Crowland thatch

click photo to enlarge
There was a time, long ago, when thatch was the most common roofing material to be found in the British Isles. Not only houses but churches, pubs and barns could (and still can) be found with this kind of covering. As well as the reed and straw, roofs were thatched with flax, heather, gorse and broom. But slowly, down the centuries, this vegetable material was replaced by mineral in the form of stone, slate, clay tiles and finally concrete tiles. Yet thatching never entirely disappeared. Thatching is no longer local and cheap but it can still be reasonably commonly found in the areas where it was once popular, and it is still a very good insulator.

Today long straw thatch and combed wheat - both using by-products of grain production - are still found. So too is reed thatch, occasionally using native reeds from places such as the Norfolk Broads, but more often imported from Eastern Europe, particularly the area of the Danube Delta. Many traditional buildings, often from the fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, that were always thatched, continue to be so roofed. One or two builders offer newly constructed houses with  a thatched roof. I've seen them in Lancashire and Norfolk, both areas where thatch was popular. And, because of the demand for the re-roofing of old buildings and the occasional new-build, the craft of the thatcher continues.

Thatchers have always shown idiosyncrasies in the way they fix together the straw, reed, hazel or briar, and in the manner in which they finish ridges, gable ends and the edges of dormer windows. Many have also been keen to add individual thatch sculptures to their roofs, sometimes as a mark of who made it but often as a piece of whimsy or in response to a request from the owner. I've seen owls, pheasants, witches and cockerels decorating thatched roofs. Today's photograph of cottages in Crowland, Lincolnshire, features a thatched roof with a cat in a characteristically feline pose.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Tomb of Catherine of Aragon

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The inability of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon to produce a male heir was a trigger that set in motion the English Reformation and the creation of the Church of England. Henry had married Catherine, who was the widow of his older brother, Arthur, under a special dispensation given by the pope. When the desired son was not produced Henry decided to do without Rome. He sought a new wife and removed all the symbols and features of Catherine's royal position. She lived in relative poverty at Kimbolton Castle, Cambridgeshire, until her death in 1536, at which timeCatherine was buried in Peterborough Abbey. This building was raised to cathedral status in 1541. The presence of Catherine of Aragon's tomb may have been a factor in its change of status.

The tomb of Henry's first wife can still be seen in the cathedral. It is in the north aisle next to the sanctuary and is marked by an engraved slab of marble. Above the tomb hangs the Royal Banner of England of the period with fleurs de lys and lions passant guardant, as well as a banner based on the coat of arms of Catherine. On our most recent visit the slab was decorated with flowers and seven pomegranates. This fruit is usually present on the tomb as an acknowledgement of the part it plays in Catherine's coat of arms.

As royal tombs go this is a very modest affair. The cathedral authorities must have recognised this because they commissioned a sign made of individual gold letters to draw attention to it. The letters spell the deceased queen's name with a "K" rather than the more usual (today) "C". However, the tomb's setting alongside the richly decorated sanctuary and the massive stonework of the Norman columns, capitals and vaulting is undoubtedly impressive. On the other side of the sanctuary is the site of Peterborough's other royal connection. Mary, Queen of Scots, was buried here in 1587 after her execution at nearby Fotheringhay Castle. Her body was re-buried in Westminster Abbey on the orders of her son, King James I of England so what we see now is the site of the earlier tomb. It too has gold lettering to mark the location.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Crowland willows and cyclists

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"He that plants trees loves others besides himself."
Thomas Fuller (1654 1734), English physician and writer

When I took today's photograph I was concentrating on achieving a composition that included the line of pollarded willows and the fast approaching pair of cyclists. The sunny afternoon was reason enough to stop off at Crowland on the Lincolnshire Fens, and I gravitated towards this particular place just outside the village because I'd photographed here before without any great success. A distant walker proved to be too far away to be useful to the composition I wanted, so I asked my wife to walk ahead to provide the human interest that I felt the shot needed. However, as she did so the cyclists came into view and I had just enough time to change lenses, raise the camera to my eye and fire off a few shots before they whizzed past me with a few cheery words. I'm reasonably pleased with the outcome, despite the road being dotted with freshly fallen soil from a tractor and plough that passed a couple of minutes earlier, and a little of the water-tower showing against the sky.

