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

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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

Just a couple of sunsets

 click photo to enlarge
Just?! There's nothing just about a sunset! It surely counts among the most wonderful sights that the planet earth can offer. Imagine how much poorer we would be if the sky no longer turned to fire, if clouds ceased to be tinged by red, orange, pink and purple. Consider losing the transformative effect that a sunset can bring to the grimmest urban scene, the most unremarkable suburban streetscape or an over-regimented, industrialised, agricultural landscape. Think for a moment about how rivers, lakes, west facing coastlines, even humble puddles, would no longer be able to double the power of the fiery sky with their reflections. Or how we would no longer feel that familiar thrill as we stopped and stared at the sky, watching as the colours start to build to a blazing climax then subside to a glimmer, a mere memory of what has come and gone.

I've said elsewhere that seeing a sunset, any sunset, is like seeing one for the first time. It dazzles the eye and lifts the spirits. I felt that way the other afternoon as we had a late walk round the village and the clouds turned first pink and yellow, then a deeper orange and red. It came upon us as we were on some of the plainer streets, away from the church, the stream and the big trees of the village's picturesque centre. But that didn't matter; the transformation took place regardless. After taking my fill of the spectacular sunset I took a couple of shots to remember it by.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: crop of 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/30 sec
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

Winter view of Walcot

click photo to enlarge
Walking in lowland Lincolnshire can be a mucky, sticky affair in winter. Arable land at this time of year is often wet and muddy and it's not uncommon to end a walk measuring a couple of inches taller than when you set off, such is the tenacity with which the soil clings to the sole of your boots. Consequently, a deep overnight frost is welcome because it means that fields which are usually impassable or unpleasant to walk, solidify and become much easier. In fact, the day we did a circular morning walk from Folkingham to Walcot, then on to Pickworth and finally back to Folkingham, the ground was like concrete and we left no footprints to mark our passage.

There is another feature of this walk that makes it a good choice for a winter walk and that is the greater than usual amount of pasture through which the footpaths meander. Permanent grass is reasonably common on Lincolnshire's higher land but less so lower down. In this area, especially around the villages, there is quite a bit that often has flocks of rather timid sheep or sometimes pet animals of the sort favoured by those who engage in "horsiculture."

The church at Walcot has become one of my favourite Lincolnshire churches. It suffered much less than many from the attentions of the restorers and enthusiasts, and what was done (mostly in 1907) was accomplished with sensitivity and respect for the achievements of the medieval builders and masons. The current congregation continues this work so when you enter the building you get a real sense of stepping into the past. Inside the fabric is mainly twelfth and thirteenth century, with the outside largely fourteenth century. I've posted photographs of the interior, the porch and the font before, but on the day of my visit the light wasn't bright enough for interior shots. However, I'd set out on this walk in the hope of returning with a landscape or two, and even though the weather deteriorated, the sun disappeared, and drab cloud rolled in, I managed this shot that features the broach spire of the distant church rising from the pantile roofs of the few farms and houses that constitute this small village.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 73mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 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

Gosberton, Lincolnshire

click photo to enlarge

The recent hot spell has given way to pleasant summer temperatures and the unremitting blue skies to soft broken clouds. Just the weather, we thought, for a morning cycle ride through the golden wheat and green vegetables of the late July Fenland landscape. Our route took us to Gosberton, a village whose medieval church has a prominent spire that acts as a lighthouse to cyclists navigating their way through the complex web of lanes north of the settlement.

