High Flight

click photo to enlarge

Ask people to name a poem of the First World War and they are very likely to come up with something by Wilfred Owen, Rupert Brooke, Edward Thomas or "In Flanders Field" by John McCrae. It's a task that many people would have little difficulty in accomplishing, particularly those of a certain age who studied what were called, "The War Poets", at school. However, if the focus switched to the poets and poems of the Second World War then most people without a particular interest in poetry might struggle. I'd immediately think of my favourite, Henry Reed's "Lessons of the War: I. Naming of Parts", and perhaps its sequel, "Lessons of the War: II. Judging Distances, fine poems that speak obliquely about the experience of war. I'd also offer up "High Flight" by John Gillespie Magee, a work about the awe of piloting a single-seat fighter aircraft high above the earth, that has become a favourite of aviators across the world, and possibly the best known poem to come out of the experience of that conflict.

On a recent few days spent in central Lincolnshire we stopped at Scopwick Cemetery and looked at the war graves there. Many commemorate British and Canadian airmen who died in training at RAF Digby or were otherwise killed in the line of duty. There are also memorials to German airmen shot down in the vicinity. We moved on to our destination after taking a couple of photographs. However, the following day we read that J.G. Magee, the author of "High Flight" was among the dead at Scopwick, so we called in again on our journey home. We both knew his poem and recognised the first and last lines that are carved at the base of his memorial. This discovery on our part prompted me to find out more about Magee.

He was born to a U.S. father and British mother, both missionaries, in China. His education began at an American school in Nanking, but from 1931 to 1939, when the family moved to England, he was educated in English schools including Rugby School. In 1938 he won that institution's poetry prize. He was an admirer of another Rugby pupil, Rupert Brooke, the poet of the First World War, who had also won the school's poetry prize in 1904. In 1939 Magee went to the United States and the following year he earned a scholarship to Yale University, but instead chose to join the Royal Canadian Air Force. In 1941 he transferred to Wales to train on the Spitfire aircraft. It was here that he wrote "High Flight". Shortly afterwards he went to RAF Digby and No. 412 (Fighter) Squadron, RCAF. On 11th December 1941, Magee's aircraft and a training aircraft collided in cloud at 1400 feet, resulting in his tragic death at the age of 19.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 58mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A lake or a pond?

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There seems to be no universally accepted definitions that allow us to categorically state whether a small body of still, enclosed, inland water should be called a lake or a pond. It is widely held that a lake is larger than a pond. However, exceptions to this rule are not uncommon. The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) says that "properly" a lake is "sufficiently large to form a geographical feature". However, it then adds, "but in recent use often applied to an ornamental water in a park etc": in other words small stretches of water that do not form geographical features. Biologists have looked at the problem in a different way and proposed that an area of water should be defined as a pond if sufficient light reaches the bottom to allow rooted plants to grow, otherwise it is a lake. Others say that if the effects of wave action can be seen on the shore it is a lake, but if not then it's a pond. No wonder we are so confused on this relatively insignificant matter.

In the UK the small, man-made stretches of water that are created for fresh-water fishing are often called "fishing lakes". Whether this is simply for marketing reasons I don't know, but many of them are what I would call ponds. Of course, the UK also suffers from a plethora of other terms, many of great antiquity, that are used to describe what otherwise might be termed ponds or lakes: loch, Llyn, mere, tarn, pool, water, flash, broad, pit, are a few such words that add a layer of complication to the issue. When I saw the man-made pond in today's photograph I thought that it might be a fishing lake, but I could see no perimeter jetties or other locations where a fisherman might sit. It is also on a farm where the owner has made a conscious effort to maintain areas attractive to wildlife, so perhaps it was designed for the benefit of the moorhens, greylag geese, mallards etc, that scurried for cover or took flight at our approach.

I've noted elsewhere in this blog, that a sunset over water multiplies the effect of the dwindling light in a magical way, so I wasted no time and took a group of shots across the water as the sun sank out of sight. These are the best two photographs.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 75mm
 F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

England's shopping arcades

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The forerunners of today's ubiquitous indoor shopping malls are the covered passages and arcades that began to be built in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries and reached their greatest popularity during Victoria's reign. It is thought that the descriptions and enthusiasm of travellers for the bazaars of places such as Cairo and Constantinople triggered their growth. However, Britain had long had its own tradition of narrow shopping streets such as York's "Shambles", and small covered markets below the wooden columns that supported grammar schools or guildhalls are not difficult to find in market towns, nor are shopping areas built under grander buildings.

