Wyberton churchyard in March

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Churchyards are, for the most part, a reflection of the place, time and congregation of a locality. In cities and many towns they are frequently small, containing the tombs of those who could afford to be buried there. Often they have been turned into gardens or small semi-public parks. In these larger settlement big Victorian cemeteries such as that at Highgate in London, or Hull's Western Cemetery, contain the graves and memorials of more ordinary folk.

However, in villages many churches continue to be surrounded by graveyards that are still used, though often they hold the cremated remains of the faithful, rather than the interrred body, a more efficient use of scarce space. Dwindling congregations find it hard tofund the regular upkeep of village churchyards. Consequently, many are "rationalised", the space between gravestones given over to mown turf. Others let the grass grow long over the summer, sometimes for wildlife conservation reasons, frequently for lack of a person or the funds to have it cut regularly. Then there are those that grow a little wild, the result of what looks like benign neglect. Such graveyards can look wonderful, both wildlife oasis and darkly mysterious surroundings to the church. Where this happens it is usually the planting of the Victorians - laurel, yew, laburnum, rhododendrons and similar plants - that take over.

During a recent visit to the church of St Leodegar at Wyberton in Lincolnshire, I surveyed the rather rambling churchyard. On my previous visits parts of it have had something of this "overgrown" character. But no longer. Out of shot, to the right, a thicket of very old laurels has been cut down, the wood of the trunks and piles of leafy branches neatly stacked, awaiting removal. Perhaps the next area to be tackled will be the ivy covered ground and trees on the left of my shot. It's a delicate decision to know how far to go with clearing: too much and it can end up looking sterile, not enough and it needs too much maintenance. On the day of my visit I took the opportunity to record the clumps of snowdrops, the ragged trees, and the equally ragged looking church (it had a central tower that collapsed in 1419 and was rebuilt with a west tower and no transepts using the fallen masonry). The short brick chancel, that looks very out of place, is a further addition of 1760.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.4mm (26mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f3.5
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation: -1.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Snowdrops and capitalism

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Capitalism and a market economy seem to be the worst mechanisms for securing a high standard of living and increasing prosperity - except for all the other systems that have been tried.* But, whilst it can deliver quantity of life (though rarely for all citizens) it frequently fails to deliver quality of life. In the recent "boom" decades, psychologists, sociologists and everyday experience demonstrated that the increasing affluence of western societies brought increasing stress, anxiety, overwork, disatisfaction, and an unhealthily high regard for self: the condition that was labelled "affluenza". And now, as the world economy contracts, and joblessness increases, those unhealthy traits of the times of plenty are not lessened, but grow ever stronger: we are, apparently, no happier in times of "bust".

It seems to me that advanced capitalism and the market economies that characterise western economies, especially the U.S.A. and the U.K., are ill-equipped to deliver happiness and fulfilment for everyone. The reason they can't do this is that they lack an underpinning morality. It is surely time that people objected to: the idea that it is always "right" to charge for a product what the market will bear; the notion that envy, greed and ostentatious display are qualities (virtues even!) to which we should aspire; the feeling that however much money you have, it's always better to have more; the acceptance that the proper role of advertising is to stimulate avarice and covetousness; companies where the highest paid person in a company is judged to be "worth" 1,000 or 2,000 times what the lowest paid receives; the belief that it's right to pay someone a weekly wage that is insufficient to live on. In the years to come there will be much talk by politicians of a "new order", of controlling the excesses of the past few years, of a new social contract. But, if such talk amounts to no more than a tinkering with the edges of the existing system, it will be worth little. Reforms that get to the heart of capitalism, that inject it with a morality that ensures that all citizens benefit from, and participate fully in the society to which they contribute, are necessary. I'd like to think such changes could happen - but I'm not optimistic.

I was thinking about this as I processed my photograph of some snowdrops that are in full flower in my garden. The way that the plants soldiered on through the snow and ice of the past few weeks, going from tentative shoots to full bloom, impressed me, and reminded me that people have a similar fortitude and will surely deal with the icy blast of this recession too. I posted an image of some very early snowdrops on January 13th. It was a fairly conventional treatment of the subject. This time I went for a "dreamier" approach, and used the shallow depth of field of the macro lens to throw the background out of focus.

* adapted from: "Democracy is the worst form of government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time." Winston Churchill (1874-1965), speech in the House of Commons, 11th November 1947

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125 seconds
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The first snowdrops

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As a child I always looked for the first snowdrops that make an appearance in early January, and I continue to do so as an adult. When I was younger the small white flowers signified the first noticeable appearance of new life in the new year. I now know that other plants such as winter flowering heather and winter jasmine produce flowers before the snowdrops open their petals, but I still see them as the first step in the long march out of winter into spring. To a child the name is appealing and prompts the comparison of the crowded banks of flower heads with the way large flakes settle on the grass at the beginning of a fall of snow. To my adult mind the English name is so much more decorative, descriptive and appealing than the Latin Galanthus nivalis.

The first snowdrops have appeared in my part of the world, next to the foundations of a sheltered old house wall where they grew last year, perhaps benefiting from the leakage of warmth into the nearby soil. In a couple of weeks large drifts of the flowers will fleck garden borders, the churchyard, the sparse grass under the trees, and the banks of the stream that meanders through the village, giving me the opportunity for a wide-angle, contextual photograph. In the meantime here's a hand-held close-up of some of the "early birds."

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 1/30 seconds
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On