It wasn't until I brought the photograph up on my computer that I looked really carefully at the line of trees. And, when I did so, the quotation above by Thomas Fuller immediately came to mind. Whoever planted the large willows in this row by the side of the water (just visible on the extreme left) must have had a vision of what it would achieve and the public spirit to offer it to future generations, because, as Fuller's quote implies, trees take a long time to come to maturity and full beauty, and this is frequently after the planter has shuffled off this mortal coil. But, my photograph revealed more. In between the old trees are newly planted youngsters that must be the next-generation-in-waiting. Clearly someone else has an eye to the future of this location too, knows that the existing trees have limited lives, and have generously planted knowing that it won't be them who sees the trees when they reach their full beauty.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 300mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Into the city canyons

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The other day I ventured into the canyons of the city of Peterborough. All large cities have these places, precincts where tall towers, flats and blocks of high offices crowd the streets on every side, blocking out the light, casting almost perpetual shadow, giving a feeling of enclosure and oppression. In Peterborough the canyons are not so great and grand as in, say, London, but they are there nonetheless.

Architects and planners try to ameliorate the gloom and overwhelming domination of these big buildings in a number of ways. Some cities insist on the upper storeys being set back from the main walls, elsewhere plazas and urban spaces are required to let periodic pools of light illuminate the street level. Glass curtain walls, clear or tinted, and mirrored glass seek to bounce the available light around, from building to building, making the most of what is available. And, where the towers are not so tall, trees are planted to soften the imperious rectilinearity of the architecture.

Today's photograph shows a tree in such a setting. Its irregularity and diagonals break up the horizontals and verticals of the residential flats, the offices and a reflected hotel. The mirror wall's reflection makes one tree into two, and shows the sunny face alongside the actual tree's shaded side. In summer its leaves will soften the architecture still further, and, whilst it will add to the ground level shadows, at least it will be at a time of year when the light from above is stronger than it was on my recent visit.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cascades Tower, Canary Wharf

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Every building seeks to satisfy at least three groups of people - those who build it, those who live in it and those who pass by it. Each of those groups sees themselves as the most important, the people whose interests must be served above all others. But where one group's interests are dominant a building is often a failure. A construction built to maximise profit rarely offers good accommodation or a positive contribution to the local environment. One that is built with the approbation of the general public in mind often fails as a space in which to live or work, and can stretch a budget. The hard trick is to satisfy all of the separate, and sometimes conflicting, interests.

I've often looked across the Thames at Canary Wharf and thought about the individual buildings that have gone up over the years. One that stands out as different from the others is Cascades Tower, a 20 storey, 194 feet (59m) block built between 1986 and 1988 by CZWG Architects. The left side is a tower with a slightly undulating facade, bands of coloured brick and an unusually large variety of different sized and shaped windows and balconies. At the top is decorative metalwork in a shape that reminds me of eel traps. What makes it different from the run-of-the-mill apartment complex is the big, "ski-jump" slope on the right side of the Thames facade, a stepped structure with glazed roofing: presumably the "cascades". To say it is the ugly duckling alongside swans is to attach too much value to some of the other towers. However, it is a pretty ghastly offering compared with most, a busy looking beehive for young executives of the nearby financial institutions. At least that's how it appears from the outside. The individual apartments may be all that people want and need, and some of those for sale at the moment look fine. But as a contribution to the location and a building that will forever (or at least a few decades) stand in front of the taller blocks, it leaves everything to be desired.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 300mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/640
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Small museums and broken windows

