Private schools and song thrushes

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The other day I walked past the scene shown in this photograph and fell to thinking. My first thought centred on the song thrush that was singing its heart out from the top of a roadside tree even though it was ten minutes to eleven in the evening. Was this, I wondered, due to the fact that light remained in the sky or was it because of the street lights' illumination? Perhaps it was the combination of the two light sources that prompted its nocturnal canticle.

My second thought was one of despair. How long, I wondered, will our country have to suffer the dead weight of private education delivered by our so-called public schools? Is there no political party prepared to look at the clear evidence that private education not only impedes our country's economic progress through the values that it imparts, is one of the main causes of inequality that affects the rich every bit as much as the poor, and is a form of schooling that doesn't even deliver the educational goods that it professes to offer? One would imagine that a socialist party would give some thought to the issue, but no. You'd also think that parties of the right that espouse market values and a "survival of the fittest" culture would have no truck with a school system that produces students with inflated examination qualifications (see the link between average quality of university degree achieved by pupils of state and public schools with the same school examination grades), or that promotes advancement through socio-economic selection and networks rather than ability. But no, our private public schools continue to flog their wares to the well-heeled, the buyers and sellers profit, and the country continues to suffer from their self-interest.

The domed chapel shown in silhouette was completed in 1901. It serves Giggleswick School, "a co-educational boarding and day school", that charges fees to educate pupils. It is one of the many private educational establishments that I think our country would do well to dispense with for the better education and prosperity of all.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 37.1mm (100mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.9
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

One greenbottle is more than enough

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Some of the world's worst songs are not the output of say, the Spice Girls, Abba, or Justin Bieber* but are those that we teach to young children. The effect on me of songs such as "Michael Row the Boat Ashore", "Kumbaya", "Five Little Speckled Frogs" and "Ten Green Bottles" has been so profound that hearing one of these ditties today re-kindles in me thoughts of preceptorcide**. I know that many children enjoy the repetition, jollity, generally upbeat mood, or even the sentimentality of these songs. The trouble is that, as a foundation on which to build a deeper appreciation of music, they are jerry-built constructions, and may well account for some of the debased preferences of the music-buying public as evinced by what passes for the Top Forty today.

My annual sighting of a greenbottle fly triggered the words of the irritating song about ten green glass bottles mentioned above and the subsequent reflection on children's songs. As usual, I came across the colourful creature as I did a late summer tour of the garden in search of an image or two of the perennials that are now in full flower. When I first became acquainted with this fly I discovered that it has an unwholesome lifestyle and habits very much at odds with its incandescent appearance. Consequently I found it entirely appropriate that its name reminds me of one of the world's worst songs.

* On second thoughts the output of these"artistes" are among the world's worst songs.
** Preceptorcide: a word invented by me for this blog post. Work it out.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm macro
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/160 sec
ISO: 100
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Underneath the arches

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"Underneath the arches I dream my dreams away,
Underneath the arches, on cobblestones I lay"
 from the song (1931) by Reg Connelly(?) and Bud Flanagan

Everything we experience in the first twenty or so years of our existence is imprinted on us more strongly than most of our experiences in later life. People can usually remember a clear sequence of events and years relating to childhood and youth. But, unless momentous things happened, they struggle to differentiate the years of, say, their forties or fifties. These are often the times where a repetitive  pattern is established centred on work and leisure with fewer variations or "first" events of the kind that dominate our formative years. We tend to remember places we visited, people we met, books we read, songs we heard and much else from our youth far better than the equivalents of later years because so many are things that happened for the first time in our lives.

When I was a child my father would often sing songs, either to amuse himself or for the benefit of his children. They weren't usually contemporary songs but were those of his own childhood and youth. I didn't know it at the time but a couple of his favourites were songs made popular by the British singing and comedy act, Bud Flanagan (1896-1968) and Chesney Allen (1893-1982). The duo were at the peak of their fame just before and during the second world war. Songs such as "Run, Rabbit Run" and "We'll Smile Again" were hugely popular. The two I remember my father singing were "Underneath the Arches" and "The Umbrella Man". Though I remember the words of the second song better it's the first that always comes to mind when I walk through railway arches as I often do on my walks along the South Bank of the River Thames in London.

