December morning light

click photo to enlarge
The flat, Fenland landscape that extends across parts of Lincolnshire, Norfolk, Cambridgeshire and Suffolk is well known for its fertile soils that comprise about half of England's Grade 1 agricultural land.What is less well-known is the wide range of light that the Fens exhibit, a feature that is particularly noticeable in autumn and winter. This is partly to do with the "big skies" that all flat areas experience, but the low-lying nature of the land and the managed drainage systems that criss-cross the area must also play their part. Mists, strong and slight, are common. Rain squalls can be seen from miles away. Cloud types proliferate. And these effects, and more, are food for the hungry photographer.

Today's photograph shows a typical Fenland scene on a cool but not cold December morning. The shadows of trees and houses behind the photographer darken the field of winter wheat that is showing through the manicured soil. Pantiles and bricks of houses at the village edge glow a deeper orange in the yellow-tinted light. A church tower peeps over the graveyard trees that surround it.Poplars and a walnut that is past its best thrust up into a blue sky that looks like a painter has wiped his white brush clean on it. And in the distance the slight mist almost, but not quite, obscures the sheep that have been tuned onto the remains of a field of cabbages. It's the kind of unremarkable scene I often see but don't often photograph.And each time I do I wonder why I don't do it more often.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: December Morning Light, Lincolnshire
Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.6mm (34mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/2000 sec
ISO:125
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

An old Lincolnshire cottage

click photo to enlarge
When this cottage was built, probably at some time in the eighteenth century, it would have been judged to be modern in style and construction and to exhibit vernacular and regional characteristics. Today it would be seen by many as quaint, "olde worlde", traditional and desirable.

I'm guessing that it is eighteenth century because of the chimney arrangement. Smaller stacks positioned on the gable ends became popular during the 1700s, replacing the single, larger, centrally-placed chimney with fireplaces at each side that were favoured in the 1600s. Of course, some older buildings were modernised in the eighteenth century by having the newer arrangement replace the older, but I don't think this has happened here. Also pointing to the eighteenth century is the symmetrical facade, the "catslide" roof at the back and the pitch of the main roof. If the latter had been steeper I'd have suspected an earlier date and a roof originally of thatch. On this cottage I'm thinking that clay pantiles were the original roof covering, just as they are today. From the slight "hump" in the ridge I imagine that the original roof timbers still feature strongly. In Lincolnshire many domestic buildings from the 1500s and 1600s had walls constructed of "mud and stud". Sometimes a building of this date features this method of building. Here however, I suspect that render has been applied over brickwork - but I could be wrong. The sloping dormers are also very characteristic of this part of England, though the sides are often rendered rather than tile hung as is the case here.

I was prompted to photograph this building, not for any distinctive or distinguished architectural or historical features - it is quite ordinary (though attractive) for its period. Rather, it was the early evening light, the tree shadows and the combination of colours that drew my eye.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 21mm (42mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1000 sec
ISO:200
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Grass fields and droves

click photo to enlarge
When you move to a new part of the country you immediately notice accents and dialect words because, despite the long, dominating presence of TV and radio, and the fact that people move from place to place much more than formerly, regional differences are still evident. And we should be glad that they do because they enrich our experience and provide a link with a past that will, in all probability, eventually disappear.

I've got used to Lincolnshire women I've never met before calling me "ducks" and the way in which words containing the letter "u" are pronounced: computer isn't "compyouter" but "compooter" and the DIY chain isn't B&Q (Bee and Queue) but Bee and Coo! I've also reconciled myself to the fact that in south Lincolnshire the pastures are "grass fields" and that many roads are "droves". However, that field description still puzzles me. I know that over the past century sheep and cattle farming has declined in the county and arable has become dominant, but was the term pasture, a word widely used across Britain, never used in Lincolnshire? Drove rather than road is easier to understand. The roads so named usually lead from settlements into the lower surrounding fens, areas that in the past were poorly drained, used less in winter and wetter weather, and which must have seen much organised "droving" of sheep and cattle to and from the drier land as season and precipitation dictated.

Today's photograph was taken on a recent late afternoon. It shows a grass field that was sown a few years ago to provide fodder for cutting and feeding rather than for the pasturing of animals. The second growth of grass had a beautiful texture and a delicate yellow tinge in the afternoon light, a quality that contrasted with the blue tinged clouds and sky as well as the detail of the distant drove road marked by its collection of trees, farm buildings and a few houses.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11.5mm (31mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Old sheds

click photo to enlarge
On a walk taken after June rain had begun to clear we came upon these old sheds that were once an essential part of a small holding. The last time we saw them there was a "For Sale" notice on the site. Now it had the word "Sold" fixed over it. It seemed the right time to photograph these dilapidated wood and corrugated iron buildings: who knows how much longer they will be there?

© Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 18mm (27mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3 Shutter Speed: 1/500 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Out to pasture

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In my working life I had an interesting but demanding job that made ever more claims upon my time as I progressed up the hierarchy. Consequently, when I decided I would retire one of the major attractions of ceasing regular, paid work was that all that time would be returned to me to do with as I pleased. And so it proved. I've never been a person who has been unable to fill their time, I've never complained of being bored, and I've always had things to do. Retirement gave me the opportunity to pursue my interests, things that formerly I'd dipped in and out of or had neglected.

However, to my surprise I found that complete release from the pressures associated with paid work didn't quite suit me. The fact is I like having to deliver within a specified  time-frame and having a full and busy life. Consequently I have expanded what one of my sons calls the "community activism" side of my life because it offers me those pressures that I missed. But, one of the lessons you learn in life is that upsides often have, somewhere or other, downsides. In this instance the downside is the reduction in time available to devote to photography and this blog in particular. In the past circumstance has caused me to cease posting or reduce my frequency, and I've reached that point again. I'm not stopping, but I won't be maintaining my alternate days schedule.

I chose the title of today's post to fit in with what I have to say in the post, not that I particularly feel "out to pasture", but that is one of the ways that retirement is sometimes characterised. I saw these horses as I drove past them. I walked back to get these photographs showing them fringed by light from the lowish sun.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 38mm (57mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/320 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Another view of fog

click photo to enlarge
Today's photograph was taken about seventy yards from and a few minutes before the shot in the previous post. And, where that image was captured with the sun behind me, this one was taken contre jour. That fact, the nature of the subject and the conversion of an essentially monochrome colour photograph into very definite black and white has resulted in this image acquiring a quite different mood. The previous shot has a slightly melancholic touch but it's essentially neutral, wistful or even slightly upbeat with the intrusion of that warming sunlight. However, here the stark gravestones silhouetted against the misty west end of the church is loaded with associations that, I can't help thinking, are largely the result of certain writers and a whole slew of horror and mystery films.

People such as Edgar Allen Poe and Charles Dickens knew that there is nothing like a fog or mist to evoke a feeling of cold, menace or fear. Think of Pip and Magwitch in the misty Kent marshes in the 1946 version of "Great Expectations". Better yet think back to how Guy Green, the Oscar winning cinematographer on that film depicted the scenes, and how influential his work was for succeeding generations of film makers such as John Carpenter. And then consider how these images have affected how the man or woman in the street views a misty churchyard. From Bram Stoker's "Dracula" to the latest teen horror, the combination of fog and a graveyard have become, in the popular mind, synonymous with supernatural dread. Of course, none of this influenced me in any way as I carefully composed and processed this photograph. Really. Just as it wasn't a factor in this photograph of a "House of Correction" or this one of a ruined church. Honestly!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 18.9mm (51mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Early autumn mist

click photo to enlarge
We've just experienced the first real mist of early autumn in this part of Lincolnshire. As I looked out of the bedroom window it was clear that it wasn't one of the thin, wispy mists that have struggled to make an appearance recently, but was what used to be called "a real pea-souper". That left me with a dilemma: to have breakfast then go out with the camera, risking that it might have dissipated by then, or to go straight out and be sure to catch it. I chose the first option and was glad I did.

Over the years I've found the best time for photographing in mist and fog is often at the point when the early morning sun is just beginning to burn it off. Not only does that offer a range of densities of mist and fog, with some objects being more revealed than others, but the presence of a watery sun can inject warm colours and increase the contrast available. Today's photograph benefits from that effect in the lower left corner, lifts the mood slightly and stops the image from being too "cold".

Over the years some of my best photographs have come from situations where early morning mist has offered a "different" view of what I otherwise might consider to be a familiar subject - as with this yacht, this view of Canary Wharf, this lane in Yorkshire and these three trees.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 25.9mm (70mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cameras tell lies

click photo to enlarge
Doesn't this Fenland scene look calm, idyllic and bountiful? I think so. The luxuriant wheat is flawless, even the tractor's oval of tracks so orderly that it barely mars the perfection of the growing crop. A solitary wind turbine, a piece of modern technology both reviled and admired, stands pristine over the fields, slowly turning and making its small (2MW) contribution to the nation's energy needs. Above, the unblemished sky adds to the feeling of everything in its place and all being well under heaven. What a lie!

