Proximity as a photographic device

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Proximity, juxtaposition, adjacency - open the thesaurus and choose your word. Whatever you call it, the photographic device of arranging two, often very different (but sometimes oddly linked) objects in the frame, is one of long standing. Depending on the objects that are chosen this compositional approach can be arresting, humorous, thought provoking, surreal and much else. It's something that I like to do when the situation arises, and a technique that I will often go out of my way to engineer into an image.

I've touched briefly on the subject before, but anyone who has looked through my offerings on this site will recognise the frequency with which I put the idea into practice. I've used a trompe l'oeil bull and a passerby, old and new architecture, primary colours, a traffic sign and a poster, a futuristic public bench and a roller coaster and many other pairings in an effort to bring something new and different to my compositions.

On my recent stay in London the echo of the unusual colours of the ready-mix concrete lorry and the block of flats called for a photograph that made something of the slightly odd proximity of the two. The adjacent railway bridge gave something of a frame to my shot and the whole was lifted by the low sun and deep shadows of the early morning. Not as obvious a juxtaposition as in some of my photographs, but one that pleased me. Incientally, I've commented to my companions on more than one occasion that I really like the architectural treatment of the exterior of this building. Thus far I've found no one who agrees with me!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14.2mm (38mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/160 sec
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Hither and thither and morning coffee

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Though the language police would wish otherwise, language changes. Over time spelling and grammar are modified by use. New words are introduced, existing words take on new or additional meanings and old words are cast aside. I was thinking about this the other day when, in a slightly self-conscious manner, I used the phrase "hither and thither". These two words, both singly and in this pairing, are rarely heard today; they sound old-fashioned, the sort of language you'd come across in Shakespeare or in the novels and poetry of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

The context for my use of the phrase was an explanation to someone that we'd been travelling about a lot in recent weeks and consequently much of my photography during this time had been done beyond the confines of Lincolnshire. As I uttered the phrase, I made a mental note to try and find out whether "hither and thither" was ever in widespread use and, if so, when it became replaced by "to this place and that" or, more colloquially, "here and there". A bit of research produced no satisfactory answer to the question. Most of what I discovered came from the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) and from that source I was interested to find the words had more meanings than I knew.

The word, "hither" has its origins and equivalents in Old English,Old Norse and the Germanic language. "To or towards this place" (now "here") is its principal meaning. However, it was also used to mean, "to, or or on this side of", "up to this point in time", "to this end" and "in this direction". A United States variant is, apparently, "Hither and yon" (or yond). The earliest recorded use of the phrase as I used it (though with somewhat different spelling), dates from the early A.D.700s. "Thither" has a similar lineage to hither, as does "whither" ("to what place" or "where").

One of our recent "hithers" (or was it a "thither") was London. Whilst there I visited the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, and took this photograph of people taking morning coffee. The bird's-eye-view of the tables and chairs, the subtle colours and raking light that produced elongated shadows, appealed to me and so it became the subject of one of my better photographs taken at that location.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14.2mm (38mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/100 sec
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The beauty of church vaulting

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The vaulting that graces many a church and cathedral ceiling, especially inside a tower, is a recurring topic on this blog. I am fascinated by the variations on a theme that medieval masons and carpenters wrought in their desire to beautify the space above the worshippers' heads such that an upward glance really did feel like a glimpse of heaven. Architectural historians have created a whole specialised vocabulary to describe the development of vaulting down the centuries from its beginnings in simple barrel vaulting, to groin vaults, rib vaults, quadripartite and sexpartite vaults, vaults with tiercerons and liernes, culminating in the glories of stellar vaults and fan vaults.

The purpose of vaulting is to take some of the weight of a roof or tower above and distribute it laterally on to arches, walls, piers and columns. In the crossing vault shown above the ribs that form fans stretching from the centre to the four corners are instrumental in achieving this weight transference. However, this vaulting also has a central star pattern made by the addition of short decorative ribs called liernes. Clearly it is a design that seeks to impress with its beauty as well as do an architectural job of work. In fact, all is not what it seems with this vaulting. The tower of Holy Trinity was built during the period 1500-1530 on a raft of oak trees for the lack of any firm bedrock below. These were replaced by concrete in 1906. The vaulting, however, was erected as late as the 1840s, and the beautiful, rich paintwork must surely originate from that time - a mixture of medieval ideas and Victorian interpretation and development of those ideas. When I magnify my photograph I can see that the infill is timber planks so I imagine the ribs must be timber too. This vaulting will have replaced an earlier ceiling. That may have been stone, but is more likely to have been timber too. I've often seen fine Victorian work that replaced an insensitive, flat Georgian ceiling (itself inserted in place of the medieval original) though I've no reason to believe that is the case here. In fact, timber roofs were more widespread in England during the medieval period than in any other North European country and exhibit a unique ingenuity and beauty. Here, at Holy Trinity, the wood mimics painted stone and is none the worse for that.

The organ pipes on north and south sides of the crossing belong to the largest parish church organ in Great Britain. The oldest of the more than 4,000 pipes date from 1756 and are by Johannes Snetzler.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f1.8
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

No budget for photographs

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When I changed my contact and enquiries page in February 2012 (modified in April) I had an email from a regular visitor suggesting that my wording was, perhaps, a touch off-putting to people interested in using my photographs. I explained that it was meant to be because I was getting fed up of people contacting me and asking to use an image commercially, but unwilling to pay for doing so. The last straw, and the prompt for my somewhat brusque re-write, was a communication from a company working in the field of Combined Heat and Power units. They explained that my photograph of the undulating, rather artistic cladding that surrounds one of the CHP units at Guy's and St Thomas' Hospitals in London, would be perfect for a publication they were putting together. They explained that they were a "non-profit" company and regretted that they had no budget for photography so couldn't pay for the image. However, should I consent to them using my photograph, they explained, I could be sure that they would give me full written credit.

