The Much Marcle yew tree

click photo to enlarge
The ancient yew tree shown in today's photograph is estimated to be about 1500 years old. It stands in Much Marcle, Herefordshire, next to the medieval church of St Bartholomew, the oldest part of which dates from about 1230. The tree must have been standing for 700 hundred years when the church was begun, and it is remarkable that it still lives today. Or perhaps not so remarkable when we consider that, in countries north of the Mediterranean, England is second only to Greece in the number of ancient trees (those that are several hundred years old) to be found within its borders.

Much Marcle's tree is justly renowned, not only for its age, but for its girth of 31 feet at a point 4 feet 6 inches above the ground. The tree's trunk, as you can see from the photograph, is hollow, and it is provided with seating that can support several people. In recent years the tree was pruned for the first time in a long time. Six tons of dead and unnecessary timber was removed. When we were there the other day - our third or fourth visit over the years to this interesting village - I noticed a heavy chain wrapped around the tree at a height of twelve or fifteen feet. Its purpose may have been to keep the branches from drooping down to the ground. In a few places it was in the process of being absorbed into the limbs so it must have been there for quite a while.

Ancient yews, particularly those in churchyards have long been noted and revered. In the seventeenth century John Evelyn and John Aubrey wrote about them, and travel writers and antiquarians continued to do so in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. In the twentieth century Vaughan Cornish's "Churchyard Yews" (1946) and E.W. Swanton's "The Yew Trees of England" (1958) raised their profile considerably. However, it was "The Sacred Yew" (1994) by Anand Chetan and Diana Brueton (leaning heavily on the work of Allen Meredith) that gained the attention of the media. It catalogued 404 trees that were estimated to be more than 1,000 years old. In 2003 the Ancient Yew Group was formed and continued the documentation of the tree. It has noted 837 "ancient, veteran or significant" yews in England and Wales. Further details about this group and much fascinating information of yew trees can be found on their website.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 2500
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Artemis, The Huntress

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"All right... all right... but apart from better sanitation and medicine and education and irrigation and public health and roads and a freshwater system and baths and public order... what have the Romans done for us?"
from "Monty Python's Life of Brian" (1979)

The Romans have an undeserved reputation for innovation. It's true that they had very good engineering, and that their skills in acquiring, administering and sustaining an empire were formidable. However, as far as actual inventions go their prowess has been greatly exaggerated. The fact is their real skills lay in creative borrowing: taking the inventions of other cultures and improving them. The Romans were more Bill Gates than Alexander Graham Bell.

A single example can serve to exemplify the failings of the Romans when it comes to inventions - or the absence of them. Throughout their period of ascendancy horse power was crucial to the Romans, yet they continued with the same inefficient harness that was used in the Bronze Age. In the second century B.C. the Chinese had horses pulling against a breast strap when they were used with a cart. This allowed them to breath more easily and pull heavier loads. A century later the Chinese had discovered the increased benefits of the collar harness, a device unknown in Europe until many hundreds of years after the Roman empire had collapsed.
 
On a recent visit to Much Marcle in Herefordshire to attend a wedding I was photographing in the snow-covered garden of Hellens Manor, the ancient house where the ceremony and subsequent festivities were to take place. The frozen pond on the south-facing terrace featured a statue of a female hunter. The moss and lichen encrusted figure looked like a good subject for a photograph or two, and so I took some shots showing details and context. This particular view of the garden was taken the day before the main image. It shows the sculpted figure with a snow scarf and cap which had disappeared twenty four hours later. When I came to give a title to today's photograph I had to stop and think whether the subject was Greek or Roman. If Greek, then the statue depicted Artemis, if Roman then it was Diana. When it came to religion the Romans inherited some Greek gods during their early history, came up with some of their own later on, and sought to identify some of these with Greek forerunners due to their fascination with the earlier civilisation. All of which has sown some confusion in the minds of later generations. The sculpture could be Diana, but she looks Greek to me. All of which leads me to think that another thing the Romans did for us was to add a layer of confusion to their mythology that tripped up this photographer when he was a schoolboy, and sometimes puzzles him still.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Disc harrows and white horses