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

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

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

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

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

Rhythm and hues

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Of the three major pairings of complementary colours my favourite by a large margin is blue/orange.  Red/green I can appreciate with flowers, leaves and grass - in fact, we have red geraniums (pelargoniums) every year because of the big return you get from their petal colour next to their leaves. Purple/yellow, leaves me cold though; too garish by far. However, I enjoy that delicious blue/orange mix so much that sometimes I barely realise I'm using it, though usually it's a very deliberate choice. Examples in the blog include these trees and buildings, these flowers and their deliberately chosen background, this Euphorbia, ladybird and background, and these spring maple leaves against a blue sky.

What artists have realised down the centuries and what photographers learnt from artists is that some of the qualities of "pure" complementaries extend to "near" complementaries. If, for example, you put brown (rather than orange) next to blue the pairing offers attractive qualities that derive from the fact that, as a colour, brown is close to orange. I'm sure it's this that explains why my preferred combination for split toning is blue/sepia. I've tried other pairings such as cyan/green, magenta/orange and red/sepia, but have always gravitated towards my favoured colours (see this building interior and this sea-front promenade).

Perhaps similar reasoning can be adduced for my liking of the colour pairings in today's photograph. It shows tongues of rippled sandy Lincolnshire beach at low tide. I liked the repetitive rhythm of these small spits and I isolated sections of them with a long lens. The title of today's blog is a blatant steal and amendment of an off-licence I saw in Barton upon Humber, one of a chain apparently, called Rhythm and Booze, which is itself a play on the name of the style of music of almost that name.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 120mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

In praise of things compact

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One evening a few years ago, as I sat at my computer in the glow from the screen and the nearby anglepoise light, I accidentally nudged a stack of compact discs causing them to slide across the desk. I'd placed them upside down, and as they came to rest the lights created individual rainbows on the clear, silvery underside of each one. Never a person to miss an opportunity for a photograph I took several and posted one on the blog.

I recalled that event the other evening as I was photographing the inside of a cut glass wine goblet. It had caught my eye as a potential photographic subject when I was washing up a little earlier. The faceted edges of the patterns in the bowl of the glass were making rainbow-like prismatic effects. I rested my camera on the top of the glass with the lens inside it and used the timer to take a few shots. I was moderately pleased with the outcome, but a little underwhelmed by the rainbows. So, remembering the episode with the compact disks I found one, placed it, shiny side up, under the stem and foot of the glass, and took a few more photographs. Today's image is the best of the bunch. I moved the camera a little for this one to spoil the symmetry and introduce a little contrast with the out of focus side of the glass.

As I reviewed my shots on the computer I reflected that many photographic enthusiasts disparage compact cameras, their tiny sensors and their allegedly more limited capabilities compared with DSLRs. However, if like me on this occasion, you want to take a quick, experimental shot, with good depth of field and possibly macro capability, then they are hard to beat. So join me in a glass and give a little praise for both compact discs and compact cameras!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 5.1mm (24mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f2
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Posing, fashion and photography

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Fashion photography  too often isn't. By that I mean it is photography, but it isn't about fashion. This branch of photography seem to attract those who see it as an opportunity to create "art", and so they produce images that do everything except show off the clothing that is being promoted. Thus, models adopt contorted poses, or are photographed in harsh or dim light, or are placed in locations that overwhelm or hide the main subject, or - well I think you'll have seen what I mean.

And even when a straight forward shot of a model is taken from face-on the photographers seem to crave an awkward element such as the feet in a strange position, the eyes deliberately closed, the hand raised to shield the face etc. Or the model is asked to adopt what I think of as the "gormless pose". I think you'll have seen this one too. It involves the model standing upright,  staring straight at the camera, mouth dropped open, no hint of emotion evident, arms hanging limply with the back of the hands turned forwards. I suppose it's a reaction against the poses of the middle of the twentieth century where models sat in the sunlight, relaxed, on scooters, on garden seats, or leaning nonchalantly against a tree, all the while beaming their best smile. On balance I think I prefer the latter! There was a time when fashion photographers managed to create art (of a sort) that also showed off the fashions being sold - Norman Parkinson frequently managed it producing wonderful images. These days many aim for one or other of these goals but few achieve both.