My response was polite, curt and in the negative. When I re-wrote my contact information I wrote my reasons for this approach in a blog post called "Something for nothing". I was reminded of it the other day when browsing a photography website. One of the posts was a copy of a letter from a musician who had been approached by a TV production company seeking music and regretting that they had "no budget for music" to pay for it. His eloquent and heartfelt response to the solicitation (originally posted on music websites) chimed with a lot of professional and enthusiast photographers who are regularly asked for their work without the offer of recompense and consequently it has been widely circulated on photography websites too. It's well worth reading.

All of which has nothing to do with today's photograph of the upturned, broken top of a Victorian cast iron fountain basin. Except, I've discovered that you never know just what kind of photograph is going to be attractive to a company. Who would have thought the hospital CHP unit would be attractive to anyone? Is this broken fountain? It makes me glad that photography is my interest rather than my job.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 88mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Views with spires - take two

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For quite a while my blog statistics have shown a photograph that I posted in May 2011 called "Views with spires" as the one that receives most hits each month. I often try to work out why such things happen because, on the whole, the most frequently viewed post in a particular month is one published early in that same month. However, for reasons that are usually unfathomable, posts reasonably frequently depart from this pattern. Sometimes it's because I can see a particular website has referenced it and readers have looked at a link to it. But mostly I simply can't account for it. Why, I often wonder, is "Tree shadows and architectural drawings" my blog post with by far the most hits, fifty percent more than the second most visited? Who knows? It certainly can't be down to the quality of the image!

"Views with spires", to return to the current favourite, does I suppose, describe a subject that appeals to those of a traditional and Romantic mindset, and that title may in fact explain its popularity. Today's photograph of the church of St Denys at Aswarby, Lincolnshire, is another photograph on the same theme. More than that, it shares compositional similarities, with the road curving away to the prominent church tower with its tall spire. When I look through my landscapes I find that I frequently use church spires as strong compositional elements. And why not? Is there anything to beat the strong vertical accent of a medieval tower and spire set against the flat or rolling English countryside? Lincolnshire abounds with convenient examples. Churches such as Sempringham, Gosberton and Donington grab the eye and grace any photograph in which they appear, even if they are shrouded in mist or fog, as is Swineshead in this winter photograph.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 55mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Motion blur and stained glass

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On a recent visit to Gloucester Cathedral I felt motivated to try a motion blur photograph. My recent post where I'd inadvertently done such a shot and liked the result was still fresh in my mind, and I had been looking for an opportunity to try for another, more considered, example. As I photographed monuments, architecture and windows the possibility of rendering some figurative stained glass in a non-figurative manner came to me.

My usual method when trying to achieve motion blur is to either set the aperture very small (say f11 or f22) so that a slow shutter speed results or use a speed priority mode or set the camera completely to manual and dial in numbers that I think will work. However, in those instances I've usually been trying to blur something that is moving. Here I was trying to make something that was static blurred by moving the camera. In theory there's little difference, but when I came to take my shots I was dissatisfied with the outcomes. So, I put the camera on auto and had a look at what that produced. Counter-intuitively, it produced much better results. I think this was due to a large amount of chance and the way I moved the camera. Nonetheless it resulted in today's photograph. I was pleased to transform this rather dark, poorly lit (it was early evening on a dull, wet day) window into something bright and colourful that looked like it had the summer sun streaming through it.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Auto
Focal Length: 36.8mm (99mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.9
Shutter Speed: 1/8 sec
ISO: 2500
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Fruits, vegetables and names

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A shopping trip to Stamford found us in the market buying buying a couple of items. Whilst my wife made the purchases I headed over to a stall selling fruit and vegetables, attracted by the bright colours and the arrangement of the produce in stainless steel bowls.

As I looked at what was for sale I was somewhat envious of the flawless quality of each item. Though we have grown items of produce that equal the standard on display, we do end up with quite a few less than perfect pieces. I comforted myself with the thought that such perfection comes at a price, often in terms of taste, and commonly with regard to the environment. "Give me spots on my apples but leave me the birds and the bees, please", as Joni Mitchell put it. Moreover, the distorted and deformed examples that we grow and happily eat never make it to the market stall but are separated out to be used in sauces and prepared foods.

A further thought came to my mind as I looked at the peppers and aubergines (and potatoes) shown in the photograph. Though they are undoubtedly fruit, biologically speaking, they are often - at least in the UK - regarded as vegetables (and called such) because of the way they are used with savoury rather than sweet dishes. Moreover, we are somewhat confused in these islands by the English name(s) that we call the sweet Capsicum annuum. Most commonly they are peppers. However, that causes misunderstanding because chili peppers are often called by this name too. Capsicum was used more commonly in the past but seems to have fallen out of use. That name was specific and gave rise, as far as I know, to no misunderstanding. Sweet pepper is also commonly used, probably as a deliberate attempt to prevent the confusion with chili peppers noted above. It's not one of the most problematic linguistic quandaries, but precision in names is helpful and it would be convenient if we settled on one explicit name and used it to the exclusion of all others. However, in a country that perversely uses both the metric and the imperial system for measurement, I'm afraid there's absolutely no chance of that!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14.2mm (38mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/100 sec
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The organist and the photographer

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This is, I think, the third photograph that I've posted showing a church organist. There's something about a dark church, with the silhouette of the musician at the console in a pool of light, that appeals to me. The first, taken at St Wulfram's in Grantham made much of the rather fine, highly ornate, organ case. The second was taken, as I recall, in Holbeach church and was more a study in concentration. It also resulted in a flurry of hits on the blog by people (presumably) looking to book an organist for their wedding. Today's comes from Ledbury church in Herefordshire, and here I took the opportunity to include myself in the shot, reflected in the mirror that the organist uses to take a cue from the officiating vicar.

