Stone, cast iron and slate

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In the main the builders of Britain's medieval parish churches used local stone. Sometimes this was very well suited to the purpose - it withstood the weather well, held sharp moulding and carving for centuries, and the Victorian restorers left most of it in place. The Oolitic limestone of Barnack and Ancaster are two good examples of such stone. Elsewhere, however, the stone left much to be desired but was used nonetheless because to bring better material from afar was simply too expensive. Much of the greenstone used in churches of the Lincolnshire Wolds, though striking in terms of colour, has decayed down the centuries, flaking off the surface, leaving walls pock marked and shabby, requiring heavy restoration. The builders must have known that it wasn't the best building stone, but they used it for convenience, cost, colour and out of a sense of local pride. I'm glad they did. The medieval tower of Horncastle church is positively rainbow-coloured with old and new local stone, as is that of Great Malvern Priory in Worcestershire.

On a recent visit to Derbyshire I came upon this stonework (above) at the church of St Giles, Calke. The building was erected in 1826-8 as a private church on the estate of Calke Abbey. I imagine the beautiful and subtly coloured stone is local, and it immediately caught my eye. What I also noticed was the tracery of the windows and I went to touch them to see if my suspicions were accurate. They were. The reticulated tracery of these two-light windows is made of cast iron. A little research  showed that they were made at a foundry in Derby. I've come across late Georgian and Victorian cast iron church windows before. They are not common, but can be found in cities and parts of the country adjacent to iron-producing areas. Here the colour they have been painted, does I think, go well with the stone and even with the dark slate gravestones rising up through the long churchyard grass.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 39mm (78mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/100 sec
ISO:200
Exposure Compensation: 0
Image Stabilisation: On

Town Hall, Bourne, Lincolnshire

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All Renaissance architecture draws its inspiration from the buildings of ancient Greece and Rome. English Renaissance architecture also borrows from the work of the Italian Renaissance architects who revived this style well before the architects of our islands mastered it. However, English architects, once they had come to grips with the challenge, showed themselves to be not only adept at using the traditional vocabulary of the style, but also capable of using these forms in new and interesting ways.

An example of this can be found in the 1821 town hall (former Sessions House) at Bourne in Lincolnshire. The architect, Bryan Browning, is not someone of national note. He is a regional practitioner who built much that is typical of the time and a few buildings that cause one to stop, look and think. His Bourne building has the piano nobile, pediment, Doric columns, arches, balusters etc typical of many other buildings of the Georgian period. But the way he disposes these parts is quite unusual. On a narrow, 3-bay elevation, he squeezes into the centre the form of a triumphal arch. This, quite unusually, contains a recessed entrance, a double staircase, columns, balcony and windows. Flanking it are shallow arches with windows above, the rightmost arch forming a passage through to the building's rear as well as offering further entries. Is it a dog's dinner or an innovative use of the elements of the classical style. I think it's definitely more the latter than the former.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm (52mm - 27mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/250 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Landscapes and aspect ratios

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After thirty odd years of shooting 35mm film with an aspect ratio of 3:2 I shot with Four Thirds cameras for a few years. These had an aspect ratio of 4:3. To my surprise I found I preferred it to 3:2, particularly for portrait format shots. When you turn a 3:2 camera so that the long side is vertical it seems to me that the aspect ratio doesn't work so well as when it is horizontal (landscape format) - it's simply too tall. There are a few subjects that benefit from a taller shape (and a very few where 16:9 is best) but not too many. I definitely preferred 4:3 in those circumstances. For landscapes, streetscapes and general photography 3:2 was, by and large, fine, but not better than 4:3 and sometimes too long.

Since I've returned to 3:2 with Canon, Nikon and Sony, the three makes I use now, I've generally shot 3:2 and where I've particularly felt it looked wrong (in horizontal or portrait format), I've cropped to 4:3. Today's photograph is a case in point. When I composed the shot I knew I wanted the verticals of the two medieval churches in the shot. However, I also wanted the full width of the street. On a wet day with an overcast sky 3:2 left too much boring grey cloud in the top half of the photograph. Consequently, I shot at 3:2 knowing I would crop to 4:3. Those of you who know the Sony RX100 might wonder why I didn't dive into the menu and set the camera to 4:3. The fact is I find it easier to stick with the same aspect ratio (3:2 is native and the highest resolution) across all the cameras to benefit from a consistent view and maximum pixel dimensions. To do otherwise would be for me, just too confusing, too tedious, and would deny me the best image where 3:2 is the ratio I want.