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The other day, as I looked at the rusty metal discs on the harrow shown in today's photograph, out of nowhere it seemed, a thought popped into my head: "What ever happened to the Ebbsfleet horse?" Anyone with a working knowledge of some of the more grandiose lunacies of modern British art will know that to which I refer. For the uninitiated the background is as follows. In 2009 Mark Wallinger's design was chosen as the winning submission in a competition for a large public sculpture at Ebbsfleet in Kent. The piece was intended to mark the area's redevelopment and the international railway station in particular. His work is a big - very big, 33X life size, 160 feet high - white horse made of concrete on a steel frame. It is a representational piece: imagine a child's play farm animal inflated to gigantic proportions. Why a white horse? Well, the county symbol for Kent is a white horse rampant with the word "Invicta". Moreover, the white chalk hills of the county feature white horses made by removing the turf.

As a sculpture it leaves everything to be desired. The photomontages showing how it will appear from afar illustrate what a blot on the landscape the white horse will be: every bit as bad as Damien Hurst's 65 feet tall sculpture of a half-flayed pregnant woman wielding a sword (called "Verity") at Ilfracombe. In fact, the latter has more to commend it because Hurst paid for it and it's on loan for a period of twenty years after which it will be gone. The money for the white horse hasn't been forthcoming, which is good of course. The concern must be that at some point public money is sought for the project and then Kent will be stuck with it for ever - or at least until it becomes a grubby eyesore and is wrestled to the ground like the statue of Saddam Hussein.

So what has a disc harrow to do with the white horse? Well, in December 2008, at a time when a short-list of three candidates was being considered for the Ebbsfleet sculpture I wrote a blog post proposing that a disc harrow might make a more appropriate subject and posted a shot to illustrate my point. Seeing the example above brought back memories of that. What I also liked about this particular harrow, as well as the repetition of shapes, was the mottled terracotta appearance of the rust. I thought then, and I still think, that a scaled up version of this above an agricultural landscape would have more beauty, interest and appropriateness than an inflated white horse.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 1250
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Fen not steppe

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A casual viewer of today's photograph could be forgiven for thinking that they were viewing a shot of the Russian steppe, that vast, flat, treeless plain of south-eastern Europe and Siberia. The featureless sky, the level, equally featureless white foreground and the snow-blasted houses, trunks and branches of the tree-shrouded village all point in that direction. But appearances can be deceptive and the camera doesn't always tell the truth. In fact, the photograph is a winter shot of the village of Bicker in the Fens of Lincolnshire.

This ancient settlement - the Norman church's embattled top can be seen just right of centre - had just experienced a heavy fall of snow and low temperatures, something that happens often January or February, though with nothing of the frequency and ferocity of the snowfalls and temperatures of the  Russian plains. And, though the village looks isolated and in winter's grip, a main arterial road, gritted and clear runs not too far away, linking it with larger villages and towns. Moreover, though snow and low temperatures of this sort can present immediate difficulties, in Britain they tend to be transient and a thaw is often not too far away.

Consequently, the photographer who wants to record the landscape and buildings held in this kind of icy grip has to move quickly because in a few hours, or at most a couple of days, the covering will be gone or slowly retreating, leaving branches black, not white, fields black and green and roads wet and muddy. I came upon this view of the village as we negotiated a small lane on a walk through the snow. The strip of detail, distinct and indistinct, spread across the blankness of land and sky appealed to me and so I framed my shot and pressed the shutter.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  +0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Boston's Stump

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The recent collision in London between a helicopter and a construction crane at the top of a new tower block raised questions in the press about the wisdom and reasons for erecting such tall buildings. It seems to me that you can argue the wisdom of it long into the night, but the reasons are three-fold and what they have always been: facilitating a technology (such as telecoms), maximising the value of land, and prestige.

Today's photographs show the 272 feet tall tower of the medieval church of St Botolph in Boston, Lincolnshire, a late example of the Gothic builders' art, made of Barnack stone. Its absolute height, its relative height (the length of the church is only ten feet more) and its appearance when seen from afar quickly earned it the name of "The Stump" (though the name may be an example of the English love of irony).