However, in terms of arcades proper, the Royal Opera Arcade at Haymarket in London, a development of 1817 by the architects John Nash and G.S. Repton is usually considered the first. It ran along one side of the Royal Opera House and managed to survive when the theatre burnt down in 1867. Perhaps the most acclaimed London arcade is the Burlington Arcade that opened in 1818. It is 585 feet long, specialised in expensive articles including jewellery, and enjoyed a prime location next to Old Bond Street. Interestingly, in a precursor to a widespread policy seen today, it had its own security staff to keep the behaviour of the public at a seemly level. The arcade shown in today's photographs, Leadenhall Market on Gracechurch Street, London, dates from 1881, a time when arcade building was rampant throughout the land. This was conceived by the architect, Sir Horace Jones, designer of Tower Bridge, Smithfield Market and Old Billingsgate Market, as well as much else. Leadenhall is a weekday market that specialises mainly in food. I came upon it late on Saturday afternoon when the only people present were those taking a shortcut down its echoing cobblestones. The arcade was extensively redecorated in 1990-91 and still presents a fine sight to the visitor.

As I took my photographs I couldn't help but think that it had something of the character of a cathedral with its columns, "nave/chancel", transepts and glazed crossing tower. Even the decorative scheme of the underside of the latter wouldn't look out of place in a cathedral.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
 F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125 sec
ISO: 2000
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Saving redundant churches

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In the early 1970s, when I first started to take an interest in church architecture, I became aware of an organisation called the Redundant Churches Fund. This had been established in 1969 under the Pastoral Measures legislation of 1968 to deal with churches that were superfluous to the needs of the Anglican Church. The Measures prescribed one of three fates for such buildings: demolition, conversion to a new use, or, where the historic and architectural merit of the building was too important for it to suffer either of those actions, then it was to be "vested" in the Fund who would take over its management and preservation.

Today this important organisation is known as The Churches Conservation Trust (CCT) and it cares for over 340 churches. The county with most redundant churches managed by the CCT is Norfolk with 28, closely followed by Lincolnshire with 24. It is always a pleasure to visit one of these buildings because they are usually open. Moreover, if they are medieval churches they frequently have something of the character that they must have had centuries ago. Many don't have the newer building work and Victorian prettifying - what William Morris called "scraping" - or the artefacts of a church that is in use, and often you get a sense of being transported into the past when entering through the south door.

We came upon such a church a while ago, St Benedict at Haltham, Lincolnshire. It was made redundant in 1977 and remains open for visitors on its slight rise at the edge of the hamlet. The highlights of the building, for me, are the crude Norman tympanum, the beautiful fourteenth century flowing tracery of the east window and the rustic woodwork of the screens and seating. The real oddity of the church is the wooden bell turret that once must have stood tall above the roof, but which became embedded in a new one, almost to the point of disappearance when the nave was restored in 1880. However, it was the font, set upon a square rather than the usual octagonal stone,   on a brick floor that was lit by two modest windows that drew my camera. In its simple, rustic setting it exemplified the charm of such buildings.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125 sec
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation:  -1.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Domes, budgets and power

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When I was young and naive I used to think that power originated in politicians and the philosophies of their parties, and that this flowed out from government to affect our everyday lives. And perhaps in years gone by it did, to a certain extent. But I no longer have this picture of how power works. Because politicians, increasingly, are in the business of serving the real centres of power in our society: international finance, multinational corporations, supra-national organisations, and the very rich. In the UK this is most obviously true of the main parties of the centre and right, but is also true, to a lesser extent, of the parties that are, nominally, of the left.

In a blog post last year I said that one of the Conservative Party's principal aims seems to be to transfer wealth from the poor and the middle classes to business and the wealthy: in other words to their pay masters and influential supporters. The recent UK budget statement has demonstrated this in a way that I can recall no other doing in my lifetime. Implementing policies that have no electoral mandate, that are based on wishful thinking more than concrete evidence, supported by the craven Liberal Democrats, they have rolled out a budget that claims to be fiscally neutral but is no such thing. They have taken from the poor and middle income families to pay for a tax cut for the top earning 250,000 people in the country. Any claim that "we're all in this together" has now gone completely. Reducing the tax liability of hedge fund managers, top bankers, Premiership footballers, and other similarly high earners because you think the existing level discourages entrepreneurship and encourages tax avoidance, in the fatuous expectation that if you ask for less you'll get more, is a policy that could only come from a government that is comprised mainly of public school educated millionaires. Moreover, it takes a life lived in cossetted luxury to hold that belief and take that action with regard to the upper tax rate while at the same time increasing the taxes of lower earners believing it has no such effects. But then the Conservatives have always thought that to incentivise the rich you must give them more money and to do the same for the poor you need to do the opposite. Among other things the recent budget is a clear demonstration that the link between education and intelligence cannot be taken for granted.