As I processed the photograph I noticed a couple of copies of "Hymns Old & New". These can often be seen on church organs. As a youngster I was aware of "Hymns Ancient and Modern" and I've always assumed that the current book is an updated version of this old classic. However, I'm told that's not the case; the book "Common Praise" seems to attempt that task. Moreover, as I read a little more about "Hymns Old & New" I discovered that it is a tome that appears to be either loved or reviled. Critics accuse it of re-casting old favourites in different keys, and generally  pitching them for lower voices. "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" is, apparently, in F rather than the usual G (gasp!). They also see the hymns as being subject to "politically correctness" citing the fact that "Onward Christian Soldiers" has become "Onward Christian Pilgrims"! I don't have a view on all of this but in reading the scathing comments about this collection of hymns, and the equally passionate defence of the modernised versions of old favourites, I was reminded that there's often nothing like religion for irreligious argument, vituperation and rancour.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14.8mm (40mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Gloucester Cathedral cloister

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"cloister, n. A covered walk or arcade connected with a monastery, college, or large church, serving as a way of communication between different parts of the group of buildings, and sometimes as a place of exercise or study; often running round the open court of a quadrangle, with a plain wall on the one side, and a series of windows or an open colonnade on the other. (Often in pl.)"
from the Oxford English Dictionary

When I came to title today's photograph I couldn't decide whether to use "cloister" or "cloisters". Both are commonly heard, and, whilst I know what is meant by the words, I began to wonder whether the singular referred to just a part of the structure - say one side of the quadrangle - and the plural was reserved for more than this or perhaps for the whole of it. I needn't have concerned myself; the Oxford English Dictionary tells me that the singular and plural are used interchangeably and have been used in this way for centuries.

I was in Gloucester cathedral one recent early evening and immediately gravitated to the cloister(s). Why? Because they are my favourite part of this building. And not only mine; Pevsner says, "The cloisters at Gloucester are probably the most memorable in England. One of the greatest achievements of the Perp(endicular) style, they have the earliest surviving fan vaulting, other than on small-scale monuments; this must have been conceived in the 1350s, though all four walks were only completed at the beginning of the C15." It's possibly that this uniquely English, and very beautiful architectural form originated in Gloucester, but the charms of the fan vault were such that it quickly spread and they continued to be built right through into the early seventeenth century. Notable examples can be seen at King's College Chapel, Cambridge, at Bath Abbey and in the retrochoir at Peterborough Cathedral. At Gloucester the east walk of the cloister is the oldest. The three other walks were not started until 1381 and though very similar are not identical, being slightly simpler. Fan vaults differ from the many kinds of earlier vaulting that comprise ribs with infill by being constructed of large, jointed and carved pieces of masonry that are fitted together to form the inverted conoid shapes.

The daylight was fading and the cathedral's lights had been switched on when I took my photograph. The warm glow of the uplighters show off the delicacy of the vaulting's surface tracery and contrast nicely with the colder blue of the light from an overcast and rainy sky.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 13.4mm (36mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 800
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Catrigg Force, Stainforth

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"Deep down on your left is the partly wooded defile in which runs the turbulent beck that riots among the wild rocks and cliffs of Catterick. Follow the glen up along the top until there are signs of its disappearance among the tracts of heather. A little below this point you will come to the highest and grandest of the waterfalls, which, after a flood, makes a sublime sight, hardly to be matched in Yorkshire, and that is saying a great deal. The water comes down a lofty ravine, thickly clothed with trees and flowering shrubs, (amongst the latter the giant rose-bay, the finest of the willow-herbs, gives an effective colour), and falls in two magnificent leaps into a shadowy pool below, running then onward among immense boulders to fall again and again in lesser but still beautiful cascades."
from "The Craven and North-West Yorkshire Highlands" by Harry Speight (1892)

The description above, apart from the presence of summer flowers, is still a good description of Catrigg Force which we visited recently. When I was growing up in the area people called the waterfall both Catterick Force (or Foss) and Catrigg Force. Harry Speight uses the former. So does "Otley's Guide: Concise Description of the English Lakes" (1823), a Midland Railways poster of 1909 advertising Settle, and a postcard of the waterfall dated 1912. However, a map of 1896 prefers Catrigg Force, and so do subsequent Ordnance Survey maps. Interestingly the present day wooden finger post near the waterfall is marked Catrigg Foss. It's common to find "Force and Foss" used interchangeably for Dales waterfalls for reasons that I discussed in this post about Stainforth Force. However, it isn't common for the main name to differ in quite the way that happens in this instance. There is a suggestion that Catterick comes from "cataract", and yet Catrigg is the name of a nearby area of moorland from which Catrigg Barn and Catrigg Beck (the stream) take their names. The word "rigg" comes from the Scandinavian and means " a ridge or cultivated strip of ground",and that seems appropriate. It's a puzzle that I must look into a little more!

I'm not a great fan of massively blurred water of the sort that enthusiast photographers seem keen to use in their photographs of waterfalls. However, I did take a couple with some blur, of which this is one. I used a fairly slow shutter speed and put the camera on my monopod and wedged it in a crevice to the maintain sharpness of the trees and rocks.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 11.3mm (30mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f11
Shutter Speed: 1/3 sec
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Operator Error!

