Wednesday, April 16, 2014
|Picture Post 29 July 1939|
COMMERCIAL BREAK 2
How complicated cameras used to be. You had to look through one lens, focus it on a ground glass screen, calculate the required exposure, choose the right shutter speed, twist the lens around to get the necessary aperture, cock the shutter mechanism, press the shutter and hope. But at least with the Voigtlander Focussing Brilliant you didn't have to wind the film on, because this was new technology and it had automatic film winding. You couldn't make a phone call on a twin lens reflex camera, nor could you Google a weather forecast. But they did take some smashing photographs and the large format makes them a dream to scan half a century later.
QUESTION AND ANSWER
Q: Thanks for the good writeup. It in fact was a enjoyment account it. Look complicated to far added agreeable from you! By the way, how could we communicate?
A: In English would be a good start.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
From today's crop of negative scans, this picture of a bus crossing North Bridge in Halifax dates from around 1987. It must have been one of the last monochrome images I shot before reluctantly moving over to colour film.
Monday, April 14, 2014
Last Friday, Amy and I decided to attempt an ascent of the notorious Round Hill in Rastrick. Known to the local climbing fraternity as the "Unscalable One", Round Hill dominates the local landscape reaching all of fifty feet above the surrounding countryside. The exact origins of the hill are shrouded in mystery; some claiming it is an entirely natural phenomenon, whilst others suggest it is partly the result of defensive earth works back in the ancient days before the M62 brought civilisation to these parts. Despite considerable research, I was unable to find a published recommended route to the summit and therefore Amy and I set off with nothing more than a packet of Pontefract Cakes and a Dentistick between us. Everything went well for the first part of the climb, and by mid-morning we had bivouacked adjacent to the ring of trees you can just make out almost three quarters of the way up this behemoth. Alas, the tree circle hides a stout barbed-wire fence, one which my canine companion - exhausted by all the walking and climbing up to this point - refused to engage with. Crest-fallen and defeated we retreated, determined to return another day. Until that day, I must announce that the "Unscalable One" remains unscaled.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
For the last seven and a half years I have struggled to ensure that News From Nowhere is brought to you free of the commercial distractions of of the digital market place. I have turned my back on company sponsors, spurned the advances of product placers and refused to see any sense in Google Adsense. But times are hard here at the St Gothard Retirement Home and I have been forced to introduce a series of commercial advertisements. If you enjoy this blog, please feel free to patronise the businesses and the products featured in this series, the first of which is : -
|Sheffield Telegraph & Star : 9 February 1918|
Saturday, April 12, 2014
It is good to see the Clough House Inn in Rastrick open for business again. Dating from the early nineteenth century the current pub was part of a larger group of buildings - called Clough House - which included a farmhouse, a mill and a separate pub which, for the sake of confusion, was called the White Lion. Ideally situated on the Elland to Dewsbury turnpike road, it prospered over the years and by the 1870s it was being referred to as The Clough House Inn.
The pub was used for the usual variety of local events : the coroner held inquests here and tenants would attend to pay their quarterly rent to the Thornhill Estate at what was known as "rent audits". Once the money had been handed over, these could become merry affairs as this cutting from the Huddersfield Daily Chronicle of 15th December 1877 shows. "Songs, glees and recitations followed, and a joyous time was spent"
Friday, April 11, 2014
Our Sepia Saturday theme image this week shows a rather interesting collection of four images of Tasmania. I have never been to Tasmania - although curiously enough I was chatting with a friend yesterday who had just returned from there - so I am following the four-view element of the theme with this quadriptych (yes, that is an actual word) based on the contents of my mother's purse. These days, any self-respecting parent will walk around with a collection of photographs of their nearest and dearest on their mobile phones, so they can instantly show you a cute photo of little Jasmine or Boggles The Dog whilst you are waiting for the froth on your pint of beer to settle. Back in the fabled Good Old Days, such things were still over the technological horizon and therefore you would have to always have a small collection of tiny prints tucked into your wallet or your purse.