Today's photograph shows the pedestrian tunnel under the south end of Southwark Bridge. It is a popular spot for buskers, one of whom can be seen packing up at the end of his day, and it is one of a sequence of such arches and tunnels in this area. The brick arch is much as it was when first built. However, the ground has been resurfaced and repaired many times, and the walls now carry engraved slate murals of the medieval frost fairs that were held on the frozen River Thames. The very contrasty nature of the subject made me think that black and white would be a good treatment for the subject though it does make the tunnel look a great deal gloomier and more sinister than it is.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO:400
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Hooray for the Salvation Army Band

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In 1967 the U.S. guitarist, Jimi Hendrix, backed by the British drums and bass "Experience" of Mitch Mitchell and Noel Redding, released the song "Purple Haze". It was a product of the psychedelic times, all distorted guitar and obscure lyrics, and a great piece. A year later, in 1968, I heard a recording by the U.S. comedian, Bill Cosby, that was a wonderful spoof of "Purple Haze". This song was called "Hooray for the Salvation Army Band". To Hendrix's 60s sound he added lyrics that told how the religious group's band kept appearing every time the singer was getting down to a little sin.

I only heard this song a couple of times and then it disappeared from the airwaves. But I remembered it, and occasionally mentioned it to friends. However, it seemed that I was the only one in my circle to have heard this quirky little piece. In fact, as the years passed and my mentioning of the song continued to be met by baffled looks, I began to wonder if I'd imagined or dreamed the whole thing - that it was one of those "if you can remember the 60s you weren't there" moments. But then along came the internet. Several years ago I searched for the song and found no sign of it. However, today I was prompted to look again, and turned up numerous references. It seems my sanity can longer be questioned!

What inspired me to search for Bill Cosby's manic ditty was the appearance of a Salvation Army Band from the Citadel at Boston, Lincolnshire, walking around our village. They were undertaking a charitable collection and pausing at frequent intervals to play a hymn or two. I heard them in the distance first of all, so went for my camera. When they obligingly stopped outside my gate we made a donation and then I took several photographs of the musicians and their instruments as they played away. As I snapped away, I thought, "Hooray for the Savation Army Band", a phrase that prompted today's reflection.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1 (Photo2)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 137mm (274mm/35mm equiv.) (150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f6.3 (f6.3)
Shutter Speed: 1/1000 (1/640)
ISO: 100 (100)
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 (-0.7) EV
Image Stabilisation: On (On)

Sunshine of Your Love

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When it comes to Eric Clapton I'm one of those who feel that he peaked in the four albums he made with Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker in the band, Cream. In my view very little of his earlier work with John Mayall or the Yardbirds, or his subsequent solo and guest work, approaches the sublime qualities found in songs like "White Room", "Strange Brew", "Sitting on Top of the World", or "Badge". Maybe I'm influenced by the total sound of that band, that comprised the very individual driving bass of Bruce, the virtuoso drumming of Baker, and Pete Brown's lyrics, as well as that stinging guitar of Eric Clapton. There are those who feel that there still isn't a better rock and blues guitarist, and I certainly admire the man's technical virtuosity. But for me, there is no longer the excitement, sound, and sheer "rightness" in his playing. Maybe it needs songs of the calibre of "Sunshine of Your Love" to make that happen again, and they don't come along very often.

That particular song came into my mind yesterday as I was out in the garden. Last year, I moved to a new house. I'd only been here a few weeks when I started to notice a male blackbird that sang a phrase identical to the first five notes of "Sunshine of Your Love". Really! I know it sounds unlikely but it's true! It was in the wrong key, but there was no mistaking it. When I pointed it out to my wife she recognised it immediately. Now I don't know if this bird was a Cream fan, or whether it had been listening at the window as someone played "Disraeli Gears", but it continued with the same riff for several weeks as we sat in the sun, pruned the shrubs or picked the fruit. Then I heard it no more. Maybe, I thought, a cat that's a fan of Jimmy Page's Led Zeppelin period got it. But probably the breeding season ended and the need or desire to sing passed. Well, the other day, as I was taking photographs of tulips in the garden I thought I heard it again. In fact I'm sure I did. Now, every time I go out into the garden I listen, hoping that the avian version of "It's getting near dawn..." will spiral down to me from the top of the cherry tree!

Today's photograph is one of the shots I took when I heard that "blast from the past". I placed my camera low down and took a shot upwards, towards the sun. I knew I'd get the tulips and the trees, and I wanted the sun as well, but it was a shot in hope rather than expectation. However, the composition, colour and sunburst came out better than I expected, so I post the result here today.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 18mm (36mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f16
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off