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Most people's photographs consist of shots of family, friends and holiday locations. And why not? Cameras are good for recording people, their activities and the places they go. Like most enthusiast photographers most of my photographs show a subject that I want to record or interpret. Consequently, only 5-10% of my photographs are family shots. I don't include in that figure those images where my wife - it's usually my long suffering wife - is included for scale or as a focal point.

The other day I broke off from a series of landscapes to take a family photograph of my wife in a small wood by a waterfall. Unfortunately I forgot that I'd got the two second self-timer on. When nothing happened in response to my press of the shutter button I moved the camera down to set it to single shot and, as I did so, the shutter fired. The image that was saved shows the arc of my hand through the air, and recorded for posterity as an impressionistic blur, my wife in her red cardigan among the fallen leaves. When I looked at the shot on the camera screen, thinking to erase it, I quite liked what I saw and decided instead to save it.

I once went to an exhibition where every photograph looked like it had been taken by the photographer as he walked along with the camera dangling from his hand, or he had thrown it casually into the grass and the shutter had tripped. There were no straight horizons, no attempt at composition, no sharp shots, no main subjects etc. I remember thinking at the time that this looked like deliberate operator error. It also occurred to me that photography, more than perhaps any other art (when the aim of the photography is art), can produce effective images by accident, or when the camera doesn't record what the photographer intended. That wasn't the case in the exhibition: all I saw was the work of a charlatan seeking to impress by his disregard for photographic conventions. Nor is it the case with my photograph, though it will be a fun shot in the family album. Moreover, I'm tempted to try and reproduce the motion blur in a more controlled way to see if I can produce something more worthwhile with the effect. Watch this space!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12mm (32mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.5
Shutter Speed: 1/40 sec
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Ancient field systems, Langcliffe

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The derelict field barn in today's main photograph can be seen on the first ot the smaller photographs. It is at a position on a line approximately ten o'clock from the centre of the image. It's one of the more recent features of the fields on this section of hillside between Langcliffe and the old Craven Quarry. How old is it? Probably nineteenth century judging by the style and the stone main roof, though it could be earlier. An extension with a slate roof is newer.

I've often looked across the valley at these fields, especially when the sun is low, because then the shadows reveal the work of farmers over hundreds, possibly thousands, of years. The most obvious remains are several cultivation terraces or lynchets. These appear to be deliberate constructions rather than those that passively arise due to ploughing across the slope. The west-facing aspect of the valley side would mean that terraces enabled farmers to make easier use of the land and maximise the warmth of the sun. Celtic field systems often exhibit such features, and they continued to be used into the medieval period. There are also a number of close parallel ridges that go down the hillside. These are long medieval fields that appear to have had earth or perhaps stone boundary walls, probably to separate them from neighbouring plots. Some are not unlike the Gaelic "lazy beds", cultivated banks separated by channels, an agricultural system not unknown in England, though some here must surely have been simply narrow holdings (see the photograph taken from nearby with the floodwater). Small, square fields can also be detected that are probably Romano-British in origin.

The narrowness of the Ribble valley at this point leaves only one or two field widths available in the valley bottom. These would benefit from silt deposition when the river flooded but during such times they would be unusable. Consequently early farmers would have had to clear stone and trees from the inundation-free lower slopes to make fields suitable for planting or for improving to make hay and pasture. Grass is the main crop today. It feeds both sheep and cattle, beef and dairy, both as it grows and in the form of silage or hay. The fields that are deeper green, showing less brown, indicate where herbicides and fertiliser have been used to improve the grass. Farmers long ago, as today, must have carefully weighed the costs against the benefits of improving the ground on the higher slopes. Often the answer will have been to run fewer sheep on the unimproved grass of the rougher ground and "tops" and bring them down into the valley for the winter.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14.6mm (39mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/500 sec
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Penyghent, Stackhouse and limestone

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One of the interesting things about ageing is the perspective that it brings. As a young child I lived in Stackhouse, a small group of houses and a farm that can be barely glimpsed in the trees towards the bottom right of this photograph. Though I was small I got to know the limestone valley side behind where we lived, the cliffs, the beeches, the rowans, the bracken and the sheep that wandered over the rugged landscape. When we moved to live in Settle I continued to walk the area, and I've carried on doing so regularly ever since. As a child, even as a teenager, I wasn't aware that the valley side was slowly changing. But, as the years have passed those small changes have become more obvious.

The bracken has spread, the drystone walls are not as well maintained as they were, the sheep are not almost exclusively Swaledales and are fewer, ash saplings are multiplying in and around the outcropping limestone, and the dew pond is becoming ever more cracked and overgrown with weed. The remains of children's play - dens and the like - are no longer to be seen. Most of these changes must be a consequence of fewer sheep and an increase in the amount of time that farmers are devoting to the core business of producing meat and wool. I haven't seen children on the hills without their parents for decades; a reflection of the concerns of adults and changes in the play of youngsters. Older people can frequently be heard expressing regret at change. However, I think this frequently arises from a selfish yearning for a known past and fear of a different and constantly evolving present and future. I've found myself fascinated by the rise of "scrub" on this part of the "scar" landscape. If it doesn't take over completely the changes that it brings must enrich the wildlife that the land can support.

We recently spent a few days in the place of my upbringing. We experienced quite a bit of rain, not unusual for the area, and something that people settling there on the back of a couple of pleasant summer holidays soon have to come to terms with. However, we did have one unseasonally balmy day when the Ribble valley showed off its colourful trees, the hills could be walked in shirt sleeves and distant Penyghent could be photographed without its obscuring cap of cloud.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 37.1mm (100mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/200 sec
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Stilton cheese

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The origins of Stilton cheese are hard to pin down. I remember being told that it got its name from the fact that in the 1700s it was taken from its various makers in Leicestershire to the Bell Inn, Stilton, where it was loaded onto waggons for delivery to London along the Great North Road. If that were true then "Where did Stilton cheese originate?" would be a great pub quiz question because the answer would not be "Stilton".