I took today's photograph from the steps of another wind turbine, its electrical hum and the steady swish of its blades slicing the air, loud in my ears. Another eleven turbines and an electrical sub-station, all off to the right and behind me added to the controlled clamour, while behind and to the left lines of electrical pylons marched across similar fields like rows of giants holding hands. The evening scene and the appearance of the countryside in this particular location  was eminently open to manipulation and, with my selective viewpoint, I exploited the opportunity.

In fact, that's what photographers do all the time: they choose a small part of their field of view and try to ensure that it contains only those things that help to tell the story enclosed in their image. And the truth is, as often as not, that photographic image - that people assume is entirely representational - ends up being as much fiction as fact!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 15.5mm (42mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Mending the wind turbine

click photo to enlarge
The theoretical output of a wind farm does not equal the actual output. Anyone who lives in the vicinity of a site with multiple turbines will know that frequently, while most of them spin and generate their electricity, one or two stand stationary, unco-operative, almost looking like they are sulking and refusing to join in. It's at these times that you see a van parked at the base of the sullen turbine, the entry door at the tower base open, with a worker inside persuading it to join its comrades in making their joint effort at energy generation.

However, sometimes the fault is of a nature that requires more than tinkering with the innards of the beast: the problem resides high up in a location that can only be accessed from the outside. In these circumstances workers with a climber's skills in abseiling are called upon. One recent morning I was cycling in the sunshine past a wind farm when I noticed a cable like a long, slender thread, hanging from the top of a motionless turbine. There was not one but THREE vans parked at its base. Clearly a three van problem was no ordinary hitch. I stopped and looked up at the hub and as I did so noticed the head of a man appear. He slowly worked his way round to the front of the turbine and began to abseil down the vertical blade. At that moment a second man appeared and followed him down, but on the opposite side.

A photo opportunity such as this was too good to miss so I took out my compact camera and began firing off shots. Whatever problem needed resolving was one that required a long rod with a piece of strong, bent wire on the end because that appeared to be the main implement being used. With movements that varied between balletic grace and the shuffling awkwardness of a spider with a few missing legs, the men moved down the turbine blade to its very tip. Then, their work presumably completed, they lowered themselves the still not inconsiderable distance to the ground. As I reviewed my shots and got back on my bicycle ready to make my way home I noticed that the company name on the side of the men's van included the name "ibex" and a picture of that wild goat of the mountains. Pedalling along the drove road it occurred to me that, on the basis of what I had seen, some type of arachnid might be a more appropriate animal to advertise their undoubted skills.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 37.1mm (100mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Fen not steppe

click photo to enlarge
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

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

Ye Olde Red Lion, Bicker

click photo to enlarge
In England in 1665 the Great Plague, the last widespread outbreak of the feared bubonic plague, began killing about 100,000 people, mainly in London, but also across the rest of the country. The same year Robert Hooke's Micrographia, a book detailing his observations through lenses and microscopes, became the first publication of the Royal Society. In the American colonies the City of New Amsterdam was incorporated in the newly named city and territory of New York. And in the small Lincolnshire village of Bicker a new public house (pub), Ye Olde Red Lion, was built by John Drury who had his name and the date carved in a small panel at the top of the central gable.

That building still stands today. It is currently coming to the end of a comprehensive refurbishment and will soon re-open after having been closed for a couple of years. In these straitened times it is heartening to find a pub that has escaped the fate of most that close for lack of custom - namely dilapidation and possibly conversion to an entirely different use. It is also good to see a pub escape the clutches of a "pubco" and be taken on by a local entrepreneur. Ye Olde Red Lion, like many village pubs, has a long history in the community, and the continuation and re-vitalisation of this venerable building is something to celebrate.

The building itself is a Grade II Listed structure described as being in the "Fen Artisan Mannerist style" i.e. the work of the kind of local builder who constructed in the current and traditional way, occasionally adding a few idiosyncratic flourishes of his own. The basic structure is brick laid in an English bond (alternating courses of headers and stretchers), rusticated quoins at the corners, gable bands, a rudimentary pinnacle on the central gable, and all covered with render. Was it always rendered? The quoins suggest probably not, but it's difficult to tell when the coating was added. The nineteenth and twentieth century additions weren't always sympathetic, but original beams and roof timbers still remain inside.