I took today's photograph of a steel ornamental dome the day after Osbourne announced his budget as we took a break from shopping and walked through the Springfields Festival Gardens at Spalding, Lincolnshire.The sight of silver birch trees through the radiating and encircling metalwork was an uplifting, welcome break from thinking about the vicious ideology and self-assured, arrogant ineptitude of our current government.

1/2000 second at f2 wasn't the best combination for this shot, but I hadn't noticed that my aperture setting had shifted. Fortunately the depth of field of a small sensor is very good so all was not lost.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/2000
ISO:80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Blogger image backgrounds and those rings

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Many people have increasing concerns about the power, reach and intrusiveness of Google. Blogger is owned by Google and is one of their many free offerings. From the time I started using it in 2005 there has been the facility to add advertisements to a Blogger blog and for the blogger to make money (usually very small amounts) from so doing. The Google word for this is "monetize", a horrible construction. I've never had the desire or need to do so, and this blog is advertisement-free, a situation I don't foresee changing. Of course part of this process involves Google making quite a bit of money from the advertisements, based on key-words, that are placed in the blog. Consequently I suppose that by not using advertisements I'm taking advantage of Google's benevolence. But, they don't seem to mind so neither do I.

I do wonder, however, if Google has its ear closer to the ground than even the conspiracy theorists imagine. In the Comments of a very recent post there was an exchange of views concerning the effect of the white background that accompanied the enlarged view of a photograph. On some subjects it doesn't work very well, is overpowering, and is at odds with the black background of the blog pages. Well, quite soon after that date the background to enlarged photos was changed to black. Were Google listening in, or was it one of the planned incremental changes that are regularly rolled out? Whatever the reason - and it hasn't been trumpeted anywhere by Google that I've noticed - I like it. And, at the risk of pushing my luck I'd like to suggest that it be retrospectively applied to older posts too.

All of which has nothing to do with today's photograph of abseiling workmen on Tower Bridge in London. I spotted them as we walked past the other day. They appeared to be doing something electrical, perhaps installing the enhanced lighting that will illuminate it during the Olympics. I read that, in addition, a set of large, illuminated Olympic rings will hang from the bridge during the Games. When I first heard of this proposal I tried to imagine a worse combination of the insensitive and the tawdry. But I couldn't.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 300mm (plus crop)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250 sec
ISO: 1000
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

New and old architecture juxtaposed

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It seems to me that architects manage the juxtaposition of a new building next to an old one in one of three ways. Firstly they ignore it. Completely. They build a structure that doesn't acknowledge the older building in any way. The second approach is to erect a building in a clearly modern style but which, in some way, recognises, tips its hat if you will, to its neighbour. This can be by expedients as simple as following an existing roof line or window height, incorporating verticals that could be construed as modern columns echoing those of the older building, or perhaps using a stone or brick finish to establish a link with the neighbour. The third approach is to build an explicitly "revivalist" exterior that is a close match, in either form or spirit, of the style of the older building. All these approaches can work, though, in my opinion the third is the least likely to do so. What matters more than anything else is the quality of the new building, and today's revivalist buildings are, I feel, less likely to be good buildings. It's also true that most architects working today eschew revivalism, preferring quite naturally to build something that speaks of their point in time.

However, many people, find the building of an avowedly modern building next to one dating from the Victorian era or earlier, objectionable in principle. Prince Charles, for example, seems to, and he's not alone. Quite how our towns and cities can be rationally built without this happening I don't know, and neither, I suspect, does he or anyone who shares his views. Moreover, new next to old has always been the way, and why medieval next to Georgian is acceptable but twenty-first century next to Victorian is not, is beyond my understanding.

Such building juxtapositions often make striking and visually arresting sights, producing contrasts that invite us to look more carefully at both the new and the old structures. I photographed a few such pairings on my recent stay in London. The spectacle of the curves and time-worn stone of St Botolph-without-Bishopsgate, a building of 1725 by George Dance the Elder, seen against the soaring verticals and gleaming glass of the tower at 99 Bishopsgate is not without interest or beauty. Nor is the Victorian (or perhaps Edwardian) facade against the swirls and diamonds of The Gherkin (the Swiss Re building) seen in the main photograph. Or at least that's my view. However, as they say on the WWW these days, YMMV.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125 sec
ISO: 320
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Shard March update

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A couple of days in a cloudy, rain-swept London allowed me to have two walks into and through the city and the opportunity to gather a clutch of photographs including today's showing the current progress of The Shard. In December this building passed the height of 1 Canada Square in Canary Wharf, becoming the tallest in the UK and the European Union, and the second tallest free-standing structure in the UK (after the Emley Moor TV transmitter). It is currently near its projected maximum height of 1,012 feet (308.5 metres). Superlatives in the world of tall buildings are, of course, transitory, and The Shard will doubtless soon be removed from its current pinnacle.