Today, due to the terms of the Protected Geographical Status (PGS) of Stilton Cheese that was granted in 1996, the cheese cannot be made in Stilton. This is because the village is in Cambridgeshire (formerly in Huntingdonshire) and the PGS applies to only Leicestershire, Nottinghamshire and Bedfordshire. In fact none is currently made in Bedfordshire, with manufacture only at three Leicestershire and two Nottinghamshire locations. The white and the blue Stilton that we buy usually comes from Long Clawson in Leicestershire. Blue Stilton is probably my favourite cheese. It's clearly an acquired taste and something I wouldn't have eaten in my youth, but advancing years have seen me gravitate to it before most other cheeses, even ahead of Wensleydale, a cheese that I also like a lot.

Today's photograph shows the Bell Inn at Stilton. A datestone on one of the gable ends shows that it was built in 1642. Alterations were made c.1700 and later in the eighteenth century. Part of the inn was converted into three houses in the nineteenth century. The building fell into disuse for part of the twentieth century but renovation in 1985 returned it to its original use. The building is made of Ketton limestone with some later brick and roofs made of Collyweston stone and nineteenth century pantiles.The carriage arch remains but, as often happens these days, it has been incorporated into the building with glazing.The inside arch has an inscription, painted black, that read, "London 74 Huntingdon 12 Buckden 14 Stamford 14 Miles". The splendid wrought ironwork on the main elevation has been restored and it proudly projects the inn's sign out from the building to where it can be clearly seen by all who pass by.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/160 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cemeteries and red oaks

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A new crematorium is currently being built near Surfleet in Lincolnshire. Its purpose is to supplement the existing crematoria in the area and reduce the journey times for funerals in the south of the county. One of the first things that the contractors did, after a service road had been built, was to plant two hundred trees and a kilometre of hedging on the ten acre site. As with most such facilities the aim is to surround the main building withattractive parkland. Reading a newspaper report about progress on the development I noted that hornbeam has been chosen as the tree to form an avenue from the main road to the crematorium building and chapel. Cemeteries and crematoria are good places to go in search of interesting trees. The desire to beautify the place where people are laid to rest leads to careful consideration of the disposition and type of trees that feature in the grounds. Boston cemetery has a big avenue of mixed trees featuring both pines and limes. Long Sutton cemetery is reached by an avenue of lime trees. The much smaller cemetery in the village of Bicker has a couple of noteworthy silver birches.

I was in Boston cemetery the other day having a look at the architecture. However, I also took some time to see the kinds of trees that were planted there. The older part of the site is something of a wildlife haven, and here the trees have, for the most part, reached maturity. It was in this section that I came across the red oak (a tree of North American origin) shown in the main photograph. It's deeply cut and pointed leaves were begining to show the hues of autumn. These are appearing a little later than usual due to the recent mild weather. In an area that seemed to have closely packed graves of the 1930s and 1940s I came upon a copper leaved tree that I foolishly didn't take the time to identify - is it a beech? Perhaps its something else entirely. I'll check if I visit there again.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 37.1mm (100mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.9
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Memorial to five brothers and a mother

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Sometimes, when my wife and I are visiting a church, a particular memorial catches our eye. It may be its modesty that makes it stand apart. Sometimes it's the ridiculous grandiosity. Occasionally it's an unusual name. Or it may be historically interesting. And then there are those whose arresting poignancy just makes you stop, pause a while and reflect. We recently came across an example of the latter in the church at Sharnbrook, Bedfordshire. The simple, straightforward inscription on the unaffected tablet needs no commentary from me - it speaks for itself. However, I did find a reference to the circumstances of the deaths of the five brothers and their mother that gives a little context to the tragic events described.

Arnold was the first to die, on 31 October 1914, a mere 10 weeks after the start of the First World War. Next was Hugh, but not until 1st March 1918, when Ada may have been feeling that her sons would survive the conflict. He was lost when his ship, HMS Calgarian, was sunk by a torpedo from a submarine. Later that year in France, on 27th September, Lewis died, and a few weeks afterwards, quite nearby on 15th October, James was killed. Cecil was killed after the war in Europe had ended when Ada must have thought that surely her losses had come to an end. He was a member of the British forces in Egypt involved in maintaining the rule of Empire and lost his life in a rebellion on 18th March 1919.

Ada Maud Jarvis had ten children and was 69 years of age when she died, a mere four months after the death of her fifth son.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 18.2mm (49mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/50
ISO: 5000
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Maud Foster, photographic filters and sails

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There was a time, from the late 1970s to some time in the 1990s when my Olympus OM1n's lens, usually a 50mm 1.8, but sometimes a 135mm 2.8, was rarely seen without a yellow, orange or red filter screwed on to it. For my personal (as opposed to family) photography, I did a lot of black and white work, and the boost in contrast that this gave to Ilford FP4 suited me fine. I occasionally fitted one to my little Ricoh 500RF but I more usually shot colour - Fujichrome and Ektachrome - with that camera, so a polarising filter suited it best. One of the pleasures of the change from film to digital is the ability to mimic the effect of a one of these filters after a colour shot has been converted to black and white. Today's main photograph shows just that. In this instance the digital equivalent of a yellow filter has been applied. This won't be to the liking of some purists, but I'm very happy with it.