The tower was begun in 1425-30 and completed in 1510-20. It is likely that a spire was to have begun at the level of the parapet above the pair of tall windows (which were probably intended to be the belfry stage). This would have been the conventional finish to a large Lincolnshire church. However, the church authorities had different ideas and they simply kept building upwards, adding a single, transomed window for the belfry, then topping it all off with pinnacles and a large, open lantern supported by flying buttresses. Why was it built so high? I can only think that prestige and the desire to make a big, bold statement lay behind the decision. It could, I suppose, be argued that having the belfry higher gave the sound of the bells greater reach. Such height was certainly a risk because the deep soils of the Fens yield no bedrock to the builder and smaller, nearby towers such as Pinchbeck and Surfleet testify to how they can quickly acquire a disconcerting tilt. The tower is undoubtedly impressive, and parts of it, particularly the lantern are beautiful. In total, however, it doesn't work: the height is too great, the stages don't complement each other and it is not visually integrated with the nave and chancel. But, as a beacon for sailors on the storm-tossed sea of The Wash, searching for the mouth of the River Witham and safe haven, it must have been a godsend!

The smaller photograph, taken from the town bridge, is the classic view of the tower. My shots were taken when hoar frost cloaked the trees, ice was just beginning to form on the River Witham, and shopping was the main thing on our minds. A bright, clear January day is not to be spurned, however, and my compact camera proved its worth once more.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 9.3mm (44mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Repetition and photography

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"My greatest fear: repetition"
Max Frisch (1911-1991), Swiss author and critic

I find it hard to understand the point that Max Frisch was making when he wrote the remark quoted above. If it's the simple fear of repeating oneself inadvertently, or even knowingly because the creative juices have stopped flowing, then fair enough. But that makes it such an obvious point that it's hardly worth the utterance. The fact is that much art, whether writing, visual or musical, depends on varying a theme, and themes inevitably involve an element of repetition. This is a subject that I touched on in my 2011 post, "Mining the seam", so I won't elaborate here. However, what I will say is that this desire to avoid "repetition" is something that seems to afflict photographers rather more than some other visual artists. Painters have no hesitation in returning to a subject repeatedly - see Monet and Rouen Cathedral, Cezanne and Mont Saint Victoire or Diego Rivera and the calla lily flower. Most, though certainly not all, musicians tend to work within a tightly defined genre and instrumentation. But photographers, well, they too often forgo the learning and refining that repetition can offer, and search instead for ever new subjects and approaches.

I repeatedly take photographs of the water lily leaves in our pond because they offer interest and difference across the year. The church in the village of Bicker is another subject that I photograph regularly. Why, you might wonder? Well, not only is it conveniently located for me, but it is a particularly fine building in a setting that, like those water lily leaves, changes with the time of day, the weather and the seasons. I've photographed it in fog, summer, and snow more than a few times (see here, here, here and here).That being the case, you might wonder what mileage there is in another photograph of the church on a snowy morning: in self-imposed repetition.

In fact, I've set myself the task of documenting this church. I'm looking for variations determined by the weather, the time of day, the season, the viewpoint, the lens, the processing, and any other variable that I can introduce into my photography. On this occasion the warm note of the early morning sunlight contrasting with the cold blue/white of the light covering of snow and the hoar frost on the trees offered something different. So too did the slightly more distant viewpoint that introduced the veil of branches across the top of the image. There's more mining of this seam yet to be done!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cemetery gatehouse, Boston, Lincolnshire

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The increase in Britain's population during the eighteenth century led to the graveyards around churches becoming overcrowded, bodies being buried above bodies, and some graves being a matter of only two feet below the surface. By the nineteenth century it was clear that churchyard burial was no longer tenable in many places, particularly in the rapidly expanding cities and towns, and that some alternative measures for dealing with the dead must be found. The answer was the cemetery.

Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris was opened in 1804 and influenced British cemetery design. Early examples such as the Rosary Cemetery, Norwich (1819) and Chorlton Row Cemetery, Manchester (1821) drew on its example. Private companies saw profit in the burial of the dead and examples of their work  include Key Hill, Birmingham (1834) and York Cemetery (1836). The first cholera epidemic of 1831-2 also spurred cemetery building and J.P. Loudon's book, "On the Laying Out, Planting and Managing of Cemeteries: And on the Improvement of Churchyards"(1843) offered an architect's views on their better design and construction. The second cholera epidemic of 1848-9 prompted a series of public health Acts, one of which gave newly appointed boards of health powers concerning the burial of the dead. However, it was not until a series of Acts, the first of which was passed in 1852, and which were consolidated in 1857 (becoming known as the Burial Acts), that a nation-wide structure of public cemeteries was established. Many town and city cemeteries were laid out during this time and in the following decades.

Today's photograph shows part of an entrance gatehouse to the cemetery in Boston, Lincolnshire, a facility that dates from this period having been opened in 1855. Today it is almost three times the size of that first cemetery. The original plot is now a designated wildlife area though it retains its distinctive memorials, chapel and entrance avenue, as well as the gatehouse. The newer extensions have graves more closely spaced, and today a crematorium is sited there too.

I took my photograph of the rear of the gatehouse, as the late afternoon light was fading, after doing some shopping in Boston. The old building retains most of its original features including the ornate bargeboards, and it was these that I decided to make the focus of my image.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.9mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Age, the past and the future

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An unfortunate characteristic of many older people is looking at the past through rose-tinted spectacles. Psychologists have tried to explain this phenomenon. Some say it is because people experience emotions from the past more strongly than those from the present. Others argue that when judging the present people do it in relation to past experience, and that judgements made in the past (about the quality of films or the wholesomeness of food, for example) are inevitably made on the basis of  more limited experience (you were younger). Therefore, the argument goes, that which is judged is likely to have seemed better (and still seem so) compared with the present-day equivalent which is judged against much more experience of films or food. Then there are those who say that current judgements are made in the context of stresses, annoyances and difficulties that are air-brushed out of our memory of the past, so today inevitably compares badly with thirty or forty years ago. When I sense the approach of, "the past was always better, today is rubbish", frame of mind, I make a conscious effort to crush it because it's simply not so. Some things were better in the past, but many were worse.

From that you'll gather I'm someone who relishes the present and looks forward to the future. And I suppose that's why I don't like to see retro styles in architecture. Take today's photograph of a Thames-side building that I've become very familiar with in recent years. The landward side looks like it could have been the work of Walter Gropius, Eric Mendelsohn, Serge Chermayeff or any other architect influenced by the Bauhaus and the International Style of the 1920s and 1930s. The handling of the white walls, the black painted, wrap-around windows, the pilotis, the narrow stairwell windows, the glazed balconies, the lettering, the recessed entry and the use of glass bricks all illustrate the architect's knowledge and understanding of that which is emulated. However, the structure rests not on reinforced concrete but a steel frame and this building doesn't date from 1930 but from 1990. It is by the architectural firm of Troughton McAslan and Tim Brennan. Learned and interesting though the building is (and in a style that I like), I nonetheless have to ask why this retro look was chosen for a building in 1990? Why wasn't it built in a style of the time, or why didn't it use the vocabulary of the International Style in a new and original way, much as some Victorian and Edwardian architects used the vocabulary of Gothic and the Renaissance.

Looking back and copying a style seems to me to be a sterile exercise. It is commonplace in the speculative housing that disfigures our land, receives "official" blessing from Prince Charles through his Poundbury fantasy and his meddling in planning matters, and remains an attraction for architects such as Quinlan Terry.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 32mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

River Witham wharf semi-abstract

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I do quite a bit of my photography as an incidental activity to my everyday chores. A camera always goes shopping with us, and when I took the car into Boston, Lincolnshire, recently for the garage to do a small job for me, guess what? Yes, I took my camera. It was the compact and it accompanied me on a walk along the banks of the River Witham opposite the town's small docks.

I've travelled this route on the water on one occasion and walked the bankside a couple of times. The best shot I've managed from this part of the town is this one of a mechanical grab and scrap metal by the riverside. On my walk the other day I took a few shots of the cranes and buildings by the dockside, a couple of boats that were tied up on the river, some navigation lights and an old pier. None of them are anything special.