Incidentally, the "Red Lion" is one of the most common pub names in the country, coming either first or second in the two most commonly cited lists. Its origins are not fully known, but a lion is a common heraldic device appearing in the coats arms of John of Gaunt, the House of Lancaster, Scotland and many families of lesser nobility. The Bicker pub's newly hung sign shows a heraldic red lion rampant with the date 1665.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 32mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Churches past and present

click photo to enlarge

There's an old saying that "what we learn from history is that we don't learn from history." It's not hard to find examples in politics, public affairs, private lives, the design of man-made objects and much else that give weight to that somewhat cynical observation. But it's equally easy to point to examples that refute it.

I was thinking about this as I photographed the fine church of St Swithin at Bicker on a morning after snow had fallen during the night. I reflected that the few churches that are built today are much more modest than the buildings of a thousand, five hundred or even one hundred years ago. The Anglican church's desire to impress the populace and glorify God through a large, ornate structure made of expensive materials has moderated considerably in the light of the expense that parishes must expend to maintain old churches. Moreover, the buildings today need to be more flexible, and the traditional elements of nave, chancel, porch and tower don't meet the needs of a church that wishes to host a much wider range of events than just worship. So, yes, today's church buildings reflect the needs of our time and do not blindly follow the precedents of ages past. Of course, there are fewer modern churches - I can only think of half a dozen or so - that make such good photographic subjects as the one in today's image or indeed any of its ancient counterparts, so the church's gain is often the photographer's loss!

I've posted a few photographs of Bicker church before. It's one of the easier churchesto get a good shot of in my part of Lincolnshire. It's not too hemmed in by buildings or large or evergreen trees, at least on the south side which is the best for this kind of photography. However, it's an unusual church where there isn't something that intrudes that you wish wouldn't. From the south east it's the evergreen on the right of the image: from the south west it's the flagpole. The latter forces you to move your position slightly more west of south than you would choose because otherwise the slender upright gets mixed up with the tower and looks odd. However, on the day of this snow everything fell into place in terms of composition and so I got my shot.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Aspect ratios and letterboxes

click photo to enlarge

When, in 1839, Rowland Hill was given a two-year contract to run his proposed postal system with its "penny post", standard delivery rates independent of distance, post boxes and the rest, he cannot have known just how it rapidly it would be taken up across Britain, but also by the rest of the world. Nor can he have appreciated the employment that he would give to carpenters, joiners and handymen, and the changes that these tradesmen would wreak upon the country's front doors. Because the fact is, letters delivered to private addresses need to be left there securely regardless of whether or not the householder is at home. So everyone, in the fullness of time, needed a letterbox, and this was (in Britain at least) usually a metal framed slot with a hinged flap in the front door.

This kind of letterbox remains the most common way of receiving letters. Moreover, the word has become a generalised description for many things that have that distinctive shape that is much wider than it is tall, including photographs. In moving film terms it is used to describe widescreen shown as a "slot" in a deeper screen such that there is a border at top and bottom. In still photography it generally means a format or crop wider than 16:9 (widescreen) and closer to a panorama format (though that is a fairly elastic term.)

I think of the format of today's cropped photograph as letterbox-shaped. In fact, its not quite wide enough to copy the shape of a door letterbox, though it is wider than 16:9. In print and on the web this kind of shape is widely used. It enables an editor or designer to place an illustration where the space for the more common 3:2 or 4:3 aspect ratio photograph is limited, and it offers a graphic element that can form a segment of the overall page layout rather than be an insert into a portion of it. I value cropped, letterbox-shaped photographs because they are sometimes the best way of forming a composition out of a larger image. My original shot of Morley Lane in Bicker, Lincolnshire has too much empty white snow at the bottom right, too much of the upper branches of the trees above, and doesn't make enough of the two distant figures. The letterbox crop helps to alleviate those problems.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 32mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/80 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Turning the plough

click photo to enlarge

Before I moved from north west England to Lincolnshire I knew more about medieval ploughing than I did about ploughing today. I still do, but a few years in this most agricultural of counties has widened my understanding of modern methods. I was reflecting on this as, late on a January afternoon with shafts of sunlight piercing the cloud that was moving in from the west, we watched a tractor with its plough turning over the ground in a field on the edge of the village of Bicker.