I've photographed the Maud Foster windmill in Boston, Lincolnshire, several times and posted a few of my better shots on the blog. It's named after the big agricultural drain on whose bank it stands, and is one of the most attractive mills that I know - elegant, tall, with lovely brick and interesting ancillary buildings. On this occasion, however, it wasn't its overall appeal that I reflected on; I got to thinking about its sails. It is relatively unusual in having 5, an odd number. An even number of sails was more often favoured, usually 4, 6 or 8, because with this configuration, the argument goes, opposing sails can be removed for repair or maintenance and the windmill retains balance. Now, for reasons that I find hard to put into words I find 5 sails very visually satisfying. Better than the four that is most often seen, and better too than six - which I don't dislike. Definitely an improvement on eight, a number that makes a windmill look like a desk fan - yes Heckington windmill, I'm thinking of you. Perhaps its the anthropomorphic form of the 5-sailer that appeals - a reminder of Leonardo's Vitruvian man. As I say, I can't articulate these likes and dislikes particularly well, any more than I can account for my preferring a two button jacket over a three button version, but it's definitely how I see things.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Steeple Gidding

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Down a grassy Cambridgeshire lane, surrounded by trees, arable fields to the west and pasture to the south, lies the church at Steeple Gidding. It is only half a mile or so on footpaths across the fields from the church at Little Gidding - see previous post. A church has been here since at least the twelfth century, the date of the south doorway which is the oldest part of the existing building. Records show that it had a tower by 1260 and that must have led to the name of the small settlement of which it is a part acquiring the prefix "Steeple" to distinguish it from nearby Little Gidding and Great Gidding. Most of the building dates from the 1300s, including the tower which must have replaced the original one. Pevsner describes this, very appropriately, as "rather underfed" due to its slender proportions.

The interior is now largely empty of furnishings and pews. It was declared redundant in 1971 when the congregation had but one communicant (aged 90). It is now in the care of The Churches Conservation Trust. Though it's sad to see a church fall out of use a stripped interior does present opportunities, not least to admire the marvellous medieval stone floor. The light through the south aisle and clerestory windows, uninterrupted by ranks of dark pews, tables etc, made the old stone positively glow on the day of my visit and simply I had to take a photograph. It appeared that the church may have been used for an occasional service, as sometimes happens in redundant churches that remain consecrated, because the two remaining pews had been moved together to face the chancel arch. George Gilbert Scott renovated the building in 1872-73 and appears to have done so sensitively. Further work was done in 1899 and more recently, in 1976. It was a pleasure to come upon the church and equally good to see it being kept both weather-tight and open to visitors.

What did slightly disappoint me, however, was the large, wide, yew tree on the south side of the building, perfectly positioned to prevent me taking a photograph of the church from my favourite position in the south east corner of the churchyard (see small photograph). It sometimes seems that such trees are deliberately planted to thwart me!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/30 sec
ISO: 640
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Little Gidding

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In 1626 Nicholas Ferrar was ordained and set about creating an Anglican religious community at the family's holdings at Little Gidding. The small community, variously calculated at between thirty and sixty people, lived by High Church principles and the Book of Common Prayer. They had a school and employed themselves in teaching, looking after the health of local people and in bookbinding (Ferrar worked on biblical indices called Concordances). Though the community discipline was demanding with three services a day and just two meals, there were no vows after the manner of monasteries. Little Gidding attracted admirers and critics, King Charles 1 visiting on three occasions, the critics being mainly Puritans who saw the followers as heretics. The community lasted barely thirty years and ended with the deaths of the main movers. Thereafter it was somewhat forgotten until the Oxford Movement rescued it from obscurity. Since that time it has been an inspiration of sorts and interest in the small community has never waned.

The church that we see there today dates from 1714 and excavations show it to be smaller than Ferrar's remodelled medieval building. It has a symmetrical stone facade with a large door surround and giant angle pilasters with obelisk pinnacles. The whole composition is topped by a bellcote with a steep pyramid pierced by three rectangular holes. Do these represent the Trinity? The rest of the building, except for the windows surrounds, is red brick and quite utilitarian. The interior is remarkable for its college-style nave seating (see main photograph) and a chancel that is the same width as the nave: basically an eastward extension of the space, minus the seating.

"Little Gidding" is known to poetry lovers as the title of a long poem by the U.S. born and naturalised British poet, T.S.Eliot (1888-1965). It is the fourth part of his masterpiece, The Waste Land, the poem that led to him being awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1948. This Modernist, meditative work is underpinned by Eliot's religious belief and draws upon Christian thoughts, traditions and history as well as mythology. He visited the church at Little Gidding in 1936 and was sufficiently influenced by its history to make it the title of his poem. Excerpts from it can be seen on the walls of the nave.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/20 sec
ISO: 1000
Exposure Compensation: -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The allure of dark skies

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After the coldest spring for a few decades the summer of 2013 eventually turned out to be one of the warmest and sunniest of recent years. There were blue skies and white clouds a-plenty, enough to satisfy the requirements of the lover of warmth and the photographer of sunny, congenial scenes. Even the farmers were happy because precipitation arrived reasonably regularly in ample but not excessive quantities. Early October proved to be significantly milder than usual too, with temperatures daily above 20° Celsius. However, much as I enjoy mild weather and the feel of the sun on my back, the photographer in me does eventually yearn for more dramatic weather, the sort that the British Isles is known for, with fronts moving across the land bringing cloud, rain, sun, breezes and the rest: what the forecasters describe as "changeable" weather. Well, as the previous post rather suggests, with a dip in temperatures, a rise in wind speeds and increased cloud cover, change is now upon us.