Speaking of pinnacles, he said, segueing into the next topic like a radio DJ on autopilot, the next tall London tower to reach for the skies has made a strong appearance since I was last there in November. Bishopsgate Tower in Leadenhall, now to be called The Pinnacle, was to have been about the same height as the Shard, but after concerns from the Civil Aviation Authority it is losing just under twenty metres. This is another deliberately "different" shape for a city tower, resembling to my eye, a loosely coiled tube of paper. The very ugly concrete service core is already quite high, and when it gets its curved glass curtain walls that sweep up to its summit it will be another distinctive addition to the London skyline. At the moment I'm holding my judgement on whether the quality of being distinctive will be paired with being distinguished. It's certainly no Shard, but perhaps I'll warm to the real thing more than I do to the architect's illustration. Incidentally, it will be interesting to see if the more populist, "The Pinnacle", is adopted by Londoners or whether, as is their habit, they confer a more appropriate and less respectful soubriquet. Indeed, I wonder whether the new name was a calculated attempt to forestall such an eventuality!

Today's photograph, like a couple of others I've posted of The Shard, was taken by resting my camera on a balcony rail by the Thames in Rotherhithe, downstream from the City.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 168mm
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/20 sec
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Boxpark photo shoot

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The history of these islands is written across its face and is still visible in the planning, buildings and monuments, landforms etc, wherever you go. In fact, heritage is big business in the UK and one of the main attractions to holidaymakers who live here and who visit from other countries. However, there are many people who care little for castles, cathedrals and quaint cottages, but who do value the transient qualities that Britain offers: such things as popular music, style and fashion.

I was reminded of this the other day as we walked through Shoreditch in London. This isn't a part of the city I know very well, but I have photographed there before. On this occasion we came upon a shopping development that didn't exist last time I visited, but which sprang up very quickly and opened on 3rd December 2011. It's called Boxpark, and the reason it appeared almost over-night is because it is made of shipping containers. Sixty shipping containers to be precise, stacked two storeys high and five rows wide. The "facades" are painted black and have glass door/windows. The development, that describes itself as "the world's first pop-up mall", fronts Shoreditch High Street, has a five year lease, and consists of units selling mainly fashion. Most of the traders are independents with, it appeared to me, a few containers housing well-known labels seeking a bit of "street cred". I'm no follower of fashion, in fact I'm pretty much anti-fashion, but I'm very much for innovative, visually interesting ideas such as this.

It became a subject for one of my photographs not for the "architecture", though I may return and try a few such shots in the future, but because of the photo-shoot that was taking place on the pavement outside one of the units. A few men were modelling clothes and being photographed by a couple of photographers. This was providing street entertainment for, not only passers-by and this passing photographer, but wandering St Patrick's Day revellers too.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 85mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/80 sec
ISO: 500
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The Artist and photography

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On a misty, dull day we headed off for Spalding's civic building called the South Holland Centre. It houses, among other things, an auditorium where live performances and a cinema programme take place. The object of our visit was to see "The Artist", the recent film that is notable for being "silent" and shot in black and white. The fact that it has been garlanded with awards, particularly Oscars, would ordinarily be a reason for either avoiding a film or being wary of it: such things (especially Oscars) are too often conferred on routine rubbish, works that after a few years are forgotten or, at best, become noteworthy for the incredulity that they provoke when it is pointed out they were winners of the coveted award.

"The Artist" is, happily, an exception that proves the rule. In fact, it is a wonderful film, and my thought as I left the cinema was, "I'd like to see that again". Excellent acting, a more complex plot than we'd anticipated, great music, humour, and wonderful photography make it a memorable film. A while ago I wrote a blog piece about how one might convince a doubter of the value of black and white photography. In it I said my first argument would not be the recognised still practitioners but rather the 1946 movie of Charles Dickens' "Great Expectations", a work that won two Oscars for best Art Direction and Best Cinematography. To that I now have to add, "The Artist". Any still photographer looking for great black and white work need look no further than some of the many set-piece shots in this film. I'll mention only one that appealed to me that features the main character drinking too much. We see him and his reflection in the table top, slowly rotating due to camera movement. On to the mirror-like surface he pours the contents of his glass. It is a simple but stunning conception, beautifully executed. If you haven't seen the film, or doubt whether you'd like it, go and see it. I think you'll be glad you did.