We had no particular destination in mind as we cycled along, but the sight of the spire set me to thinking what I'd recently read about the name of the village. The Domesday Book of 1086 apparently calls it by two slight variations of the same name - Gosebertcherche and Gosebertchirche. In 1177 this had become Goseberdechirche, and in 1180 Goseberchirche. All these variations, it seems, derive from the joining together of the Germanic personal name Gosbert and the Old English word cirice, "a church". By the 1200s the Old Norse kirkja ( also meaning "a church") had replaced the second part of the name and Gosseberdkyrk, Goseberdkirke and Gosberkirke are found. Right through to the eighteenth century a name ending in the word "church" in one form or another was used to describe the village. Yet, in 1487 the first use of the suffix -ton is found in Gosburton. The ending -tun, with slightly different pronunciations, is Old English and Old Norse for enclosure, farmstead, village or estate.  The current spelling of the village name dates from around the seventeenth century. Such changes in the name of a settlement are not unusual in England. What I found interesting in this instance is that the "church" part of the name should disappear when the parish church of St Peter and St Paul has, for centuries, remained the largest and most prominent building in the village, and the one that still, to a large extent, defines it.

I took my photograph as we cycled in from the north east, and it captures the way the pinnacled tower with its elegant spire dominates the surrounding houses and trees.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 45mm (90mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Autumn landscapes

click photo to enlarge
A few days spent walking, cycling and driving in the area of England where Leicestershire, Rutland and Northamptonshire bump up against each other have given me an opportunity to reflect on the relative merits of each form of travel as a means of securing photographs. It confirmed my instinctive preference for walking with a camera because its slow pace gives more opportunities to see and compose images. More than that, however, if your walking isn't in a known photogenic location, then it presents you with more "ordinary" subjects which you can try to turn into extraordinary images. Furthermore, it places shots before you that are unlikely to have been taken by anyone else - a consideration in our modern world where the yearly output of digital photographs probably outnumbers the grains of sand in a Saharan erg!

Cycling is, for me, the second best way of going about photography. When you're on two wheels you tend to choose the less frequented highways and byeways, places where it's easy to stop and snap, that pass through more interesting areas, and that haven't succumbed to the sanitising effect of the traffic engineer. However, even the speed at which you travel by bicycle means you miss a lot. Photography by car comes last, in my estimation because, by and large, when car-borne we gravitate towards the more obvious locations, or are forced to disembark where we can park, and consequently end up taking the more obvious shots. And, we tend to look less searchingly once there because if we don't find anything of interest it's so easy to move on to the next place. That's not to say, of course that good photographs can't be harvested using each of these modes of travel.

During my few days away I took photographs on a day-long walk, a day-long cycle ride and a couple of drives. The first of the two images in today's post was gathered near the start of our walk from the Leicestershire village of Hallaton, looking back at our departure point in the morning sunlight. It is an image that for many people will represent the quintessential English village, with church spire dominating, roofs of slate, tile, thatch and stone clustered around, trees changing colour as autumn progresses, and green fields beyond the settlement's edge. This particular shot can only be taken if you stretch your legs. The second was taken on the cycle ride (which also started at Hallaton), and was snapped after I'd screeched to a halt on a downhill section of lane, next to a gateway in a hedge. This scene of the Rutland village of Lyddington, when compared with the first shot, is "the same but different": a more distant prospect of a more wooded location. It was the autumn tints in the trees that prompted me to "slam on the hammers" and take this photograph.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Photo1 (Photo 2)
Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 137mm (274mm/35mm equiv.):(70mm (140mm/35mm equiv.))
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/200 (1/320)
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV (-0.3 EV)
Image Stabilisation: On

Folkingham church tower

click photo to enlarge
A year or so ago the tower of the church of St Andrew in the village of Folkingham, Lincolnshire, was missing some pinnacles. That was a great shame because the tower has a particularly fine set that surmount the four-stage Perpendicular period (fifteenth century) structure. It's not unusual for English church towers to have a large pinnacle at each of the four corners. Commonly these have battlements (merlons and embrasures) between them. It's less common, but not rare, for there to be subsidiary pinnacles placed mid-way between the corners. But to have smaller pinnacles set in the space between each corner and subsidiary pinnacle is much less common. St Andrew has this unusual and attractive arrangement. However, the years and the weather must have taken their toll on the stone and mortar because a strong wind dislodged a number of them, one of which fell through an aisle roof.