Today's photograph shows a wall of windows at the London Tower Bridge Hilton next to More London. It's an interesting wall  for the way colour is used. Standing on a thick wooden trunk nearby is a wooden sculpture of a woman (there's also a man nearby, out of shot). She is one of the "Couple", a commissioned work by the German artist, Stephan Balkenhol, completed in 2003. It was only after I'd seen the woman a couple of times that I realised her "wooden" pose reminded me of the "gormless" poses favoured by some fashion photographers. Now, it has to be said that this lady really can't help but look wooden: even if she was contorted like an Olympic gymnast she'd still be completely wooden. But why do we have to suffer it in the living models in the Sunday supplements? Incidentally, on past experience you may have expected me to say something about the quality of the sculpture. I see them as WYSIATI (what you see is all there is) pieces, so there's not much to add, and I certain won't be describing them as totemic or poles.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 85mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Adding shadows to the mix

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

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

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

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

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

Birds and their perches

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Avian vantage points vary from species to species. In my garden the jackdaws tend to stay high, favouring chimney pots and roof ridges. The blackbirds are often seen on top of the clothes posts, on the security lights, and on middling branches of the trees. The mistle thrushes are almost always on the topmost branches of the tallest trees, particularly liking the poplar and eucalyptus. Out in the countryside buzzards are commonly on the dead branches of large trees such as oaks, though kestrels prefer telephone wires and posts of any kind.

But what about gulls? In coastal towns where there are no cliffs the tops of houses and their chimneys provide good places to survey the land. So too do tall street lights. However, on a recent trip into Boston, Lincolnshire, I spotted a gull on a sculpture. Nothing unusual about that I suppose; gulls can often be seen perched on the heads of statues erected to the great and good making them look slightly ridiculous. And even when they are absent from these favoured positions their presence at other times is evident from the "deposits" that they leave behind.

However, this gull had chosen a sculpture of a different bird species on which to perch. The former Fogarty Feather Factory is surmounted by a large mute swan in recognition of its role as a centre of the manufacture of pillows, eiderdowns etc. Today the factory houses flats, but the swan remains, and on the day I passed by it offered a vantage point for a solitary gull. The sight of it immediately suggested that my two earlier photographs of birds on bird sculptures - see this one from Southport and this one from London - could be complemented by a third. It's not a great photograph, just a bit of fun to brighten a cold February afternoon.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 282mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Old vicarages

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

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

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

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

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

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

Reflecting on lampshades

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I've never found pendant lampshades easy. Many of them seem to be good at lighting the room but look awful, while the rest of them look fine but leave the room dimly lit. I particularly dislike those that look like the shade you'd find on a standard lamp that are designed for a pendant; they look terrible from below, all wire supports and bare bulbs. Then there are the translucent glass or plastic variety, all modernistic swirls and curls that try to be "artistic" at the expense of being functional. And as for the many contemporary takes on the chandelier, well, most of those look like they need their own power station to keep them lit, such is the number and brightness of the bulbs required.

You might think, with thoughts like those, that we have naked light bulbs hanging from the ceilings in the rooms of our house. But no, fairly early in our married life we found a design of pendant lampshade that suits us just fine. It combines simple elegance with the ability to cast light effectively and is inexpensive. More than that, however, it can composted at the end of its useful life! I refer to the plain white paper and wood (or string) globes that are sold packed flat and which are opened into a sphere before being placed around the light bulb. They first came to prominence in the 1960s and 1970s and have remained on the market ever since. I know that some people think of them as hopelessly dated, but we see a minimalist beauty where others see echoes of Habitat and the 1970s.