A thousand years ago the single plough was pulled by oxen, five hundred years ago the horse was more commonly used, but during that long period little else changed in the way the land was prepared. A village commonly had three large, open fields each divided into selions of approximately half an acre (220 yards by 11 yards). These were parcelled together in groups (furlongs) that were often at right angles to each other with the irregular spaces at the edges of the fields (butts and gores) also ploughed. Over time each straight selion became banked higher in the centre and to have a characteristic curve at each end making it into an elongated "S" shape. This came about because the plough always turned the soil to the right and and because the ploughman turned the same way at the end of the selion to get ready to plough back down the strip. Where these medieval fields have been turned to pasture and escaped subsequent mechanical deep ploughing you can still see undulating lines, all with the characteristic curve at each end, especially when the sun is low and casting shadows across the land.

The modern plough that a tractor such as the one above pulls always has more than a single blade; here there are 6. The blades themselves are always made of steel where the earlier plough blades were wooden. In addition, the plough is turned over at the end of each run overcoming the problem of banking and "S" shaped curves. I took my photograph as the ploughman was undertaking this manoeuvre and about to reverse into his starting position. Noticing the camera he gave me a wave before he set off.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/200 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Christmas and tradition

click photo to enlarge

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

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

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

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

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

Threshing machines

click photo to enlarge

Mankind has a great capacity for invention. Throughout the ascent from cave to skyscraper inventions have been one of the driving forces of change, progress and a better life for many. But not every invention is an unalloyed good. For every person who argues that nuclear weapons have prevented a third world war, there are many more who would wish that they had never seen the light of day. And the fact is, though we can invent, we cannot un-invent: once something has been formulated and exists there seems to be no easy way to prevent it existing - though nuclear war might accomplish it!

The first threshing machine was invented by a Scotsman, Andrew Meikle, in the 1780s. It was designed to take the place of hand flails in separating the grain from the husks and stalks. Hand threshing was slow, arduous and labour intensive and a machine offered speed, ease and a reduction in cost for the farmer. It didn't take long for those employed on farms to realise that such inventions reduced the number of jobs available. The Swing Riots of the 1830s were caused, in part, by the increasing adoption of threshing machines, and the rioters particularly targeted them as they roamed the countryside giving vent to their fury. The early machines were horse-powered though a primitive steam engine was used to provide power as early as 1799. However, it wasn't until the 1830s and later that steam-powered threshing machines became widely used, and they remained busy into the mid-twentieth century when combine harvesters replaced them.

Today's photograph shows a threshing machine built by William Foster and Company of Lincoln. I don't know when it dates from, but it is probably the early twentieth century. I photographed it at work, powered by a big traction engine, at the Bicker Steam Threshing event. This is an annual country fair held in the village of Bicker, Lincolnshire, that features traction engines in particular. A strong wind was making the work of those feeding the threshing machine with their pitchforks a little more unpleasant than it otherwise might have been.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -1.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Photographers and the sun

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Photographers love the sun. Look at any gallery of outdoor images produced by a group of amateurs or professionals and you'll usually find the majority (often a big majority) were taken in sunlight. The colour, contrast and feel that it brings to a photograph are clearly the qualities that attract us. So alluring is the visual "punch" that sunlight brings to an image, many are given to boosting the saturation to make their shots even more eye-catching. In fact, I sometimes wonder whether a photographic equivalent of the arms race has begun in the past ten years or so, as photographers push the boundary of what is deemed acceptable saturation ever further, perhaps responding to the glowing colours of competition-winning images, and those that are feted in magazines, newspapers and online.

I was thinking about this as I processed a few shots of Lincolnshire's South Forty Foot Drain, a watercourse with origins dating back to the 1630s, that I took during the recent hoar frost. The top photograph was taken after I'd walked a little way along the bank. I was captivated by the way the frost subdued the colours, giving them a blue/green/grey cast that I found very attractive, so I used the sharp outlines of the fence, gate and stock-pen as a middle-ground point of interest and composed this image. Then I walked on, through the open gate, and started to compose another shot using a piece of eroded bank as foreground interest. As I looked through the viewfinder a shaft of sunlight passed across the area in front of me. It worked its magic on the exposed soil, giving it a deeper, redder colour, made the frozen surface of the water more reflective, and changed the colour of the grass and frost that it rested on - it transformed the scene.