Today's photograph was taken as that change arrived. It shows the decorative roof of a building on the corner of New Road and Hall Place in Spalding, Lincolnshire. Across its ashlar face, between the ground and first floors, stone lettering proclaims that it was built for S & G Kingston, Land Agents and Surveyors. It was erected in 1907, the work of J.B.Corby & Sons, and is in a free style, a sort of modified Jacobean. The windows have mullions and transoms, decorative oriels sit over the main entrance and at each end of the curved facade, and above are turrets, a strapwork balustrade, tall chimneys and a weather vane. It was this cluster of verticals that caught my eye when I saw them sunlit against deeply dark clouds that threatened rain. The contrast of the glowing stonework against the black sky appealed to me and so I took my photograph.

The drama of a sunlit subject against an uncharacteristic dark sky has always appealed to me. Unfortunately photographs with these qualities aren't easily acquired because a suitable subject doesn't always present itself  in the right place and sometimes a camera isn't to hand. I did, however, catch an old walnut tree in these circumstances last year.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 37.1mm (100mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.9
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The photographic attractions of rain

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The other evening we were in the Lincolnshire town of Louth. Unusually I wasn't there with photography in mind. However, I was carrying my pocket camera. As we walked up Eastgate, dodging the showers and occasionally pausing in closed shop doorways as the downpours intensified, I admired the reflections of the car headlights on the wet road, the glow from the street lamps and the brightness of the windows that were still lit. Those features, together with the light that remained in the cloudy sky, suggested a photograph and so I took several quick shots. This is the best of the bunch with its balanced composition achieved by the road and buildings leading from the main point of interest, the prominent car on the right, to the secondary point of interest,the church spire on the left.

As we continued to the business that brought us to the town I reflected on how something as unpromising, and often unwelcome and unpleasant, as rain can change a scene so that it becomes a much better subject for a photograph. It's essentially those reflections on the wet surfaces of the roads and pavements that effect the transformation, multiplying the highlights against the dark background. It reminds me of the way the sea or any stretch of water magnifies the power of a sunset.

Over the years I've found rain both a fruitful subject in itself and a great enhancer of a subject. Raindrops on the window pane can make a fascinating subject when paired with good light and an interesting background. So too can raindrops on leaves or flowers. And familiar subjects can be transformed when bright sunlight and fair weather is eschewed in favour of a downpour, even if you are sheltering under an umbrella at the time.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24.1mm (65mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 1600
Exposure Compensation:  -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

The Tiffany window at Kimbolton

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The stained glass windows and lamps of the U.S. designer, Louis Comforty Tiffany (1848-1933) are internationally renowned. The colours, style, drawing, shapes and lines that he used show him to be allied to the Art Nouveau and Aesthetic movements. His work was popular at the time of its creation and remains so today. There are examples in the British Isles - the Haworth Art Gallery at Accrington has Europe's largest collection of pieces - and windows can be found in private houses, and a few public buildings. However, unsurprisingly, most of his work is in the United States.

Bearing that in mind, imagine my surprise when walking around the church at Kimbolton in Cambridgeshire (formerly in Huntingdonshire) and coming upon one of Tiffany's stained glass windows. All the more remarkable because it isn't mentioned at all in the relevant county edition of Pevsner. Had it been taken away for repair when he visited? Who knows? The window is at the east end of the south aisle where it adds an unearthly glow to that corner of the church. It was commissioned by the widow of the Duke of Manchester as a memorial to her two daughters who both died young. The Countess was an American of Cuban extraction so that may account for the choice of stained glass artist. Unfortunately the tops of two eighteenth century memorials impinge on the bottom corners of the window, so a full view (or photograph) of the stained glass is impossible to achieve. The composition shows Christ with two girls, surrounded by children and angels, all set in traditional architectural canopies with putti gazing down from the tracery above. One of the most interesting features of the window is that none of the clothing is represented by a single colour: rather, multiple colours are softly blend together. This gives an overall iridescence to the piece that put me in mind of some Symbolist work by the likes of Gustave Moreau.

When I first saw the window I was captivated because, compared with most English stained glass it is unusual. Moreover, it has a rich, jewel-like quality. However, I was also unsettled by it because, for me, the richness of the effects that Tiffany deploys evoke something akin to decadence rather than reverence. The quality of the figure drawing doesn't help in that respect: the flanking children look odd, gaunt, emaciated even. I've read somewhere that Tiffany wasn't especially keen to tackle religious subjects in stained glass, and after viewing this window I can see something of why that might be. His techniques seem more suited to secular and non-figurative subjects. Looking at the approach of the Kimbolton window again I can see it being more successfully applied to, say, an Arthurian illustration or something from the Norse sagas.

I occasionally come across stained glass windows where the style of the artist seems at odds with the subject. Last year I wrote about Walter Crane's "psychedelic" window in Holy Trinity Hull, and several years ago I was taken to task by someone over what I think is a downright weird, "storybook" window by the wife of Whistler in Orton church, Cumbria. On the whole I'd put Tiffany's window at Kimbolton alongside those two: interesting, not without some appeal and certainly bravely different in approach, but ultimately unsatisfactory.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/125 sec
ISO: 1000
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Tractor work

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The other day I watched a tractor as it began to break up the surface of a field that had given up its wheat crop a few weeks ago. As the driver began his work I watched with incredulity as the vehicle reared up, stallion-like, on its large rear wheels, the front pair resting on nothing but several feet of fresh air. Clearly the weight that had been fixed to the front of the tractor was insufficient for the job in hand. After a few moments the tractor set off again and once more its front wheels went high in the air. The driver's tinkering with the front counter-balance weight was followed by a couple more less spectacular "take offs", and then, after a final adjustment that seemed to bring it under control, it settled down to slowly working up and down the field. As it got nearer to me I noticed that the weight had been moved well forward from the front wheels so that it offered a greater counter-force. Presumably the driver had miscalculated when making his original setting.