I took today's semi-abstract photograph in the cafe as we had a bite to eat before the film. It shows the room's painted concrete columns and concrete ceiling with its decorative circles, coffering and lights. Black and white suits the shot better than colour (as I'm sure is the case with "The Artist"). I also softened the image a little. Looking at my photograph on the computer it brought to mind another film that also won an Oscar for Best Cinematography - "Close Encounters of the Third Kind"!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO:80
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Café society

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My use of cafés has increased since I took early retirement. Not to the point where I can count myself a member of café society and all that entails. However, I'm sure I've experienced more of these establishments in the past few years than I did in the previous twenty. And in so doing I've discovered that, in the main, the independent café is a place frequented by older people, and the national and international chains have customers who are somewhat younger. The last part of that judgement is made mainly on the basis of what I see as I pass by, augmented by the few occasions that I have visited one in the company of my sons.

Another observation that I have is that the older clientele of the independent cafés appear to spend more time talking than do the younger customers of the likes of Costa, Starbucks or Caffè Nero. The reason for this isn't difficult to work out: so-called smart phones have proliferated to a greater extent among the young and divert them from face-to-face human interaction. The other day I saw an extreme example of this phenomenon. Interestingly it took place in an independent café, and involved three people, one of whom could have been described as middle-aged. As we sat down I noticed that the youngest member of the trio was reading a tablet computer. As she read she took a couple of phone calls, made a couple, then eventually put her computer down and looked at her newspaper. The younger of the other two was having an intermittent conversation with the middle-aged man. It trailed off periodically because he was simultaneously prodding and stroking his smart phone. This continued for a considerable time until food arrived and a three-way conversation started up. What's so unusual about any of that I hear you say? My answer? Nothing. And that's my point. Café society, cafés as a place to sit and chat, cafés as a place to watch a unique corner of the world going by, are being transformed into just another place to experience permanent connectedness.

Today's photographs are a couple selected from my recent crop of café interiors. I liked the light, colour and shadows of the main image (we liked the excellent paninis too). On the second shot the "imperfection" and shadow writing appealed (as did the coffee and tea).

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 32mm
F No: f7.1 Shutter Speed: 1/80 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Inshore fishing, Hornsea

click photos to enlarge

The inshore fishing industry of England's Holderness coast, an expanse that stretches from Flamborough Head in the north to Spurn Point in the south, has changed out of all recognition down the centuries. In the middle ages the summer fishing was centred on herrings, but by the eighteenth century it was a selection of whitefish - cod, haddock, ling, skate and halibut - that were hunted using lines baited with shellfish. Herring continued to be caught, and were sold salted, or were smoked to produce kippers. Crab and lobsters also formed part of the regular catches by the small boats that went out from the coast's towns and villages.

However, the development of larger, powered trawlers meant that by the twentieth century over-fishing had so reduced the whitefish stocks of the North Sea that a change of emphasis was necessary, and today the small inshore fleet specialises mainly in brown crabs and lobsters, with a very few flatfish and cod being caught. And small the fleet is, the number of boats/men/pots being as follows: Bridlington 42/97/33,750, Hornsea 7/14/4,440, Tunstall 2/4/250, Withernsea 9/18/4,850, Easington 2/4/1,100, Spurn Point 1/2/500.

On my recent brief visit I saw the reltively new compound and buildings at Hornsea where the seven inshore boats are based, and watched as one was recovered from the sea by its tractor. I grabbed a few quick photographs of these developments that had grown up since the time, twenty five years and more ago, when I regularly visited this coast. Looking at the crew bringing their boat in on a bright and relatively warm March day, the prospect of fishing the coastal fringe of the North Sea appears to have its attractions, but on a cold, grey, gale-swept January day I'm sure it would be decidedly less alluring.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Hornsea beach tracks

click photo to enlarge

It occurred to me the other day that during my life I've flip-flopped from one side of the country to the other. I was born in Westmorland (now Cumbria) and raised in the western Yorkshire Dales, moved to the city of Hull for a while, then went back to north-west England for many years, and latterly re-located to Lincolnshire. During all but my early life I was a keen photographer, never specialising in anything in particular, but rather dipping my toe into many of the recognised genres. I suppose that architecture, landscape and natural history have figured large in my output, and of course, down the years I've shot many thousands of family snaps.

In the past decade, as I've spent more time with my camera, I've deliberately selected a few specific subjects and begun building collections of images. Examples of this include spiral staircases, motion blur, and the subject of today's photograph, tracks in the landscape. Lincolnshire's man-made landscape is the place where I began to notice these man-made intrusions, and where the sinuous, sometimes semi-abstract quality, that they impart first impacted on me.

Wheatfields and barley fields offer good opportunities for this kind of photography. The former sometimes provide intriguing examples that appear to have no beginning. But pasture can have good tracks too, and land freshly prepared for a salad crop offered one of the craziest examples I've come across. I've also photographed these tracks on sandy beaches where they temporarily hold a record of cleaning vehicles or the launching of boats. Today's photograph is an example of the latter that I took on a recent visit to Hornsea in East Yorkshire. This seaside resort on a long, sandy coastline, has a small fishing fleet that specialises in brown crabs and lobsters. The boats are launched and brought in by tractor, and this recovery offered an opportunity to add another shot to my "tracks" collection.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/640 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Viewing distance, size and landscapes

click photo to enlarge

There are many factors that affect our appreciation of a photograph, but today's image made me think again about two that are linked, and that are crucially important: viewing distance and size.

