists and revivalists, noting that the former who carry on the tradition through obligation do not show the same enthusiasm and enjoyment as those who take it up voluntarily in order to to re-kindle an ancient tradition. If Hardy is to be believed - and I think he probably over-stated his case - the Rose and Castle Morris depicted in today's images must count as revivalists because the delight they took in their performance was palpable.

One thing that I found interesting about this particular morris is the fact that, though they come from Stoke Bruerne, Northamptonshire, in the English Midlands, they dance in clogs following the tradition of Lancashire and Cheshire in north-west England.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Physiognomy and morris men

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The pseudo-science of physiognomy has it that we can discern a person's character and personality from their facial characteristics. The Greeks and Romans believed that the face - and other bodily features - were an external manifestation of the inner person. Physiognomy was taught in universities in the middle ages, and it has continued to have its adherents since that time, though many in the scientific community have ridiculed its methods and findings and continue to do so.

Interestingly, one recent study indicates that 90% of people think that you can judge a person's character through their face, so it's not surprising that the idea continues to be popular, and that some serious researchers are delving into the subject once more. My experience over my lifetime is that a person's face sometimes does seem to indicate something of their character, but it just as often doesn't. That observation may be saying something about me as a judge of people but I would say that physiognomy is an unreliable indicator.

I was thinking about this when I looked at my photograph of these morris men. I came upon them in Greenwich a couple of days ago as they were taking a rest from their labours and enjoying a drink. I snapped them for their traditional outfits and for their "characterful" looks. It's tempting to look into their faces and think we can read what they are like as people. But the fact is, I have other photographs taken at the same time where, because their expressions are different, we would come to quite contrasting opinions. As you have perhaps worked out, I think physiognomy is about as scientific as astrology.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 271mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 320
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Ring-necked parakeet invaders

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Walking along Rotherhithe Street in London the other day my ears and then my eyes were drawn to a ring-necked parakeet flying above me between the warehouse conversions and new flats that line the way. Its repeated raucous screech and its bright colours seemed out of place in that man-made canyon: a steamy jungle or baking sub-equatorial plain seemed more appropriate. And yet, a growing population of these birds can be found in London and in many other localities in western Europe.

The first recorded British breeding in the wild of this bird was in Norfolk in 1855, so escapees have long been known to survive in our colder climate. However, the next recorded occurence was not until 1969, in Kent. Thereafter colonies became established in south-east England, in the north-west (I saw them occasionally on the Fylde) and elsewhere. On the afternoon of the day I saw the Rotherhithe bird we went to Greenwich Park. Walking into the trees only a short way from the heavily peopled Royal Observatory and National Maritime Museum found us surrounded by ring-necked parakeets. In that location they were as common as the carrion crows and wood pigeons, and much noisier. The berry-laden trees were clearly the attraction, and I managed to photograph this bird in the act of eating. My shot is fairly heavily cropped - I don't possess a lens capable of close-ups of birds.

On my return home I did a bit of digging concerning the spread of this species in the UK. The Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB) estimates a resident breeding population of c.5000 birds, mainly in Surrey, Kent and Sussex. Other authorities judge there to be double that number, and it has become one of the 20 most commonly seen birds in London. In 2009 Natural England relaxed the legislation on this species and monk parakeets allowing their control (i.e. killing) in some circumstances. Whether the ring-necked parakeet is allowed to spread and increase further in numbers will doubtless depend on the impact it has on indigenous species and fruit growing. Will it attain the status of the little owl and the pheasant, birds that we no longer think of as non-native species, or will it be subjected to the sort of culling that has reduced the number of ruddy ducks from around 5000 to about 120?

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 300mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 500
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

New perspectives on familiar subjects

click photo to enlarge

It occurs to me that the title of today's post states one of the aims of most enthusiast and professional photographers. It is still possible to find subjects that haven't been photographed before, or haven't been photographed very often. But, photographers number in their millions, photographs in their billions, and inevitably most of the things that you and I point a camera at have been subjected to photography before. Consequently we daily try to see our familiar subjects in a different way from the way they've been seen before.

There are two ways of achieving this goal. You can set about the task consciously, adjusting your viewpoint, focal length, time of day, weather or any of the other variables that you can deliberately manipulate. Or, you seize the moment when serendipity offers you the opportunity of a less usual kind of image. On my Thames-side walks from Rotherhithe into the centre of London I've taken more than a few shots of Tower Bridge, a structure that says "London" to the world. Most of them have been ordinary, unexceptional, cliched, hackneyed, boringly familiar - choose your own description. I've posted only two of my images that have the bridge as the main subject - one from a less familiar location, and the other a deliberate attempt at a "different" kind of portrayal.

A couple of days ago I seized the moment when a shaft of late afternoon sunlight illuminated the bridge and made it positively glow against the dark clouds and deep shadows, and I thought this serendipitously taken shot, though not unique, was unusual enough to post.