On the other hand, if Sony had done what Panasonic did with the LX3 (and other LX models), a camera that I owned until it died, and had put the aspect ratios round the lens barrel selected by a click stop switch, then I just might have set 4:3 before shooting.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 20mm (54mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  - EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Winter sunshades

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Sunshades are something that we usually associate with summer. When the sun is beating down from on high, hot and bright, we shade ourselves to keep from being burnt and to see better. But, the onset of winter doesn't completely do away with the need to shade ourselves from the sun. Driving east in the morning and west in the afternoon is made difficult and sometimes dangerous by the nearness of the sun to the horizon. The car's in-built windscreen shades are indispensable at these times. I'm not one of those who wear sunglasses on sunny winter days, and I know that for many who do they are year-round fashion accessories worn regardless of the weather, but even I can see a need for them on occasions during the colder months. Or a peaked hat or cap. Or a strategically placed hand.

Today's photograph shows a resident of Walker Street, Newark, shading his eyes. He's not, as appears to be the case, looking at me, but is watching the departure of a visitor. As I scanned the facade of this interesting if basic terrace of houses, his appearance at his door offered me a point around which I could build a composition. My previous photograph of this street with its colourful doors used a tree for that purpose.

Looking at my photograph on the computer, and at the man in particular, I was reminded of a photograph of someone shading his eyes that always makes me smile. It has appeared on quite a few websites in the past couple of years. The first time I saw the shot it was captioned with the words, "if only you could attach it to a hat". If you haven't seen it before I hope you enjoy it.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 70mm (105mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/320 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Rotundas

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I've often thought that the designers of the temples of classical antiquity would be horrified by the uses to which their designs were put during the Renaissance. I've seen Greek and Roman style porticos attached to decidedly secular buildings - banks, libraries, railway stations, theatres, even greenhouses. The eighteenth and nineteenth century architects and builders of England's grand country houses took enormous liberties with temple styling turning it to the main and subsidiary facades of their houses, featuring it in the stable blocks and orangeries, and using small "temples" as eyecatchers in the landscape, locations that enhanced the view and provided a destination for a short walk and, perhaps, a picnic.

Today's photograph shows the Rotunda at Croome Court, a Georgian country house in Worcestershire. This round type of building was commonly used during this period, being thought to derive from the two thousand year old Pantheon in Rome, a temple with a rotunda and an affixed portico. I've seen many rotundas in England serving, mainly, as mausoleums and eyecatchers. The latter use was the purpose of this example. It was built by either the landscape architect, Capability Brown, or the architect, Robert Adam. Both have their supporters; I lean towards the Adam. Croome Court's rotunda has, like the main house and the other buildings in the landscape, undergone sensitive restoration, and today it is the paying visitor, rather than owners of the house, who enjoy a stroll to its location on the summit of a low ridge, overlooking the nearby parkland.

photograph and text © T. Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm (52mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/250 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Two Spalding warehouse conversions

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In the UK finding new uses for old industrial or commercial buildings often results in them being converted into living accommodation. From power stations to old agricultural barns, fire stations to tea warehouses, apartments of varying sizes and prices are very often the first choice for a redundant building. It's not always the case; I've seen churches that became recording studios and cafes, a police station that became a restaurant, and more than one corn exchange transformed into a theatre. However, on a relatively small island with an ever growing population, housing of one form or another will often take precedence over any other use for a surplus building.

The other day we were walking around Spalding, Lincolnshire. The weather was sunny and the light clear and sharp. It was a good opportunity to photograph buildings. When I came to review my collection of shots I was prompted to reflect on the images of two Georgian warehouses that have been re-purposed (as modern parlance has it). One is barely recognisable as a structure from the eighteenth century, so complete have been its successive makeovers. Gone are the warm bricks to be replaced by painted render that is moulded to resemble ashlar blocks. The central hatches have been converted to windows and the hoist has gone too. In 1947 a main entrance with a hint of "Moderne" about it was created. It is now, I believe,either apartments or offices, with the name, White House Chambers.

The second example was formerly a warehouse belonging to the company of F. Long, but is now multiple apartments. It is a later conversion and has retained much more of its original character. Look at this building and you can immediately see its past. The original brickwork with its imperfections has not been too heavily modified. The rows of windows remain, as do the central hatches, but they are less integrated into the facade than in my other example. No attempt has been made to disguise the anchor plates of the tie rods that brace the building against lateral bowing; in fact they have been made into features. And, the pantiles of the roof, though probably not original, are characteristic of the period of the building unlike the concrete tiles of the other warehouse.

