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