However, I've had it in mind to do a few more semi-abstract images because I haven't done much in the way of that kind of photograph recently. The location didn't seem too promising, and with 60mm (35mm equiv.) being the maximum length of the lens on my camera a couple of potential photographs that I did spot were out of range. I had just about given up on the semi-abstract idea when I thought I'd scramble down the riverbank and look under a decrepit wharf. Bingo! There, in the deep shadows of the supports, old tyres and timber flooring above, was a sunlit reflection of the sky and the buildings on the opposite bank, all slightly distressed by the gentle waves of high tide. The scene had a pleasing element of confusion, deep colours and strong contrasts, more than I could reasonably expect in January, I thought, but perfect for a semi-abstract composition.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.2mm (48mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Dull weather photography

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Britain's geographical location - an island influenced by the Gulf Stream in shallow seas off the north-western edge of the Eurasian landmass - means that we are rarely subjected to the extremes of temperature experienced by places further north or south, or those well inland from the warming effect of the sea. So, we get regular rainfall, clouds are common, and our weather is best described as "changeable". We get plenty of bright and breezy days, but we also get quite a few that are dull and damp. Like most British people I relish those days when the sun is in the sky, the shadows are deep and sharp, and the colours of the landscape glow. It lifts my spirits just as it does for most other Britons (note: not "Brits" - it sounds like a disease!) However, being a photographer, I like to think that every day offers a quality that is worth recording or interpreting.

I've spoken elsewhere about my liking for photography in foggy and snowy weather, how I like the changeable skies of showery days and the flat light of blanket stratus clouds over the sea. On a recent trip that involved crossing the River Humber I stopped off on the south bank - the Lincolnshire side - and indulged in a little dull weather photography of the Humber Bridge. If you do a search for photographs of this large suspension bridge you'll find that the great majority are taken on sunny days or at sunrise or sunset. There are only a few taken on days that some would describe as "dreary". And yet, there is not only a challenge to be found in making such photographs, there is a satisfaction too in stepping away from the commonplace image and making one that offers a different quality and a different mood.

On the dismal day of my photograph the sky had sufficient interest that I wanted to include it. The challenge was to find some foreground interest in this flat, estuary landscape. It came in the form of an open gate that was by the footpath that runs along the top of the riverside bank. Its silhouette against the reed beds was just what I needed for my composition.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Plough Sunday and Monday

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Traditionally the dates of Plough Sunday and Plough Monday fall on the first Sunday and Monday after Epiphany (Twelfth Night). In the eastern counties of England a church service was held that included a plough being brought into the building to form the centrepiece of the worship and for it to receive a blessing. Then, on Plough Monday, the ploughboys would return to work at the start of the ploughing season. Often on this day a plough was taken in a parade through the town or village and money sought from farmers and the well-to-do, welcome funds for workers whose employment was at a low ebb over the turn of the year. Sometimes these festivities were accompanied by morris or sword dances. Individual villages came up with their own traditions unique to their location. One such example centred on the fenland villages of Ramsey and Whittlesey. Every year they paraded a straw bear through the streets drawn by the ploughwitches!

These traditions continue. Sometimes it is in a revived form (as at Whittlesey today), but elsewhere it is an unbroken survival of a traditional custom. In the village where I live a church service, complete with plough, is held every year. This year it is on the Sunday 13th January when the thousand year old Norman building will once again echo to "We plough the fields and scatter".

Today's photograph shows what appears to be an early twentieth century plough. It stands next to a farm, a reminder of the days when ploughing in autumn for winter wheat wasn't the usual way, and ploughs were pulled by real horses rather than the horsepower of an enormous tractor. I took my photograph on a frosty morning when the sun was low in the sky. It seemed an appropriate subject for a conversion to sepiatone.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: 2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Onesies and the future

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"The trouble with our times is the future is not what it used to be."
Paul Valery (1871-1945), French essayist, poet and critic

In the 1960s we had a vision of what our future would hold for us. There would definitely be flying cars. Food would come in the form of pills or some kind of gloop eaten out of toothpaste-like tubes. There would be videophones rather than telephones, and space flight would be commonplace.