It seems to me that the way these warehouses have been converted exemplify two of the main approaches to such a task: treat the original building as a shell to be updated and made serviceable without any particular regard for its past, or retain the character of the original while doing sufficient to achieve its new purpose. Thankfully, today, the latter approach is more usual.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 66mm (99mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/125 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: 0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Gibbs surrounds

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It is said that examples of rusticated walls - where the joints between stone blocks are cut back and emphasised - can be found in Roman architecture. If that is the case then they aren't too common. However, in Renaissance architecture rustication of this sort, rustication applied to columns, window surrounds, quoins etc are commonplace. The word "rustication" derives from the same root as "rustic" and means rough and rural, or unsophisticated. In Italian and European Renaissance architecture in general, as well as the nineteenth and twentieth century revivals of the style, it is frequently seen applied to the ground floor of a building with the first floor (piano nobile) and above invariably faced with smoother ashlar.

Renaissance architects delighted in applying new variations of rustication to buildings. English Georgian architects used it prolifically too. Today's photograph shows a doorway and some windows of 67 High Street St Martin's in Stamford, Lincolnshire, one of a pair of very similar houses dating from around 1740. Here the rustication is in block form and applied to the architraves on either side of the door and windows and to the key-stoned lintels. In England this treatment is often termed a "Gibbs surround" after the architect, James Gibbs (1682-1754), who popularised the style here.

We arrived in Stamford a little earlier in the day than is usually the case, and the lower sun combined with a clear, blue sky showed the crisp shadows created by the rustication off to great effect. As I framed my shot I reflected that  decorative elements raised above the mass of the smooth stonework of the wall, that were designed to work well with sharp Mediterranean light, worked equally well in the light of a cold, clear English spring.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 32mm (48mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/200 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Market Hall, Newark

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Multi-use buildings constructed in the eighteenth century are quite common if we include those that feature living accommodation in addition to their primary purpose. If you were a baker, blacksmith, weaver, or any other tradesman or craftsman you invariably lived on the job. It was convenient for dealing with your customers and you were in a position to ensure the security of your stock and tools. However, the sort of structure that we see today, where offices, shops, hotels, even train stations or museums can find their home in a large, subdivided building, were quite unusual in the 1700s.

The grand, classically-styled town hall of Newark, Nottinghamshire, a building of 1774-6 built by the architect, John Carr of York, is an exception to this general rule. Because, at ground level, underneath the ballroom, civic rooms, robing room, offices and everything else that was required by the leaders of the community, is a market hall. For centuries market halls had been common structures in towns. In the Midlands and South they were often timber-framed, a room above and open at the bottom, the sheltered space supported by heavy wooden posts, and in the North they were frequently made of stone, sometimes with split stone tiles as a roof. The Newark example is altogether grander, featuring a space eight bays long and three bays wide with stone Doric arcades and a coffered roof. The floor is made of heavy stone "flags", and the whole gives the appearance of something made to withstand the knock-about of market life, a cool dark place suitable for displaying food, somewhere that will last.

And last it has. It is still used as a place where stalls are set up and goods sold. On the day of our visit there was only one proprietor at work. Was that a sign of people spending less or is it used more on some days than others, much like the market square outside? Whatever the reason it made taking a photograph that shows the architecture an easier task for me than it has been in the past.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1 Shutter
Speed: 1/30 sec
ISO:3200
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Windows, frames and light

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Commercial buildings of today have virtually banished the window as a discrete architectural feature. Glass curtain walls have made the window as a transparent opening in a solid, opaque wall seem like a quaint artefact of the past and have merged the features of the elevation into nothing less than a giant mirror. However, in traditionally built houses the window continues, a hole that admits necessary light and that also frames the inhabitants' views of their surroundings.

Down the centuries windows have changed and evolved. Early medieval examples were often simply apertures, left open when the weather was kind and calm, covered with translucent greased cloth when inclement and windy. I've seen sixteenth century windows filled with glazed, iron casement windows that were only an approximation of the shape they filled, through which draughts must have whistled and where heavy curtains were required for any kind of winter warmth. Today's house windows tend towards the utilitarian, their plastic frames requiring neither paint nor a second glance.