The increasing use of notebook and tablet computers has slowed the rise in the average dimension of computer displays. Desktop systems still, generally, have the biggest displays, and often they are the best quality. As far as the appreciation of photographs on screens is concerned the increasing resolution of the newer devices' smaller displays has only partly compensated for the trend to smaller screens, but as with photographic prints, viewing at the closer distance that tablets require shows the image to better effect than the same display seen from further away. It is widely held that, in general terms, the best viewing distance for a picture (including a photograph) equates to the length of its diagonal, and people naturally gravitate to this kind of point. That being so, we scrutinize small images from nearer viewpoints than larger ones.

But what is it that determines the size we make that image? Often it's to do with where it will be displayed, sometimes impact is the governing factor, and other times the subject is crucial. As far as subject matter goes I've always found that the force of certain photographic subjects depends very much on the size at which they are displayed on a screen or seen in the form of a print. Portraits, subjects with bold contrast, and quite a lot of reportage are often fine in relatively small sizes. However, landscapes, particularly those where the mid-ground and background take up a significant area of the whole lose crucial detail when small and frequently benefit from being displayed as a big print or screen image.

I thought this when I reduced the size of today's photograph to make the 700 pixels wide web image for the blog: a lot of what I liked about it disappeared. So, rather than say any more on this subject, decide for yourself by comparing it with the 1250 pixels wide version, itself a significant reduction from the original 5616 pixels width.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/60 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Wind, cycling and wheat

click photo to enlarge

People who don't cycle think that the main problem with this form of transport is the big lumps of metal and rubber that flash past you at high speed. They're not wrong; motorised road traffic spoils cycling, though not as much as might be imagined. They also think that the second problem is rain. In that assumption they are wrong, because wind is much more of an issue than the wet stuff. For many years I chose to cycle to and from work, and for much of my life, I've been a reasonably regular recreational cyclist. Not a stripped down, day-glo, skin-tight clothing, head down, bum in the air, hell-for-leather kind of cyclist, but a saunter along with my wife, panniers full of camera and lunch, let's stop here and have a look around sort of cyclist. And, while rain can, literally and metaphorically, put a dampener on your day, a strong head-wind will usually do it to much greater effect. In fact, as far as cycling in the rain goes, the adage that I've heard in connection with walking applies: "there's no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothing". Non-cyclists think that the cold is a problem too when you cycle. It isn't because in those circumstances the bike's in-built heating system can be applied: if you're cold pedal harder and you're soon warm! No, when it comes to the unpleasant side of cycling, for me its motor vehicles and wind, and, I almost forgot, rutted ice on the road.

Consequently, when a few days of cloud with strong and gusty winds was replaced by a day of calm with sunshine and cloud, I took to my bicycle and headed out into the fens. I came back with photographs of wind turbines and sheep. I've said elsewhere in this blog that I make a conscious effort, not always successfully, to remind myself to vary aspects of my photography. "Take more contre jour shots" or "Add to your collection of motion blur shots", I say to myself. Another one is, "Take more shots from a low viewpoint". When I parked my bicycle against a gate near a wind farm it was that last thought that came to mind. So I stepped into a field of short winter wheat that was greening up nicely and took this photograph from down amongst it. My bike with its single pannier and bar bag - great containers for carrying photographic necessities - added a point of interest to the shot.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/250 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Misery, mercy and misericords

click photos to enlarge

I spent enough of my career standing addressing people to know that there are times when, no matter how enthused you are, no matter how attentive your audience is, after a while all you want to do is park your posterior on a chair. Your back and legs start to complain, you walk up and down a little, gesticulate to emphasise a point, but the compulsion to take the weight off your legs persists. However, it's just not done to speak to an audience from a sitting position. It's all well and good for a comedian to do so, or for a night club singer to give a bit of patter from a bar stool between songs, but it's out of order for the rest of us. What is needed, of course, is a modern misericord.

The choristers and clergy of the medieval church had sturdy benches, stalls and seats, but they were required to stand for much of the service. These were often long, so they too experienced the discomfort of prolonged standing. Fortunately an insightful and compassionate person, perhaps a carpenter or a monk, invented the misericord. This small jutting shelf on the underside of a flipped up, hinged seat provides enough support to get the relief that comes from sitting, while appearing to be in a standing position. The photograph of the choir stalls shows the seats in the flipped up position for use when standing. The word misericord comes from the Old French and means compassion, pity or mercy. It's a clever invention.