As I've grown older all of these have come to pass. I read that there are now cars that can fly, babies and young children regularly suck some sort of goo from plastic sacs with spouts, phones and computers offer video and speech communication, rockets blast off weekly and bookings are being taken for space tourism. It would seem that the future has arrived. However, until recently there was one prediction that hadn't come to pass. That 60s future had people wearing what we then called "jump suits" - an all in one item of clothing, rather like tight overalls that covered the body from the neck to the ankles. But, with the arrival of the "onesie", the final piece of the jigsaw is in place and the future is definitely upon us - take that Paul Valery! Of course, for the full and complete version of that future to be a reality does require that this item of youth fashion be extended to people of all ages. So, I've ordered my onesie and I feel sure that you have too.

The future that was predicted fifty years ago missed quite a few everyday developments that have become commonplace. The big one is the internet and the world wide web. But, items such as ceramic bladed knives, car satnav and talking bus stops were also unforeseen by the futurologists, novelists, sages and seers when they looked into their crystal balls. So too were the wide range of new man-made materials including the non-slip type used in cupboard and drawer matting by caravan owners, motorhomers and others. Today's photograph shows a view down the interior of a roll of this material that we've been using to stop our granddaughter's tray slipping off the table. As you will have worked out if you read the previous post, the photograph was taken after I'd put it on an Android tablet that I was using as a light table. Unfortunately the colour of my piece of material is battleship grey, so to give the shot a bit more impact I added a digital 2-colour filter.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation:  0.33
Image Stabilisation: On

Tablets, light tables and wax crayons

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When I was young a comic that I bought often featured a quiz. One of the popular categories consisted of photographs or drawings of everyday objects seen from unusual angles. A ball point pen, for example, might be shown from a viewpoint where the tip pointed directly at you and would consist of a hexagon enclosing a large circle with a couple of smaller concentric circles inside. A teapot seen from directly above would be a large circle (the body) with two smaller circles within it (the lid and the central lid handle), and a couple of bars projecting from opposite sides (the spout and the handle). You get the idea. I recall competing against friends to see who could draw a commonly found object in such a way that its identity couldn't be guessed. Simple pleasures, happy days!

We have in our house, at the moment, a new, clear plastic tub of short, wide, wax crayons. They are for some young children to use. When I looked at the tub from above the other day I was reminded of that childhood game and an idea for a photograph popped into my mind. A photograph from directly above might have colour, shape and interest if I lit it imaginatively. And with that thought, particularly the word "imaginatively", I made a connection with something I'd been pondering for a while. We have an Android tablet and it had occurred to me recently that it would make a useful light table for photographing small objects. The problem was I didn't know how to make it display a completely white screen. However, that little problem was solved in a eureka moment when I realised that if I opened a PDF and turned to a blank page I'd have just what I wanted. There must be a more elegant solution to that problem but I was entirely happy with my easy-to-realise answer.

So, here is the resulting photograph. It was taken quickly, hand-held. It's not the best macro shot I've ever done, but is a useful forerunner and test for what I hope will be better images using the tablet as a light table.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm macro
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 80 sec
ISO: 1250
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Spalding sunset

click photo to enlarge
The weather has taken a turn for the mild. Daytime temperatures of 10 or 11 Celsius would not disgrace March so they are very welcome in January. Unfortunately the balmy conditions have been accompanied all too often by leaden skies, drizzle or rain. However, today the sun made an intermittent appearance and I left off my path cleaning to accompany my wife on an afternoon shopping expedition to Spalding. I call it an "expedition" because shopping, though it seems to have taken the place of gardening and looking after pet animals as the national pastime, holds few pleasures for me and I approach it as a soldier or explorer might - with a grimly determined expression on my face.