Some of the most elegant windows date from the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries when simplicity and proportion were imposed on window design in a way that we could learn from today. I came across an example recently in the Guildhall in Boston, Lincolnshire. This mid fifteenth century building, erected for the Guild of the Blessed Virgin Mary, has been added to and modified over the years. Some of the upstairs windows were replaced in the eighteenth century and it was one of these that I stopped by to look down into the garden of Fydell House (also eighteenth century) next door. The way the light and sharp shadows fell across the fielded panels of the internal shutters had caught my eye, and as I looked at the nine-over-nine sash window and the view through the panes I was moved to take this photograph. What had appealed to me was one of the fundamental attractions of traditional windows that have all but disappeared where curtain walls have taken over, namely the way the entry of light models the interior and the way the firm outline of the window frames the world outside. It's a charming attribute that a painter such as Vermeer could build a career on and it's something that has the capacity to captivate us still.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Bonby church 27 years later

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Anyone with an interest in English church architecture will be familiar with the main gazetteers and guides that document these buildings. All will know of the county volumes of the "Buildings of England" series by Nikolaus Pevsner (and others). Many will be familiar with John Betjeman's original or updated "Guide to English Parish Churches". And most will have an acquaintance with Simon Jenkins' "England's Thousand Best Churches". I have all these books and I list them here in order of preference, best first.

They all have their own take on listing and describing churches. Pevsner is completist and academic, Betjeman is brief, quirky and selective and Jenkins is more opinionated, historical, florid and his book has a more contentious title. Whose thousand best? Not mine, though he has many I would include. So how do I differ from Jenkins? Well, I have a liking for churches that have been knocked about a bit, that show their age, the ravages of time and the mark of successive builders. I can appreciate as much as the next man the big, richly ornamented, Grade 1 Listed, beautifully kept show-piece church. But, I can also appreciate the tumble-down, humble structure that needs a bit of maintenance, that can be found, with difficulty, surrounded by trees, at the end of a country lane: the sort of building that seems to grow out of the ground rather than look like it's been dropped in, scrubbed and polished, from on high.

Today's photograph shows a church that I liked the first time I saw it some time in the 1970s. It's a building that wouldn't even get on the long-list for Jenkins' best. St Andrew in the village of Bonby, Lincolnshire, is a mixture of work from the 1100s, 1200s and 1800s. The original stone has been replaced and reinforced by brick, and much of it shows its age. It must have always been a work in progress as people enlarged the church, made it smaller, renewed bits that fell down, patched walls, moved windows and blocked up doorways. After taking today's main photograph I searched out a shot of the church taken from a similar viewpoint that I remembered scanning from a slide last year. The original was taken in 1986 using an Olympus OM1n and a 135mm lens. I wanted to see if there had been any changes during the intervening 27 years. One jumped out at me immediately. The bottom two thirds of the east wall that was looking rough in 1986 is now rendered and painted white. But apart from that it was much the same low, squat, rustic building. Even the same dark red paint continues to be used on the drainpipes, gutters and door. I did notice one further difference: the churchyard grass is being kept a bit shorter!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Volutes

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I first encountered the word "volute" when studying architectural history, in particular the Greek Ionic Order that is recognised by the large volutes that make up most of the ornamentation of the capital. The Corinthian and the Composite Orders have them too, on a lesser scale, but it is the Ionic that presents the architectural volute in all its beauty. In fact, the word "volute" comes from the Latin for "scroll", and looking at the spiral shape in the Ionic capital one can see how it might have derived from a parchment scroll seen end on.

Biologists use the word to describe the spiral shell of gastropods, in particular the genus Voluta. Violins and other stringed instruments often have a decorative volute at the top of the fingerboard near the tuning pegs, though this is also called a scroll. Guitar builders use "volute" to describe a thickening of the neck near the nut where one end of the truss rod is found, but this is an odd use of the word that doesn't respect its origins.