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:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The upper Ribble valley

click photos to enlarge

The River Ribble is one of the major rivers of the United Kingdom, joint 19th in length at 75 miles (120km) long. It flows from its source at the confluence of the Gayle Beck and Cam Beck near Ribblehead, through North Yorkshire and Lancashire, to where it joins the Irish Sea between Lytham and Southport. The Ribble has interest and beauty all along its length. Growing up in the area shown in today's photographs I spent much of my time along its banks, and on my return visits I often photograph it, delighting in its varied moods and sights. When I lived on the Fylde Coast I frequently photographed the Ribble estuary at Lytham in a wider way and through its details.

Looking at today's photographs you may well say, "I see the valley, but where's the river?" In the upper reaches the Ribble is usually tucked away, bounded by trees on its often steep banks. That is the case in both shots: in the smaller it is below the line of trees in the middle-ground, and in the main image its course can be followed from near the bottom right of the frame, past the field with lines of drying hay in the centre, and off to the left below the wooded cliffs.

I took the first photograph fairly early on a sunny late September day. The light was modelling the undulating land well, showing off the drystone walls, and giving the trees a solidity that will disappear with their leaves. The highest point of land is the distant Fountain's Fell, land once owned by the monks of Fountain's Abbey. Below and to the right is a large cliff face, all that remains of Craven Quarry, the place where I photographed the Hoffmann Kiln earlier this year. The smaller photograph was taken on an equally sunny day, but in the afternoon and from the other side of the valley. I took this one for the contrast between the unimproved fields in the foreground and the distant background that contrast in character and colour with the greener improved fields closer to the road, river and farm. This shot also shows off well the drystone walls made of the local limestone that are characteristic of the Craven area of Yorkshire.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 50mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Beech woods

click photo to enlarge

Beech is a woodland tree. It is less frequently found as a single specimen in a hedgerow or growing alone somewhere. However, in some places it can be seen as a landmark tree signalling a crossroads or a boundary. On the Lincolnshire Wolds it was used to line some of the old drove roads, and in Yorkshire it is often planted around hill farms. When beech grows in a close-canopy wood it is tall, up to 140 feet, with trunks that are relatively free from branches. Where single specimen trees do grow, however, they are shorter with very large crowns - the so-called "deer park beech."

The examples in today's photograph near Stackhouse, North Yorkshire, are part of a small wooded area on steeply sloping pasture with outcropping limestone. The trees' canopy has kept the ground damp allowing moss to grow over the grey stone, something that doesn't happen higher up the slope where the only shade comes from bracken and the occasional rowan. This woodland must have been planted here to make use of an otherwise quite unproductive area. Beech can manage quite well on thin, rocky soil, as this photograph that I took in Lancashire shows. The hamlet of Stackhouse would find these trees a good source of fuel, but also useful for furniture, tool handles and other strong wooden articles. In medieval times oak and beech were the main trees involved in the system known as pannage. This was the right to pasture mainly pigs in woodland so that they could eat the acorns and beech mast. In a thinly wooded area such as this there would be slim pickings for any foraging swine, but in the bigger, denser woods of, say, the Weald, it would be very worthwhile.

I have a fondness for beech trees, and as well as the Lancashire example noted above I've photographed this clump and this beech wood edge in autumn.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 250
Exposure Compensation:  -1.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Jowetts, speed limits and the big picture

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Our dismal government seems consumed with the desire to make almost daily proclamations about policy and legislation. Its febrile activity (and its political inclinations) usually result in bad decisions and frequent U-turns. The latest nonsense involves a proposal to increase the maximum speed limit to 80mph. This announcement - like many - seems to be driven by an unwholesome mixture of wanting to appeal to its voters, an ideological commitment to the individual over the community, and a sop to the "hard-pressed motorists" (copyright the AA, RAC, Daily Mail, Jeremy Clarkson, et al).

You'd think that the hands-off, managerialist style of our prime minister, David Cameron, would allow him to see the big picture that the ministers and "think tanks" who come up with these individual proposals don't. But, no, that seems beyond him. His role-model, Tony Blair, would not have been so careless. So, in the spirit of succouring the needy here are some reasons why he should conclude that it's a bad idea.

The de facto maximum speed on less congested parts of our motorways is already around 80mph. Many motorists seem convinced that they won't be prosecuted unless they go more than 10mph over the limit. There is a great danger that a legal rise to 80mph will increase the actual maximum to 90mph. Then there's the fact that the government is committed to a specific pecentage decrease in carbon emissions: a higher speed limit will burn more fuel and make us miss that by an even bigger margin than currently seems likely. Journey times on many motorways are not governed by the maximum speed limit but by congestion, so in most cases an 80mph limit will simply have the effect of speeding the driver to the next hold-up with no reduction in overall journey time. Britain's relatively good statistics on deaths and injuries involving motor vehicles will inevitably worsen should the proposals come about. Finally, if despite all the above, a higher speed limit does actually result in shorter journey times it would negatively impact on the sustainability of more efficient forms of medium and long distance travel such as buses and trains.

Today's main photograph shows a Jowett Jupiter, a British sports car from a different era when 1500cc and a top speed of 86mph was more than enough to enjoy open-topped motoring. The Bradford-based manufacturer went out of business in 1955 but some of its cars live on in museums and in the hands of enthusiasts. I photographed this example, one of a dozen or so on a club tour to the Isle of Man, when I was photographing the Midland Hotel, Morecambe. More Jowetts can be seen lined up in the smaller photograph.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 33mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: N/A

Yorkshire Dales barns

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A recent few days in the Yorkshire Dales re-acquainted me with some stone barns that I've known all my life. Some continue in use much as they always have, others have fallen further into a state of dilapidation, and some are in the process of being converted to new uses.