Today's photographs show some of the twenty eight misericords in the church of St Mary at Beverley, East Yorkshire. They date from around 1425-1450, and each one displays characteristic carving that acts as a bracket to support the shallow seat that is the misericord. The main subjects for these pieces of folk art were sometimes from the Bible, but were more often folk tales, myths, historical or everyday subjects, animals, plants, heraldry or creatures from the medieval bestiaries. They also have scrolls of carving coming out of the left and right of the misericord, a very common feature. This is decorative and and shows subjects such as birds, flowers, leaves, a green man's head, shields etc. The carving often exhibits a charming naivety, and these pieces of wood sculpture, more so than other sculpture in churches, often escaped the Puritans' and iconoclasts' destructive hammers.

The misericods at St Mary's are in two sets in choir stalls on the north and south sides of the chancel facing each other. The subjects I've photographed are as follows:
The Ape Doctor
To the medieval mind the ape and the monkey were animals with human desires but lacking human restraint. Consequently they became symbols of greed, self-indulgence, cunning and lust. Here the doctor of the day is portrayed as a greedy ape, offering up what may be a urine flask to the rich man brandishing a valuable coin, and ignoring the poor Christian (with a cross) who can only offer a pittance for his services.
Knight and Wyverns
This could be mistaken for a depiction of England's patron saint, St George. However, the knight is attacking one of two wyverns (a dragon with only two legs), rather than the usual four-legged dragon.
The Preaching Fox
It was a widely held view that the clergy were self-serving and rapacious, and they are often depicted in medieval sculptures as wily foxes preaching to geese. Here the fox is in a pulpit with clergy to left and right and apes below, all reading from scrolls.
The Clever Daughter
The Clever Daughter was a popular tale in the medieval period. A king set the daughter of a courtier a problem to test her wisdom. She had to go to the king not on foot or riding, not clothed or unclothed, and she had to bring a gift that was not a gift. She came on a goat but with one foot on the ground, she was covered in a fishing net, and she placed a rabbit at the king's feet which immediately fled. Her actions met all the king's demands and he promptly married the Clever Daughter. On the misericord the king is inthe centre, the Clever Daughter is on the right, and the figure on the left slaying a lion is probably Richard I (the Lionheart).
Knight and Boar
A hunting scene. A man stabs a boar with his lance and reaches for his dagger to administer the coup de grâce.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 55mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/13 sec
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Fencing off spiral staircases

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I've eulogized the spiral staircase elsewhere in this blog, and I've included photographs of many of the examples, old and new, that I've come across on my travels. I've been especially pleased that architects today often choose steel versions for external entry and exit, and more particularly as fire escapes. However, with the increasing popularity of the latter a problem has arisen: how to keep the unwanted - robbers, vandals and kids - off them. The answer has an ugliness that all but destroys the functional beauty of the spiral staircase.

It usually involves erecting a circle of triple point palisade fencing around it at ground level, with entry through a lockable gate made of the same material. It's a sad indictment of our society that such a vicious thing exists, but it adds insult to injury to use it in this way. I acknowledge that there are circumstances in which it may be necessary, but I'm beginning to think that if one of these rings of steel is the answer then a spiral staircase shouldn't be the solution an architect adopts!

Today's photographs show two spiral staircases on the exterior of the Boathouse Business Centre at Wisbech, Cambridgeshire, the subject of yesterday's post and this one in February 2010. Both have the offending circular fence at the base. I managed to exclude it on the main photograph that includes the helical wind turbine, and was quite pleased with the strong, dramatic shape that I captured. However, I deliberately included it in the other image as an illustration of the point I wished to make, but also because, combined with the shapes and colours of the rest of the composition it almost achieved a Russian Constructivist quality. Almost, but not quite!

If, after sampling these, somewhat disfigured spiral staircases, you'd like to see some more interesting examples, you might like to try this one in a Cambridge museum, this one on the back of some Blackpool offices, this one in South Stack Lighthouse, Anglesey, this reflection of one on Blackpool Casino, or this almost-spiral at Somerset House, London.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 27mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Building fashions and external louvres

click photos to enlarge

Building fashions come and go; they have always done so. During my lifetime I've experienced fads and fancies as diverse as concrete with the wood shuttering imprint deemed suitable for external walls, glass and aluminium cladding, external glass lifts, X-braces on skyscrapers, tensioned plastic awning roofs and much else. As the millennium approached it seemed that no superstore or industrial estate offices was complete without an entrance picked out with a partially glazed metalwork structure in blue or red. In recent years an increasing number of new flats, offices and other buildings have been sheathed with slats of hardwood that very quickly pick up stains from rainwater.

