A Touch of the Organics

Art Nouveau is a style that has always attracted me. I'm not sure how old the gates on this shopping development in Evesham are but they're certainly not late-nineteenth/early-twentieth century. However they are firmly in the tradition of organic design set down in that period and a positive addition to the otherwise uninspiring clone-town architecture.

Return to the Dark Side

Painswick is an ancient town, nestling in the Cotswold Hills in the County of Gloucestershire. Its wealth, like that of its neighbours, was founded on wool and the clothing industry. Gratitude for this bounty (and no doubt the hope of preferential treatment at the Pearly Gates) was expressed by the local gentry in the building of great churches, crafted from warm oolitic limestone. Painswick's is not one of the largest, dwarfed by the likes of Cirencester, Chipping Campden and Northleach, but it has an exquisite setting, surrounded by ornate table tombs and a reputed ninety-nine yew trees.

The woollen trade in this part of the country succumbed centuries ago to competition from the mechanised mills of Northern England and later from abroad. Now the town is a centre for retirement, arts and crafts and expensive dwellings for the affluent workers of nearby Cheltenham.

Right, that's the educational bit done.

I went to Painswick today to pick up a book. As luck would have it my visit coincided with a flurry of snow. The yew trees took on a delicate frosting and, despite the dull light, were worthy of a few shots with the Silver Snapper.

Two of my current themes were satisfied - a splash of red from the church clock and one I suppose I should call 'Mysterious Passages' or some such nonsense. I love these dark enclosed pathways through the yew trees and the striated effect from the snow was a bonus.

The Shape of Things to Come

I read a report in a newspaper the other day that a school has removed all the small plastic pencil sharpeners from classrooms because the kids were breaking them open to get at the blades. The school was for under-tens.

That should concern us on so many levels.


Mechanical signal arms on railways come in two basic varieties - upper quadrant that lift up in a snooty fashion to let the train pass and lower quadrant that drop as if on one knee. The latter gesture always seems much friendlier somehow. Now they both are becoming rare having been replaced by the baleful and uncompromising glare of the colour light signal.

Windy Whitby

Dull days are a challenge for the photographer and coupled with sub-zero wind-chill, only the most dedicated and foolhardy individual would venture forth. So on Thursday I found myself on the breakwaters at Whitby, a freezing north-easterly wind plucking persistently at my not-quite-warm-enough coat and a fine penetrating salt spray wilfully depositing itself onto any surface that took its fancy.

I’ve taken many pictures here over the years and, in fine weather, it’s a very rewarding location. Under the conditions pertaining on this occasion, it would be fair to say I struggled. I would like to say that I struggled manfully, with dogged determination, eager to succeed against the odds, to triumph where none had triumphed before. But I didn’t. I gave it about ten minutes than headed back into the town to meet up with her ladyship and a mug of hot chocolate.

I posted an image of one of Whitby’s heroes, Captain Cook, a couple of weeks ago. He was made of sterner stuff than me. Incidentally the town also claims an association with Dracula, not because it’s an outpost of Transylvania (although some of the guest houses might give that impression) but because the author, Bram Stoker, wrote the book while living there in the late nineteenth century. I don’t imagine vampires have much time for hot chocolate but who knows? Perhaps it’s a tasty alternative to rhesus negative.

(By the way, as you can see the picture features rust, a splash of red and a group of three so I was trying a bit).

Sorry, Football's Off

A guy sitting next to us in a restaurant in Helmsley this week was complaining that he'd been in every pub in the town (and there are several) and not one of them was showing football in the bar.

Yes, mate, I thought, that's the reason why Helmsley is one of the most attractive towns in the British Isles. If you want to get involved in watching other people play sport, do so in the privacy of your own home (and keep the curtains closed).

Curving Away

The present railway station at York was designed by William Peachey* and Thomas Prosser and built in 1877. Only a Victorian could build a utilitarian building with such style and panache. It just needs to be filled with swathes of steam and the reek of burning coal to bring it back to perfection.

*William Peachey was born in Cheltenham and is probably a very distant relative of mine (which is nice).

York Steps

One of the fascinating things about looking at the world through picture making is the way that themes develop. I have ongoing quests at the moment for a ‘‘splash of red’ and for rust. Now, it would seem, judging by what caught my eye in York yesterday and some recent offerings in this journal, I’ve a thing about steps blossoming as well.

To be honest this is a longstanding interest going back thirty or more years. Occasionally I’ve been called upon to light scenes from television dramas on steps and I’ve always attacked them with relish. Get the lighting just right and they’re deeply satisfying. If I had my way all the action would take place on them (or alternatively involve couples sitting facing each other in front of a window or a roaring fire). Doubtless once again I’m revealing something deeply Freudian about myself but who cares?

I took this photograph with the Canon Ixus 50 on its auto setting. I could have done with using a slower shutter speed and getting a better sense of motion from the passers-by. Still, what do you learn from perfection? Nothing, just an uneasy feeling that there’s nowhere else to go.