Today's photograph shows the wooden handrail of a Georgian staircase that terminates in a volute. It's not unusual to see a handrail of this period with a "turnout" whereby the straight line of the rail ends with a curve of approximately a quarter of a circle. However, if the client has money and pretensions then the architect can indulge himself with a volute, adding if he wants to go a step further, an ornamental finial on the centre. In the example above the expansion of the rail into a large, circular full-stop manages to be both elaborate and simple: perhaps elegant is the best word to describe it. As I processed this photograph, one that I took in the former Stamford Hotel in Stamford, Lincolnshire, it occurred to me that it might be a suitable candidate for a blue/sepia split-toning treatment. For more examples of this photographic treatment, one of that dates back to the days of chemical processing, see this promenade, this customer service centre or this House of Correction. For a view of the rest of this staircase see this post.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14.8mm (40mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/25
ISO: 1600
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Slow down, you move too fast

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It is said that the genesis of the Slow Movement was the journalist, Carlo Petrini's protest against the opening of a McDonald's café (they are not restaurants whatever the company may think) near the Spanish Steps, Rome, in 1986. I recall reading about this in the press at the time. What I didn't know is that it led to the Slow Food Movement that sought to promote the virtues of locally-sourced produce, cooked traditionally and eaten socially, over the ubiquitous fast-food chains with their industrialised, homogenised products. Out of the central belief that people and societies need to slow down and give more time to preparing and eating better food came the the idea that the application of "slowness" to other areas of life would be very beneficial. Guttorm Fløistad wrote a useful summation of the idea underpinning Slow: "The only thing for certain is that everything changes. The rate of change increases. If you want to hang on you better speed up. That is the message of today. It could however be useful to remind everyone that our basic needs never change. The need to be seen and appreciated! It is the need to belong. The need for nearness and care, and for a little love! This is given only through slowness in human relations. In order to master changes, we have to recover slowness, reflection and togetherness. There we will find real renewal."

Over the years I became aware of the Slow Movement and how it was being applied to areas such as travel, design, fashion and architecture. It influenced me in my decision to forgo the acquisition of a smartphone and is part of the reason that I don't "do" social media. However, more recently it was the publicity in 2008 surrounding the publication of Carl Honoré's book, "Under Pressure: Rescuing Our Children from the Culture Of Hyper-Parenting", that brought Slow to the forefront of my mind. I recognised, through my involvement in education, the way in which many children were being shepherded, directed and cosseted virtually every waking hour, how they had little time that they organised and directed for themselves, and how parents felt failures if they didn't provide a wide range of weekend and after-school activities for their offspring. This kind of parenting remains all too common today with the result that young children, who should be exploring and enjoying what the world offers at their own pace, are subjected to the intense lifestyle and pressures that adults suffer.

I don't know where the adult and child in the photograph were going or what they were doing but they appeared to be in a hurry. Perhaps they had a bus to catch. However, the way they were purposefully striding out, eyes seemingly set on some future event, caused me to reflect on the Slow Movement and how we would all benefit if its precepts were more widely adopted.

Incidentally the stone-built Georgian houses in this corner of Stamford, Lincolnshire, have stood up well to what the past couple of hundred years have thrown at them. They were built on sound principles with an eye to the future and will doubtless grace the town for a few more centuries yet.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 25.9mm (70mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Small museums and broken windows

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I enjoy visiting the large, national and regional museums of Britain. Places such as the Natural History Museum, the National Maritime Museum, the Imperial War Museum (Duxford), the Fitzwilliam Museum (Cambridge) or the Harris Museum (Preston) hold rare and important treasures of great interest, often displaying them in beautiful spaces to great effect. However, the smaller museums of our country, the places that document towns and villages, that were often established in the eighteenth, nineteenth or early twentieth centuries by philanthropic donation, enthusiastic individuals or a motivated group of citizens, can also offer interest and delight. Such places are frequently run on a very modest budget and few staff, or rely on the support of a small and dedicated band of volunteers. The Wisbech and Fenland Museum, Lynn Museum (King's Lynn) and Newark Air Museum are examples of such places that I've visited recently.

The other day we visited another example, the Baysgarth House Museum in Barton upon Humber, Lincolnshire. This  mid-eighteenth century house was given to the town in 1930. Since that time it has had various uses including housing a school. It continues to be the place where the town council meets, but today the buildings and the historic collections it now holds are managed by a charity supported by volunteers. Displays about the history of the house, Georgian and Victorian rooms, collections of pottery, artefacts and displays about the industries of Barton upon Humber, as well as much else, can be found there, all well-presented and cared for by enthusiasts. It is a good example of the sort of museum that a small town can offer, given a little funding, local support and dedicated volunteers.