Todays's photograph shows a modest barn near Settle called Far Thornber Barn. Most Dales barns  that are out in the fields have names. Often these relate to the first owner, to the location or have a name whose origins are lost in the mists of time. Sometimes the last part of the name is "Laithe" rather than "Barn", a word that derives from the Old Norse (ON) word "hlatha" meaning barn. This reflects the influx from predominantly Ireland and Norway of Norse settlers in the years after 800 AD. In this area, a mile or so south of Settle, there is a cluster of barns that I know well. The oldest is Brigholme Barn near Giggleswick, by the River Ribble, which apparently dates from the seventeenth century. The last part of its name comes from the ON "holmr" meaning a dry, raised place in wet land - a suitable location for a barn -  and the first may derive from either the Old English "brycg" or the ON "bryggja", both meaning bridge. In my childhood it was piled high with bales of hay. It's now surrounded by newer structures that serve modern farming better, but is still used, cared for and maintained with traditional methods (lime mortar etc) as befits a listed building.

A few hundred yards from the barn in the photograph is the oddly named Fish Copy Barn. A more "architectural" structure than many it has a "porch", carved stone decoration and a late nineteenth century date stone with the owner's initials. For many years it was roofed, and the upper part of the porch was notable for a pile of song thrush nests about six feet high, the work of successive generations of birds each building on the nest below. Now it stands forlorn, unwanted and roofless amid a patch of waste land. By the A65 road the cluster of Cleatop Barns (named after the nearby house and wood) are in the process of being transformed into offices, retail space and a restaurant: a sad end for these distinctive buildings.

I visited Settle in a period of unseasonally hot weather with clear blue skies - not ideal for walking on the limestone and millstone grit uplands or for photography. This shot, however, was taken on the first morning of my stay when some low cloud pierced by patches of sunlight made photography much easier.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 60mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Midland Hotel, Morecambe

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The Midland Hotel in Morecambe, Lancashire was built in 1932-3 for the London, Midland and Sottish Railway Company by the architect, Oliver Hill (1888 - 1967). It replaced a Victorian design by Edward Paley, with Hill being required to construct "a building of international quality in the modern style." Hill was an architect who moved from the Arts and Crafts tradition to modernism, or at least what passed for modernism in 1930s Britain: more Art Deco or "moderne" than the full-blown European model.

His curving design at Morecambe is a fine piece of work that still looks good today. It has a main entrance elevation that faces the town and a liner-like facade overlooking the sea. When I first saw it as a child in the 1950s it impressed with its size, and its whiteness. As I grew and became more interested in architecture I liked the banded windows, the prominent, bowed and glazed central stairwell (though I could have done without the sea horses), the Mendelsohn-like curved projection at one end and the spiral entrance pillars. Over the years as the sea-side resort declined so too did the Midland Hotel. It became grubby, something of a faded beauty whose charms could only just be glimpsed beneath the weeds and peeling paintwork. However, in recent years the building has been redeveloped by Urban Splash. I say redeveloped rather than restored because some sensitive changes have been made with the result that The Midland Hotel is once more the most noticeable and architecturally most outstanding building in Morecambe.

I was pleased to be able to photograph the Midland on a day with enough sun, blue sky and clouds to capture a holiday mood that suits it. It looked stunning, though I'm not so sure about the comfort-factor of those angular cafe chairs.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 32mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The tambourinist

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According to my edition of the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) the word violinist (like the word violist for a viola player) is first recorded c.1670. Cellist however, first appears quite a bit later, in 1888, though the currently much less used violoncellist is recorded earlier, in 1835. I delved into the etymology of these words when I came to caption today's photograph. How does one describe someone who plays a tambourine? A trumpet player is a trumpeter not a trumpetist, though someone who plays a trombone is a trombonist. By association I made a stab at tambourinist, then checked to see if that was the word. The OED does list it with an earliest recorded use in Webster's Dictionary of 1961 and subsequent examples of tambourinist cited from 1970, 1971 and 1983. This struck me as a very late coining of the word given that the earliest recorded use of tambourine dates from 1579.

The tambourinist in the photograph can be seen in the gardens of Brodsworth Hall, South Yorkshire, one of the most complete Victorian stately homes. This figure is one of a number of statues bought in 1866 by Charles Sabine Augustus Thellusson for his newly built hall, many supplied by the Italian sculptor, Chevalier Casentini, who may have been responsible for this example.

It's not difficult to photograph a statue or piece of sculpture in context, and just as easy to select an interesting detail. What is harder is to make a satisfactory photograph comprising more than a representation of the work. My attempt at that here involved using a dark background of conifers together with a tree in autumnal colours, and positioning the sculpture relative to those so that colour and contrast worked together to make a bold image.

For more photographs of this location see these general views, this garden statue and topiary, and this garden building.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On