The dark cuboid block on the right of the building in today's main photograph of the Boathouse Business Centre is faced in just that kind of wood, and exhibits just that kind of problem. However, it's not the modern use of timber that I've been thinking about recently; rather, it's the proliferation of aluminium aerofoil fin louvres. If any one detail marks out a building as being constructed in the past dozen or so years its these high-tech slats fitted to manage solar gain. They are mounted on the outside of the wood-faced block above. You can see them on the building in the smaller photograph - the Red Lion Quarter in Spalding. There are further examples on my photograph of Hayes Wharf Tower, Lincoln, and even this car park in King's Lynn has a facade that mimics them. Are these louvres the only way that architects can deal with solar gain? Of course not, but they are fashionable, and clients surely like to feel that a building they commission is of its time. And it seems that, at the moment that means these aluminium fins.

Incidentally, when I was looking at the Red Lion Quarter building it occurred to me that, in coming up with the elevation that I've photographed, the architect looks like he's been influenced by 1930s cinema design. The small flight of steps leading to the glass doors, the slight overhang with columns, the bordered horizontal window band above, all say to me English "moderne", a variant of Art Deco beloved of pre-war cinema architects.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Lime trees, ageing and coincidence

click photo to enlarge

Like most people, during my younger years I saw the last quarter or so of my expected life span as something to be concerned about. Now that I'm entering that period I haven't banished all those worries about the possible course of my physical and mental health, but I have discovered that ageing can bring pleasures that the young don't always see.

I was reminded of this the other day when  I stopped off in Long Sutton to make my second visit to the lime tree avenue that leads to the local cemetery. I'd photographed it in August 2011 when the trees were in leaf, and I wondered what it offered when the branches were bare. A woman was walking her dog towards me and I made use of her presence as a complementary detail in my photographic composition. As she approached we exchanged greetings and fell into conversation. We learned that she was ninety years old, walked her aged, partially blind dog twice daily in a quite long circuit that included the avenue, and that, like us, she wasn't a native "Yellowbelly". We learned a little of her long life, the places she had lived, the things she liked to do and much else, all in the space of ten or fifteen minutes. As we went on our way I reflected that conversations of this sort with complete strangers, that are very common among older people, are much rarer with the young and middle-aged, and are often a real pleasure.

When I got home and started to process my photograph a thought that I'd had during my afternoon talk came back to me. Is the person I spoke to the same person that I'd included in my earlier photograph of the lime tree avenue? On close inspection of both photographs I find that, remarkably, it is! What are the chances? Probably greater than I might imagine, but an interesting coincidence nonetheless. And here's a further thought. A few weeks ago I was contacted by someone who had seen and heard about this particular avenue on television. She then searched for it on line with a view to going to photograph it, and finding my image, emailed me with a query about its precise location. I sent her a Google Maps link. What I'd be interested to know now is this: has she photographed it yet, and if she has, does her photograph include a white haired lady walking her dog?

I like to produce a sepia photograph every now and then because the effect pleases me. This photograph seemed to be a good opportunity to do so.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 80mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/80 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Environmental impact blues (and reds, oranges and yellows)

click photo to enlarge

I once tried to discover whether an artificial Christmas tree was "greener" than a living tree that was bought, used once and then composted. I discovered that there was no consensus on the matter, but that the problem had engaged the minds of many. Some studies said yes, some no, and yet others that there was little, if any, difference.

The other day, as I was feeding our small incinerator with dry garden waste, the result of our clearing the borders ready for spring, I was considering the pros and cons of burning versus taking it to the municipal refuse site for recycling into compost. By the time I'd ticked off every advantage and disadvantage of each method that I could think of my poor old head hurt and the waste was almost gone. My conclusion, if it could be called such, was that it isn't obviously better to compost centrally than to burn locally. The fact is, more knowledge than the layman can put his hands on is required to weigh such factors as the energy used in the transport of waste and in commercial composting, the energy saved by using the locally burnt residue as garden fertiliser compared to sourcing it from elsewhere, etc. We compost and use quite a lot of our garden waste ourselves, and most of our woody, green waste goes to a local collection that visits the village fortnightly during spring, summer and autumn. However, this doesn't operate in winter, hence the small amount of burning that we sometimes undertake at this time of year.

As I fed the flames, trying to keep an efficient blaze that produced minimal smoke and particles, I grabbed my camera and took today's photograph. However, flames are like water for the photographer; alluring to the eye, but impossible to capture with a still image because their attraction lies as much in movement as in the other qualities that they display. I tried to contrast the fragments of burning waste with the swirling flames in this shot, but not very successfully. The truth is, as spring approaches I am hungry for deep, strong colours and these flames offered me a fix before nature has fully revealed itself.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

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