The house has a fine main staircase, typical of the period, in which are hung three large oil paintings. The window that lights the stairwell is south facing and therefore has a blind to protect the paintings. I took a photograph of this space and its lighting (small photograph) before ascending the stairs. On the landing I looked across at the window and noticed a broken pane in the top corner casting its fractured shadow on the blind. This blemish was all the more eye-catching being set against the carefully managed and well-decorated stairwell. And, with my photographer's hat on I took a shot (main photograph in black and white) of the imperfection, quite liking the way it interfered with the regularity of the glazing and its shadows.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 209mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Adding shadows to the mix

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I've said elsewhere in this blog that I like to use shadows in photographs. It seems to me that they add a dimension that is quite unique. Often their contribution is in the form of a doppelganger - an insubstantial echo of the solid objects or people in or around the subject. They also bring darkness, and with it contrast, that otherwise might be absent. But more than that, shadows inject mood into an image.

I've often wondered to what extent deep, primeval fears and feelings influence how we see shadows. Certainly mankind has woven the night and shadows into many of the myths, legends, stories, songs and other art that has come down the centuries to us. Even today shadows feature in film and TV simply to convey feeling and atmosphere. The success of the Danish TV series, "The Killing", and its sequels would have been much less if it hadn't been set largely at night. And, when I think of some of my favourite films, I notice cinematography that accentuates shadows and darkness figuring large in the list. In a post of January 2011 about black and white photography I said that David Lean's 1946 version of "Great Expectations" was a fine argument for the virtues of the monochrome medium in still photography. It uses shadows well too, of course. However, were I to nominate a film that showcases the value and power of shadows then I can think of no better example than Carol Reed's 1949 film, "The Third Man". Vienna at night, with its bomb damaged buildings, street lights and the shadows of people (and cats) as they scurry about, are magnificently conceived and contribute enormously to the high regard that the film continues to enjoy.

Today's photograph shows part of the facade of a Georgian street in Ledbury, Herefordshire. I liked the way the shadow of the buildings behind and to the side of me threw shapes and darkness across the sunlit composition. The stronger orange and the washed out yellow became more important elements with the shadow's depressing effect, and in my mind's eye I saw the composition as semi-abstract arrangement of shapes and colours.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 38mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation:N/A

Old vicarages

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One of the common house names in England is "The Old Vicarage". This can be seen on buildings of various ages, from the sixteenth century to the early twentieth century. The adjective "old", doesn't usually refer to the age of the building in terms of years, but tells us that it is the former vicarage and implies that somewhere nearby is the new or current house of the local priest.

The church has to move with the times. Consequently the large Georgian and Victorian vicarages that were provided for the vicars, their families and servants, and which were designed to reflect the importance of the job and offer a suitable place for administration, receiving visitors and entertaining, were often found to be unsuitable and unsustainable in the twentieth century. They were frequently sold to a wealthy buyer or demolished and the land sold for housing. The proceeds from the sale was invariably more than enough to buy or build more suitable premises for the vicar and his or her family.

This has happened in Spalding, Lincolnshire. The old vicarage, a large Georgian house on Church Street, across the road from the medieval St Mary and St Nicholas, facing a conveniently placed gate in the churchyard wall opposite the vicarage's front door, was sold and new premises built on Halmer Gate just round the corner. The new house with garages and a separate parish office is undoubtedly more suited to the family and administrative needs of the current church. However, the modern buildings do lack the charm and style of the old one, particularly the late Georgian porch in the Roman Ionic style. I photographed this on a break from some shopping, captivated by the way the low sun emphasised the details of the facade, and the softer shadows of the churchyard trees as they fell on the pristine blue and white walls.

Incidentally, this building hasn't, to my knowledge, adopted the name of "The Old Vicarage" (though it may well do in the future); that is simply my title for today's photograph. Moreover, the new vicarage is called "The Parsonage", a rather old-fashioned name for such a dwelling..

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11mm (52mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Prince Street, Hull

click photo to enlarge
On a recent dull and very windy day I spent a few hours in and around Hull's "old town", the original core of the city that is built around the medieval street plan. It's an area that holds a fascinating variety of buildings dating from the medieval period through to the present day. When I lived in the city during the 1970s and 1980s I enjoyed many a happy day walking the winding streets, decoding buildings that had been overlaid with the hopes and aspirations of successive centuries, photographing the worn streets, dark alley ways (called staithes in this part of England), and enjoying the reflected light from Hull and Humber. At that time the old town was barely holding its own, venerable buildings were being pulled down and the interesting road surfaces made of pitch-impregnated timber blocks were patched with tarmac and concrete. However, the 1980s and 1990s saw a more enlightened attitude to the area take hold, its visual, historic and tourist value began to be appreciated, and things took an upward turn, mainly for the better. Today, the effects of the depression of recent years are starting to take a toll on the old town and a certain shabbiness is becoming evident once more.