I imagine that if asked to choose which of the two images they liked best, most people would nominate the one that is partly sunlit. I like it for the qualities that I cite above. Yet, to my mind the first image is preferable for reasons that are both photographic and personal. I like the muted colours that stretch completely across the image of the first shot and the way they support the feel of the coldness of the day: they tell the story better. The sun, I feel, brings an unwarranted lift to the scene in the second shot: a note of gaiety where none is required. You might argue that both are accurate reflections of the scene as it presented itself to me, and that is of course, true. However, my recollection of the time I spent here is better reflected in the first image. It says "cold" so much better! I'm aware that this is an unfair comparison: the same shot, both with and without the sun's presence would be better. But, hey, sometimes you have to work with what you've got!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 70mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Up, up and away

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Gazing down Church Street in Bicker the other day a roaring sound attracted my attention, and then a great curve of red nylon slowly rose from behind the trees. It was a hot air balloon, very near, and the sound was the flames of the burner as it squirted a stream of hot air into the canopy. I quickly put my longest lens on the camera and, as the balloon with its basket of passengers came fully into view, I started to fire off shots, looking for a composition that included the ground and the brilliant red of the nylon against the morning blue of the sky.

As the balloon slowly rose over the top of the tower of St Swithin's church the Virgin logo became very obvious. What was going on I wondered? Was it Richard Branson on his latest balloon escapade, lost in deepest Lincolnshire? Perhaps he was undertaking a "retro adventure", in the manner of the Montgolfier Brothers, and in the absence of any high-tech communications equipment, the pigeon below the basket had been released carrying an urgent message, "Help, I'm somewhere over the Fens and drifting towards The Wash!" But then as the great craft floated on I read the banner on its side, "Balloon Flights" and a telephone number. Later, when I did a little research I discovered that this is one of the many arms of Virgin's aerial empire. Not content with jet airliners and spacecraft Branson also has a balloon division that offers rides from multiple locations across the UK. A much less harmful offering than 747s and mini-spaceshuttles I suppose.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 70mm (140mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1 Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Weather forecasting and entertainment

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In an ideal world the mission of any television station is to entertain and to inform. Pretty much every channel thinks it does this, but we know that many are ditching the "inform" bit, and many more are failing with the "entertain" bit even though that, nominally, constitutes most of their output. The BBC has a reputation for achieving this dual focus as well as any broadcaster does, but there are times when I think it simply loses the plot through trying too hard.

Take weather forecasting. You'd think that here the main aim would be to inform the public what the weather was likely to be, both where they lived and elsewhere in the country. I imagine the BBC fondly thinks it does just that. Well, I'm here to tell you and them that it fails miserably in this simple task. Firstly, its presenters not only talk too much so that people stop listening, they also talk gibberish. I swear that my wife will put a plant pot through the screen the next time a presenter talks about "treacherous roads", and I'm likely to burst my lungs screaming at the next mention of "an organised band of showers approaching from the west." Organised by whom? God? The Meteorological Office? And how can a road assume human attributes? Then there's the ridiculous graphics that involves us lurching drunkenly over the British Isles as if in a wayward satellite as the presenter hurriedly tries to make what they are saying correspond with the region in view. In spring they punctuate bulletins with "Spring Watch" and invite viewers to call in with their sightings of the first primroses or swallows. What's that got to do with informing us about the weather? It would make as much sense - maybe more, and could be more entertaining - to invite first viewings of T-shirts, short sleeves, or bikini tops. But what irritates the most is the persistent attempts to make the weather forecasts entertaining. Instead of accepting that weather just is what it is, they seek to magnify it and make it appear a malevolent force. So, we have alerts and warnings about wind, rain, sun, fog and snow, exhortations not to travel unless absolutely necessary, furrowed brows, grimaces and anthropomorphising. They don't appear to be trying to alert us to inclement weather, so much as scare us stiff with their cataclysmic visions of what might be. In recent days the weather forecasters have not only got it wrong, saying that the snow will get worse before it gets better: they've also fomented a clearing of supermarket shelves by viewers who have been panicked into stocking up for the next spell of "white hell". In the event a thaw has started!

My suggestion for remedying this state of affairs is to do away with the Jeremiah forecasters, and replace them with a screen divided into four. This would show the country's weather at the time of the forecast, then six hours later, then 12 hours later and finally 24 hours later. Will such a thing happen? No chance.

Today's shot - my last church image for a while you'll be glad to hear - shows St Swithin* at Bicker after the most recent heavy snow fall. I'm aiming for the definitive snowy photograph of this building, and I'm confident I'm getting closer to it. This one was taken about half an hour after the snow had ceased, and there's nothing nicer than getting out in it before too many footprints have marked the perfect whiteness.

St Swithin*/St Swithun: this church styles itself using both spellings, so I follow its example!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On