I visited the church shortly after this event when a tarpaulin covered the hole that the masonry had made as it crashed through the roof and rafters. You'd think that good fortune wouldn't enter into an incident such as this, but it did. The aisle into which the pinnacle fell is where the church's eighteenth century font - a fluted bowl on a baluster - stands, and mercifully it missed it! Nearby are the old stocks and whipping post that came from the House of Correction (an old prison) parts of which still stand on the edge of the village. These too escaped unscathed. On my most recent visit I took this shot of the tower with its renovated pinnacles, clearly marked by the bright newness of their stone.

The corner in which the church stands, off the Market Place, is surrounded by eighteenth century buildings with pantile roofs, and I decided to capture these in my image without including the contemporary clutter of the parked cars below.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 55mm (110mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Lament for our disappearing pubs

click photo to enlarge
The evening shadows slowly enveloping the Red Lion pub at Bicker, Lincolnshire, could be a metaphor for the gloom that is snuffing out pub after pub in villages across Britain.

Those running village inns have been hit by the "double whammy" of the ban on smoking in public buildings and work places, followed by the recession. There were those, and I count myself among them, who welcomed the restrictions on smoking, thinking it would make places like pubs more customer friendly as well as healthier places to be. There was the feeling that whilst the new legislation would be a disincentive to smokers to continue to visit pubs (though many would, using the alternative arrangements that enabled them to smoke outside), this reduction in customers would be made up by the non-smokers who would now find the pubs more acceptable. Well, that doesn't seem to have happened: the number of smokers in pubs did decline, but the increase in non-smokers didn't compensate, and so landlords' incomes fell. That started the closures which hit pubs in cities and towns, but particularly those in villages with their smaller customer base and their reliance on the "passing trade." But it was the tightening of consumer spending brought on by the recession that accelerated the number of pubs permanently closing their doors. There are those who think this doesn't matter, and even some who celebrate the closures. However, the pub is a traditional and welcome feature of British life, offering not just drinks, but food and a meeting place. They inject life into their communities, and many are sorry to see them go.

It won't be all village pubs that close of course: many will find a way to struggle along until an upturn in the economy eases their situation. However, pubs in very small villages, like the one in the photograph, that has seen a turnover of three or four landlords in the past year or so, may well cease trading. This particular pub dates from the seventeenth century (a datestone at the top of the central gable says, "John Drury 1665"), and is built in what is described as a Fen Artisan Mannerist Style. It would be a shame if permanent closure prevented it celebrating, in 2065, four hundred years of serving beer to the village!

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 18mm (36mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Stoke Dry, Rutland

click photo to enlarge
The village of Stoke Dry, on its hillside site overlooking the Eyebrook Reservoir, must be one of the smallest villages in Rutland, England's smallest county. In 2007 it had a population of 39 living in the 14 dwellings that comprise the settlement. My introduction to the village was as I cycled round the edge of the reservoir and saw its narrow church tower piercing the horizon amongst the surrounding rooftops and trees. I was heading for what Pevsner calls "a most lovable church" to see its curious Norman carvings and its C13 and C14 wall paintings. However, I was to find much more to enjoy in this outwardly unprepossessing building. But more of that in subsequent posts.

Today I want to promote the virtues of long focal lengths for landscape photography. The conventional wisdom has it that wider lenses are most suited to this task. My view is that landscape itself dictates the choice of lens, and even a focal length of 300mm or 400mm (35mm equivalent) can deliver the goods in the right circumstances. When I look through my collection of landscapes I find that I've used the entire range that my lens cover i.e. 11mm to 150mm (22mm to 300mm 35mm equivalent). Yes, there's a bias to the wider end, but the longer focal lengths have been heavily employed too. Today's photograph is a case in point. It was taken using the 40-150mm zoom (80 to 300mm 35mm equivalent), set at 132mm (264mm 35mm equivalent). I used it because it was the best (in fact only) way to show the village in its hillside setting amongst trees and small, irregular fields. I've cropped part of the narrow end of the reservoir from the bottom of the image to concentrate the viewer's attention on my main subject. It's a shot that only a longer lens could produce.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 132mm (264mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f76.3
Shutter Speed: 1/400 seconds
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On