Today's photograph shows the arch that leads from the Market Place into Prince Street, a curving cobbled road of three-storey houses dating from the 1770s. This row has kept the good looks of the most recent restoration. However, even here a dissonant note enters the view in the form of objects that weren't part of the street scene when I lived in the city. I mean, of course, those awful wheely bins. These wretched, multi-coloured, plastic rubbish containers too frequently blight our streets. A recent newspaper article illustrated one of the worst examples. One can only hope that such pieces open people's eyes to the degradation of our environment that follows from the insensitive siting of these bins.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 58mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Survival or revival

click photo to enlarge

Anyone with an interest in the history of English church architecture, visiting St James at Deeping St James in Lincolnshire for the first time, will immediately think, "What's been going on here?" It's not the basic shape of the church that you see when you walk through the churchyard gate that provokes the question: that's very conventional with the west tower, nave and aisle, chancel and south porch. What's puzzling is, firstly, the elevation of the aisle with its short buttresses topped by pilasters with no pinnacles above, the size of those windows, and the suspicious "Gothic" of the tower.

Stepping inside reveals that it was once a major church, in fact a Benedictine Priory founded by Thorney Abbey in 1139. The seven bay, Late Norman south arcade (see small photograph), with its thirteenth century triforium looks like it belongs in a much larger church. Did it ever link up with a structure of the same magnitude elsewhere in the building, or was it the start of a grandiose idea that was then slimmed down? And what about that tower. Stylistically it is Georgian Gothic, a stripped down version of the older style made palatable for a new age. It was built after the old tower collapsed in 1717, the victim of bad foundations due to repeated flooding over the centuries. There is some question over when precisely the new tower was erected, but 1732 is scratched on the exterior west wall, and this is the likely date rather than 1819 which is more carefully carved beneath the parapet.

As with much of the building in the Gothic style that the seventeenth and eighteenth century added to medieval churches we are prompted to ask whether it is a survival or a revival. That is to say, did the builders simply continue to build in the style that was for centuries the only one applied to churches, or did they deliberately forsake the classical idiom of much public building of the period and modishly seek to revive a "forgotten" style. Historians of art and architecture make much of the revival of Gothic in the eighteenth century by the likes of Horace Walpole, William Kent, Robert Adam, James Wyatt and the rest. However, it never entirely went away. Provincial churches sometimes used it in the seventeenth century, as did some colleges at Oxford and Cambridge when they were being extended. It may be that the people at Deeping St James wanted a tower that both reminded them of the one that fell down, but also showed that they were "up to date".

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Wilson Street, Newark

click photo to enlarge

Today's photographs show the quite "industrial" looking Wilson Street in Newark, Nottinghamshire. It is not the sort of street that you usually find alongside the graveyard of a large medieval church, and its presence there is all the more remarkable when you consider that there was once a matching terrace on the other side of the road where I took my shots. This oddity is explained by the fact that the houses were built (in 1766) by the vicar of the church, Bernard Wilson.

My curiosity about this Georgian cleric was piqued when I read Pevsner's summary about the terrace in "The Buildings of England: Nottinghamshire". He describes him as "an extremely wealthy pluralist of questionable character." A little digging uncovered the following. Wilson acquired his position and fortune by befriending wealthy men. His job he got through his contemporary at Westminster School, Thomas Pelham, who later became the Duke of Newcastle. His wealth came to him from the member of parliament for Newark, Sir George Markham. It seems that Markham promised Wilson a vast sum of money in his will if the young vicar married the MP's niece. Wilson inherited the money but didn't marry the niece. Further upsets and law suits followed Wilson as he tried to use his wealth to advance his own interests and those of the people he favoured. All this gave him a dubious reputation in some sections the town and society beyond, not a word of which is alluded to in his memorial in Newark church. This includes the following: "a man of sense, politeness and learning, without pride, reserve or pedantry. Possessed of an affluent fortune, his hand was ever open to relieve the necessitous. His extensive charities when living, and ample benefactions at his decease, have raised him a living monument in the hearts of the poor." Wilson did, in fact, use some of his money well, and for the alleviation of poverty. However, unsurprisingly, given human nature, those are not the foremost acts that posterity allies to his name.