From that you'll gather that the photograph of today's light was not taken in our house. In fact, it featured on the ceiling of somewhere that we stayed recently. It's not to my taste: far too fussy and exotic for me. But I did like the way it made light rays radiate across the ceiling, and for that it seemed worth a photograph.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 500
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Fern frost

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Those of us who grew up in 1950s and 1960s Britain will remember frost patterns on the windows of the houses in which we lived. Sometimes they were on the outside but often we'd wake up in winter to find them on the inside. Double glazing and central heating have banished frosted windows for most people, but the absence of those two conveniences will result in the phenomenon even today.

They occur inside when there is air below freezing point outside and moist air inside that condenses on the cold glass as ice crystals. What has always fascinated me - and everyone I've spoken to about this kind of frost - is the form of the patterns that are produced. The most common type seem to be a shape similar to leaves or fern fronds. Quite how and why this shape results is a mystery to me, and a quick search doesn't produce a clear or detailed answer. It seems that the composition of the surface of the glass, particularly its imperfections, are contributory factors, but a fuller explanation is not easily found.

Today's photograph was taken on a recent early morning after a cold night. The icy patterns, commonly called fern frost, were on the outside of the windscreen of a parked car. The low sun that was obscured by trees was strong enough to produce a directional light that emphasised the details of the delicate "leaves".

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 500
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

The Much Marcle yew tree

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The ancient yew tree shown in today's photograph is estimated to be about 1500 years old. It stands in Much Marcle, Herefordshire, next to the medieval church of St Bartholomew, the oldest part of which dates from about 1230. The tree must have been standing for 700 hundred years when the church was begun, and it is remarkable that it still lives today. Or perhaps not so remarkable when we consider that, in countries north of the Mediterranean, England is second only to Greece in the number of ancient trees (those that are several hundred years old) to be found within its borders.

Much Marcle's tree is justly renowned, not only for its age, but for its girth of 31 feet at a point 4 feet 6 inches above the ground. The tree's trunk, as you can see from the photograph, is hollow, and it is provided with seating that can support several people. In recent years the tree was pruned for the first time in a long time. Six tons of dead and unnecessary timber was removed. When we were there the other day - our third or fourth visit over the years to this interesting village - I noticed a heavy chain wrapped around the tree at a height of twelve or fifteen feet. Its purpose may have been to keep the branches from drooping down to the ground. In a few places it was in the process of being absorbed into the limbs so it must have been there for quite a while.

Ancient yews, particularly those in churchyards have long been noted and revered. In the seventeenth century John Evelyn and John Aubrey wrote about them, and travel writers and antiquarians continued to do so in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. In the twentieth century Vaughan Cornish's "Churchyard Yews" (1946) and E.W. Swanton's "The Yew Trees of England" (1958) raised their profile considerably. However, it was "The Sacred Yew" (1994) by Anand Chetan and Diana Brueton (leaning heavily on the work of Allen Meredith) that gained the attention of the media. It catalogued 404 trees that were estimated to be more than 1,000 years old. In 2003 the Ancient Yew Group was formed and continued the documentation of the tree. It has noted 837 "ancient, veteran or significant" yews in England and Wales. Further details about this group and much fascinating information of yew trees can be found on their website.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/30
ISO: 2500
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Artemis, The Huntress

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"All right... all right... but apart from better sanitation and medicine and education and irrigation and public health and roads and a freshwater system and baths and public order... what have the Romans done for us?"
from "Monty Python's Life of Brian" (1979)

The Romans have an undeserved reputation for innovation. It's true that they had very good engineering, and that their skills in acquiring, administering and sustaining an empire were formidable. However, as far as actual inventions go their prowess has been greatly exaggerated. The fact is their real skills lay in creative borrowing: taking the inventions of other cultures and improving them. The Romans were more Bill Gates than Alexander Graham Bell.