As I returned to my own work I reflected that it was only a few days ago that the Agricultural Wages Board (AWB) was abolished by our incompetent and divisive coalition government. This organisation had the power to set the minimum pay rate and conditions for agricultural workers. It had done so successfully for many years, but this was not good enough for our deregulating government. From 1st October 2013 the national minimum wage and general employment law applies to agricultural work. The AWB was originally established because of the distinctive conditions of employment that apply to agricultural workers - for example, tied housing, the need for irregular hours and seasonal work. Watching the tractor driver I was reminded that statistics usually show agricultural employment (after fishing) at the top of any list of the most hazardous areas of work. Part of the reason for this is that people are often working alone with big, powerful machinery - such as tractors - or managing large, unco-operative animals. In many of the occupations that are placed lower on these lists, such as policing, the rate of remuneration reflects the danger of the job. As of this month that's very unlikely to be the case for farm workers, if indeed it ever was.

The tractor in today's photograph is resting after its days work. Presumably it wouldn't fit in the barn and the farmer seems to be using it as a barrier to prevent the theft of whatever else he's got in there.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14.2mm (38mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/4
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Early autumn leaves

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Autumn is upon us with the leaves of many species of tree starting to change colour. Leaf fall has begun too and our first collection from lawns and gravel can't be too distant. In my garden the flowering cherries are among the earliest to reflect the change that autumn brings, though the maples and silver birches aren't too far behind. The other day I was reflecting that even though, in recent years, the onset of autumn hasn't been marked with quite the dip in temperatures that I remember from, say, twenty or thirty years ago, nonetheless the change in the colour of trees is happening distinctly earlier. Moreover, this is down to a single species - the horse chestnut.

In a post of October 2010 I commented on the impact of the horse chestnut leaf miner moth (Cameraria ohridella) on trees in south-east England and parts of central England: how the burrowing larvae cause leaves to turn brown, become dry and crisp, then fall earlier than they would were the trees not infected. This activity begins in summer, but the way it appears to accelerate the onset of autumnal colour becomes very obvious in late August and September. My photograph of the River Welland and Deeping Gate bridge that I posted a couple of weeks ago features a horse chestnut on the left of the frame exhibiting quite deep browns and oranges due to the activity of this insect pest.  I don't have any data on which to base my opinion, but I have the distinct impression that I'm seeing increasing numbers of horse chestnuts that are affected. Certainly if the trend shown in these maps has continued during the past three years then the damage will be quite widespread across much of England and have made significant inroads in the west and north.

Today's landscape photograph doesn't show a horse chestnut but it does show a carpet of leaves from one that has been affected by the leaf miner (the tree is just out of shot). I took it when I recently spent a few days in the area where Cambridgeshire abuts Bedfordshire and Northamptonshire - in what was once the county of Huntingdonshire. More photographs from that trip coming next.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 13.1mm (35mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/40
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Nature, flowers and colours

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I remember reading, a long time ago, the assertion that colours in nature never clash. I have the feeling that it was a well-known artist who was being quoted. I've searched for the source of those words but, despite seeing the sentiment expressed by others, I've never managed to come up with any sort of attribution.

When I first read the statement I had my doubts about the truth of it. Surely, I thought, pink and yellow always look wrong together. I feel the same about purple and orange. And yet as time has gone by I've recognised that there is some truth in the saying; or, should I say, that it leans more towards being true than being false. The fact is that every now and then I test the statement by looking at unlikely colour flower combinations. What I find is that my preconceptions that colours inevitably clash wherever they occur are confounded more often than they are confirmed. I know that testing the truth of a statement by measuring it against the opinion of a single person who, like everyone else, has idiosyncratic views on colour combinations, isn't a terribly scientific way to come to a proper conclusion, but what's a man to do?

A while ago I took a photograph of poppies next to lavender that inadvertently supported the statement and overturned my dislike of purple next to orange, and in the accompanying post I discussed some of the issues I'm returning to today. The other day my wife asked me to photograph a vase of flowers that she had received as a birthday bouquet. This consisted of yellow sunflowers, pink gerbera and purple gladioli, a colour combination that perhaps spoke of the fact that the bunch was  chosen with the help of my two year old grand-daughter. Do the colours clash? Interestingly I find that they appear to do so in my photograph, but less so in life. Work that one out if you can?

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

A Ledbury sculpture by the Thornycrofts

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Thomas Thornycroft (1815-1885) and Mary Thornycroft (neé Francis) (1814-1895), were husband and wife sculptors. They met when Thomas was an assistant to Mary's father, the sculptor John Francis (1780-1861). Their work can be seen at many London locations, but like a lot of public sculptors of the Victorian period, familiarity with their work often doesn't bring recognition of the person (or people) who executed it.

One of the best known works by the Thornycrofts (sometimes John was principally responsible, at other times it was Mary) is the group representing Commerce on the Albert Memorial, though George Gilbert Scott, the architect responsible for the overall design of the Memorial, was critical of both the concept and composition. Another prominent London piece is Boadicea and her Daughters, a bronze of the queen of the Iceni tribe in her chariot, near Westminster Pier by the River Thames. The couple received commissions for civic pieces from many cities as well as for the royal family. Mary completed several busts and statues of Queen Victoria's children.

I recently discovered that the Thornycrofts were responsible for a memorial in Ledbury church, Herefordshire. This marble sculpture shows a sleeping child watched over by two angels. It commemorates the death of a child in the following words:

John Hamilton, the beloved infant son of John Martin and

Maria Henrietta, his wife.

Born April 23rd, 1850. Died March 18th, 1851

The work was apparently conceived by Mary Thornycroft and sculpted by her husband. It is a touching piece and one that was thought of a sufficiently high standard to be shown at the Great Exhibition in 1851.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f1.8
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO:320
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On