But, I'm also an optimist, and so I always put my compact camera in my pocket when I go shopping. By the time we emerged from a succession of stores the sun was low in the sky, about to set, and I headed back to the car resigned to not finding any photographs. As we passed through a part of the town that isn't the most picturesque - it features a car park, public toilet, the magistrates court, security fencing and some housing and shops that have seen better days - I looked around for an image or two. The potential subjects were most unpromising and the fading light did nothing to pique my interest. But, just as we were about to leave the area a low shaft of sunlight broke through, raking the backs of a row of old houses, revealing the details of their battered brickwork, making sharp silhouettes of a tree and a nearby streetlight, and flooding the scene with strong colours. I raised my camera, composed a shot, pressed the shutter and walked on. As I did so I reflected on the transformative power of sunlight; how it can not only animate and elevate the mundane but can also lift the spirits and provide a photograph where only moments before none seemed possible.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Browne's Hospital, Stamford

click photo to enlarge
The first hospitals in England were built and run by monks and priests and were more like dwellings erected and reserved for the poor - almshouses - than the places of healing that we think of today. St Cross in Winchester, Hampshire, founded c.1136, is a good example of this type.What Nikolaus Pevsner describes as "one of the best medieval hospitals in England" can be found in Stamford, Lincolnshire.

Browne's Hospital was founded and built in 1475-6 by the wealthy wool merchant, William Browne (d.1489) to provide accommodation for ten poor men and two poor women. It consisted of four ranges erected around a courtyard. The hospital (also sometimes known as the Bedehouse) was managed by a warden and confrater*, both of whom were secular (i.e. not monastic) priests. Remarkably, the building continues to be the home of 12 residents, though now there are more women than men, and it is managed not by priests but by a board of governors and the trustees of a charity associated with the foundation.

Today the south range and part of the west cloister range remain from the medieval building. In 1870 the architect, James Fowler, restored the original work and built new and larger ranges to replace those on the north and east sides that were lost. These are very picturesque and include a south-west turret. The original porch was rebuilt in 1808 (see photograph) in a slightly different position to allow a passage to connect the outside with the cloister. The south range is built on a terrace above the street (and market) and contains a full height chapel, audit room, anteroom, conftraters' room and a dormitory. This old part of the building is noted for its stained glass, chapel stalls, misericords, almsbox etc. The stained glass in the entrance passage window (main photograph) is restored from small fragments and complete shields, the latter displaying the arms of the Browne family.

My photographs are drawn from a collection taken on several of my visits to Stamford. The south range is quite a difficult subject to present well because of the way it is above and parallel to the street. For different reasons the quadrangle is also a tricky photographic subject, especially in winter. Here it is the deep shadows that present the challenge. However, the building has several fine details - including the porch and windows - that lend themselves rather better to photography. For more of my photographs of almshouses see this overshadowed example in Bermondsey, London and this miniature, but magnificent, example in Ribchester, Lancashire.

* "a member of a brotherhood" (OED)

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -1.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: N/A

Canada Water Library

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At a time when budget cuts have reduced public library funding, when libraries are closing, their services are being reduced, and the very idea and future of the public library as a repository of books and information is under question due to the depth and extent of internet access, it is uplifting to find politicians who are following a different course. The London Borough of Southwark has bravely bucked the trend of closure and contraction, not only keeping its 12 existing libraries open but adding a new one in the form of this bold and unusual building at Canada Water.

On the day I first saw the library we had driven into London on the M11 and had passed a convoy of armoured personnel carriers in desert camouflage being transported on lowloaders. The angularity of this building and its brown metal cladding reminded me of those vehicles. In their case the inclined sides are designed to deflect projectiles that come from the side and from IED and mine blasts from below. The building, however, is this shape in order to fit more floor space on this small site by the edge of the former dock. The design is the responsibility of Piers Gough of the architects CZWG and he has come up with a building that adds distinction to its location. Not unusually for this practice it is characterful and upbeat, rather like their China Wharf (1988) on the Southwark Thames and their nearby house, two buildings with which I am more familiar. We passed the library on the way back from a walk so there was no time to look inside at the big wooden spiral staircase in the centre of the interior or the gallery around the top. Nor was I able to take a shot of it from the other side of Canada Water to show it in relation to the dock. Perhaps next time I'll get to do both those things. This recent blog post shows more of the building, including the entrance.

The library is next to Canada Water station, one of London Underground's newer buildings. It too is an essay in metal but this time polished stainless steel formed into great cylinders. It can be seen on the right of the black and white shot in front of a block of flats.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On