A single example can serve to exemplify the failings of the Romans when it comes to inventions - or the absence of them. Throughout their period of ascendancy horse power was crucial to the Romans, yet they continued with the same inefficient harness that was used in the Bronze Age. In the second century B.C. the Chinese had horses pulling against a breast strap when they were used with a cart. This allowed them to breath more easily and pull heavier loads. A century later the Chinese had discovered the increased benefits of the collar harness, a device unknown in Europe until many hundreds of years after the Roman empire had collapsed.
 
On a recent visit to Much Marcle in Herefordshire to attend a wedding I was photographing in the snow-covered garden of Hellens Manor, the ancient house where the ceremony and subsequent festivities were to take place. The frozen pond on the south-facing terrace featured a statue of a female hunter. The moss and lichen encrusted figure looked like a good subject for a photograph or two, and so I took some shots showing details and context. This particular view of the garden was taken the day before the main image. It shows the sculpted figure with a snow scarf and cap which had disappeared twenty four hours later. When I came to give a title to today's photograph I had to stop and think whether the subject was Greek or Roman. If Greek, then the statue depicted Artemis, if Roman then it was Diana. When it came to religion the Romans inherited some Greek gods during their early history, came up with some of their own later on, and sought to identify some of these with Greek forerunners due to their fascination with the earlier civilisation. All of which has sown some confusion in the minds of later generations. The sculpture could be Diana, but she looks Greek to me. All of which leads me to think that another thing the Romans did for us was to add a layer of confusion to their mythology that tripped up this photographer when he was a schoolboy, and sometimes puzzles him still.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f4
Shutter Speed: 1/125
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Disc harrows and white horses

click photo to enlarge
The other day, as I looked at the rusty metal discs on the harrow shown in today's photograph, out of nowhere it seemed, a thought popped into my head: "What ever happened to the Ebbsfleet horse?" Anyone with a working knowledge of some of the more grandiose lunacies of modern British art will know that to which I refer. For the uninitiated the background is as follows. In 2009 Mark Wallinger's design was chosen as the winning submission in a competition for a large public sculpture at Ebbsfleet in Kent. The piece was intended to mark the area's redevelopment and the international railway station in particular. His work is a big - very big, 33X life size, 160 feet high - white horse made of concrete on a steel frame. It is a representational piece: imagine a child's play farm animal inflated to gigantic proportions. Why a white horse? Well, the county symbol for Kent is a white horse rampant with the word "Invicta". Moreover, the white chalk hills of the county feature white horses made by removing the turf.

As a sculpture it leaves everything to be desired. The photomontages showing how it will appear from afar illustrate what a blot on the landscape the white horse will be: every bit as bad as Damien Hurst's 65 feet tall sculpture of a half-flayed pregnant woman wielding a sword (called "Verity") at Ilfracombe. In fact, the latter has more to commend it because Hurst paid for it and it's on loan for a period of twenty years after which it will be gone. The money for the white horse hasn't been forthcoming, which is good of course. The concern must be that at some point public money is sought for the project and then Kent will be stuck with it for ever - or at least until it becomes a grubby eyesore and is wrestled to the ground like the statue of Saddam Hussein.

So what has a disc harrow to do with the white horse? Well, in December 2008, at a time when a short-list of three candidates was being considered for the Ebbsfleet sculpture I wrote a blog post proposing that a disc harrow might make a more appropriate subject and posted a shot to illustrate my point. Seeing the example above brought back memories of that. What I also liked about this particular harrow, as well as the repetition of shapes, was the mottled terracotta appearance of the rust. I thought then, and I still think, that a scaled up version of this above an agricultural landscape would have more beauty, interest and appropriateness than an inflated white horse.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 1250
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 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

Boston's Stump

click photo to enlarge
The recent collision in London between a helicopter and a construction crane at the top of a new tower block raised questions in the press about the wisdom and reasons for erecting such tall buildings. It seems to me that you can argue the wisdom of it long into the night, but the reasons are three-fold and what they have always been: facilitating a technology (such as telecoms), maximising the value of land, and prestige.