The four photos I feature in my quadriptych (oh, I do like that word) were amongst half a dozen or so I discovered when sorting out my mother's possessions. Clockwise, from the top left, they show:
- My mother on the front lawn at my childhood house in Northowram. The single path and lack of garage suggests this must have been taken in about 1953.
- My father displaying his mighty muscles and his astonishing tan : again taken at our house in Northowram, I suspect around 1958.
- Me. I think. I thought it was me but Isobel says it doesn't look like me. It certainly isn't my brother, so who else would my mother be treasuring a picture of?
- My brother, Roger. This was probably taken around 1958 and behind him I recognise part of the garden of that same Northowram house.
Pulling four images together to create a single entity is a fascinating exercise - one in which the selection tells the story just as much as the content. To see how other people have responded to the challenge visit the Sepia Saturday Blog.
|Click Here To Go To The Sepia Saturday Blog|
Thursday, April 10, 2014
I was going to announce a major up-dating and restructuring of the Blog, but the chances are that I will get fed up with these changes in a few days and revert back to the old approach. So we will let the changes - if there any - slowly emerge.
I must have taken this photograph back in the 1980s and I suspect it is somewhere in South Yorkshire - probably Sheffield. It was a time when I didn't have a darkroom and I tended to develop my monochrome films and leave them unprinted in the belief that there would be a right time to return to them in the future when life was less stressful and the possibility of a functioning darkroom would be more attainable. So here we are, 30 years later and time is more plentiful and darkrooms are no longer necessary. Through luck rather than intention I managed to capture a strange collection of dog-in-a-hurry, newspaper-reading child and dangerously leaning sign-post. I think it was worth waiting for.
Tuesday, April 08, 2014
There are few things in life I enjoy more than scanning old negatives. I know that makes me sound like a "saddo", but so be it. Scanning allows you to go back and achieve two thing : first, correct mistakes made at the time of taking the original photograph, and, second, to counteract the ravages of time. Just think if these options were more widely available : you could go back to September 1972 and not have that final pint of cider which was the tipping point that led to the disastrous chain of events you are still not comfortable talking about forty years later. Just imagine what it would be like if, with one sweep of the Bamboo pen, you could remove all those collective aches and pains that have accumulated over the years. But you can't. You will have to sit back and mark the passage of time by counting the mill chimneys - or the drying vests - in this view over Halifax which I took back in 1966 and rediscovered and rescanned last night.
Monday, April 07, 2014
"A holy calm pervaded the back parlour of the Cafe de Travail. The smoke from five pipes, full of the vilest tobacco, hung in clouds about the ceiling. Round a table sat five gentlemen fingering five glasses, each of which contained a second or third edition of its owner's particular beverage. No one spoke. They had eaten too well for words. A vista of unlimited drinks at somebody else's expense opened itself out before the dazed eyes of at least three of the company. For the rest, even the most abominable shag will keep five, and fifty times five, men quiet"
Want more? No, I didn't think you would do and, in truth, neither did I as I settled down to read "I Will Repay : A Tale Of The Anarchist Terror" by Charles Benham last night. I had found the tale in an old 1900 edition of the New Penny Magazine, a bound volume of which I had bought at a local junk shop for a fiver. As far as I can discover, the story of foul deeds amongst a cell of Paris Anarchists has never seen light of day in any other format, so I approached the task in the style of a Howard Carter prizing open the tomb of Tutankhamun, not knowing what I might find but sure in the knowledge that it had not been seen by mankind for an awfully long time. Alas, my discovery was hardly noteworthy : think of Carter discovering a pile of old pop bottles and a rusted shopping trolley, and you will know how I felt.
I had been driven to my literary excavations by another example of making snap decisions based on a brief sample of the wears on offer. We had settled down to watch the first episode of a new drama series based on the exploits of nurses during the First World War called "The Crimson Field". Within five minutes of the thing starting, and following the bit where a young, pretty and cardboard-aristocrat drops her wedding ring into the strangely smooth waters of the English Channel, the Good Lady Wife and I exchanged glances which said "want more?" and came to the same, negative, conclusion.