The street itself is brick built with hipped pantile roofs. Raised bands separate the three floors. Pavilion-like projections close each end of the terrace and the centre projects by a similar (small) amount. This has a modest, central, arched doorway with a blocked fanlight. The houses were restored and converted around 1980. In some respects, though on a grander scale and earlier in date, they remind me of Nelson Street in King's Lynn. They have that same stripped-down, utilitarian feel. I like them for their unfussy spareness, though I'm not sure I'd like to live in them.

photographs and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 40mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/80 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Farmhouse and church

click photo to enlarge

The most common type of building to find next to an English church is, not surprisingly, the vicarage. A place of residence for the parish priest usually came with the job in the eighteenth, nineteenth and much of the twentieth centuries. In fact it often still does. Another building that frequently sits next to the church is a manor house or other property owned by a principal local landowner. The "living" of a church, that is to say the right to appoint the vicar, for many centuries often resided with such a person, and the twin powers of the church and mammon's local representative were often neighbours. These buildings can still be seen around churches and are present at this one at Aslackby. However, in a rural county such as Lincolnshire a third type of building may be seen alongside the vicarage and the manor house - a farmhouse.

I've photographed such a pairing before at Billingborough. At Aslackby the farmhouse is newer than that example, late eighteenth century, extended in the mid-nineteenth. The improvement of farming techniques and the consolidation of holdings into larger units in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries made some farmers relatively wealthy and this is often reflected in new, rebuilt or extended farmhouses. Here the building is L-shaped with gable stacks and has a fashionable mansard roof, a type popular in this part of the county, particularly in nearby Folkingham.The main elevation mimics, on a smaller scale, the country houses of the wealthy landowners. It is strictly symmetrical, of orange brick, with stone quoins, keystones, platband and gable copings. The semi-circular headed lattice-work porch may be original or could be a later addition. That disfiguring drainpipe surely must have been placed there more recently. The metal Xs at the top of the gable wall are the ends of tie-rods designed to control wall bowing or some other potentially troublesome movement that became evident at some point after construction.

I took my photograph on the same day as the previous two blog post images, a day whose photographic potential was curtailed by the clouds and rain that can be seen moving in on the left of this picture. Here I liked how the impending gloom splits the shot into two very distinct parts, one dark and troubled looking, the other bright and quite cheery.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 37mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: N/A

King's Lynn street view

click photo to enlarge

Strolling through King's Lynn in Norfolk a short while ago I came upon the scene above after walking almost the length of Queen Street. The low, yellow tinged winter sun was creating deep shadows and strongly highlighted areas and the limestone of the twin towers of the medieval church of St Margaret positively glowed. So I composed my photograph with the Romanesque and Gothic church framed by the mainly newer, C17, C18 and C19 brick buildings of the street.

When you take a photograph you are, in general terms, aware of what it contains. But, on the whole, the photographer's mind is fixed on the main things he or she wants to include and those objects that need to be omitted: but the smaller details are sometimes overlooked. I knew I'd have to crop out a white door on the left that would detract from the main subject. And I had to accept the distracting presence of the clutter of cars parked in Saturday Market Place next to the church. What I hadn't noticed, however, was the triangular traffic warning signs in the centre of the shot. They are obviously designed to be seen and in the shaft of sunlight coming from College Lane, with the deep shadow behind them, they shouted their presence. What's a photographer to do? I'm not one for removing objects so I toned them down until they could be seen for what they are but are less intrusive.

I photograph a lot of architecture and I find street signs, lamp posts, telegraph poles and wires, roof and wall mounted aerials and dishes, and parked cars, the bane of my life. They are so common that it's virtually impossible to exclude them from shots. Often they are not so noticeable and I can cope with them, but sometimes they cause me to lower my camera and walk on. Perhaps I'm overly sensitive about these things. But, sometimes I wonder at the planners and conservation officers who allow such things as the grey, utilitarian street light seen above the cars in this photograph: if they can specify "sympathetic" bollards for conservation areas such as this, why not more sensitively designed street lights?

Anyone with an interest in English architecture will have noted the stone Gothic (C15) doorway in the brick building on the right. This is Thoresby College, a building built c.1500 for thirteen chantry priests attached to the Trinity Guild. The elevation to Queen Street has three such doors, one with its original wooden door still in use. The rebuilding of the two main storeys dates from the late C18, but, interestingly, the "Dutch" style dormers are earlier.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 45mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On