Today's photographs show the 272 feet tall tower of the medieval church of St Botolph in Boston, Lincolnshire, a late example of the Gothic builders' art, made of Barnack stone. Its absolute height, its relative height (the length of the church is only ten feet more) and its appearance when seen from afar quickly earned it the name of "The Stump" (though the name may be an example of the English love of irony).

The tower was begun in 1425-30 and completed in 1510-20. It is likely that a spire was to have begun at the level of the parapet above the pair of tall windows (which were probably intended to be the belfry stage). This would have been the conventional finish to a large Lincolnshire church. However, the church authorities had different ideas and they simply kept building upwards, adding a single, transomed window for the belfry, then topping it all off with pinnacles and a large, open lantern supported by flying buttresses. Why was it built so high? I can only think that prestige and the desire to make a big, bold statement lay behind the decision. It could, I suppose, be argued that having the belfry higher gave the sound of the bells greater reach. Such height was certainly a risk because the deep soils of the Fens yield no bedrock to the builder and smaller, nearby towers such as Pinchbeck and Surfleet testify to how they can quickly acquire a disconcerting tilt. The tower is undoubtedly impressive, and parts of it, particularly the lantern are beautiful. In total, however, it doesn't work: the height is too great, the stages don't complement each other and it is not visually integrated with the nave and chancel. But, as a beacon for sailors on the storm-tossed sea of The Wash, searching for the mouth of the River Witham and safe haven, it must have been a godsend!

The smaller photograph, taken from the town bridge, is the classic view of the tower. My shots were taken when hoar frost cloaked the trees, ice was just beginning to form on the River Witham, and shopping was the main thing on our minds. A bright, clear January day is not to be spurned, however, and my compact camera proved its worth once more.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 9.3mm (44mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Repetition and photography

click photo to enlarge
"My greatest fear: repetition"
Max Frisch (1911-1991), Swiss author and critic

I find it hard to understand the point that Max Frisch was making when he wrote the remark quoted above. If it's the simple fear of repeating oneself inadvertently, or even knowingly because the creative juices have stopped flowing, then fair enough. But that makes it such an obvious point that it's hardly worth the utterance. The fact is that much art, whether writing, visual or musical, depends on varying a theme, and themes inevitably involve an element of repetition. This is a subject that I touched on in my 2011 post, "Mining the seam", so I won't elaborate here. However, what I will say is that this desire to avoid "repetition" is something that seems to afflict photographers rather more than some other visual artists. Painters have no hesitation in returning to a subject repeatedly - see Monet and Rouen Cathedral, Cezanne and Mont Saint Victoire or Diego Rivera and the calla lily flower. Most, though certainly not all, musicians tend to work within a tightly defined genre and instrumentation. But photographers, well, they too often forgo the learning and refining that repetition can offer, and search instead for ever new subjects and approaches.

I repeatedly take photographs of the water lily leaves in our pond because they offer interest and difference across the year. The church in the village of Bicker is another subject that I photograph regularly. Why, you might wonder? Well, not only is it conveniently located for me, but it is a particularly fine building in a setting that, like those water lily leaves, changes with the time of day, the weather and the seasons. I've photographed it in fog, summer, and snow more than a few times (see here, here, here and here).That being the case, you might wonder what mileage there is in another photograph of the church on a snowy morning: in self-imposed repetition.

In fact, I've set myself the task of documenting this church. I'm looking for variations determined by the weather, the time of day, the season, the viewpoint, the lens, the processing, and any other variable that I can introduce into my photography. On this occasion the warm note of the early morning sunlight contrasting with the cold blue/white of the light covering of snow and the hoar frost on the trees offered something different. So too did the slightly more distant viewpoint that introduced the veil of branches across the top of the image. There's more mining of this seam yet to be done!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On