Like the sea itself, closeness to the seaside comes in waves: childhood, parenthood and so on. That intimate knowledge of sand, plastic buckets and salty sea-spray can only be experienced through the eyes of the young. Here’s to the next wave.
Donkey On The Sand At St Annes (Photo By Frank Fieldhouse, 1941) The seaside has been a constant since the first day excursion train set out from the first industrial town on a bank holiday Monday. As constant as work and play, sea and sand. This photo features my auntie, Miriam Fieldhouse, during a wartime holiday in St. Annes-on-Sea.
Huddersfield Market Hall From Queensgate I must have walked passed the market hall numerous times without noticing it. When I did, I probably dismissed it as a concrete monstrosity. Yesterday, however, I saw it in a different light; grand, majestic even.
I didn’t take all that many colour photographs back in the pre-digital days, but this is a rare one taken at Cleethorpes in the mid 1980s. Even with a colour film loaded, you didn’t need an extensive palette in Cleethorpes.
These days on the cruise ships, passengers assemble outside the restaurant doors like expectant gulls following a herring boat, waiting for the doors to be opened. Back in 1925 on our tour of the Northern capitals, things were much more stately: a smiling restaurant steward would bang a gong to summon the guests into the Veranda Cafe.
We’ve been taking Lucy up to Stainland Recreation Ground for her walks these last few weeks. It makes a change from the usual circuit of the Crematorium (“the circle of gloom”, as Lucy likes to call it). You can look down on a green world from up there. It is Yorkshire at its best: a hint of wildness, more than […]
Donkeys On The Sands, Skegness, c.1982 : It’s as British as marmalade on toast and malt vinegar on chips: donkeys on the sands. How many times have foreign invaders been driven back from the coast by a cornet-carrying child mounted on a dapple donkey?
This is an old Cabinet Card of an unknown soldier. How it came into my possession, I do not know. But look at the parting in his hair: as straight as a die, as pronounced as a Flanders trench.
Our Sepia Saturday theme image this week shows two railway workers in Finland playing chess during a break from work. That stance of studied concentration is matched perfectly by my picture which features a chess game between my father and myself. The photograph must have been taken by my brother, Roger, and it dates from around 1965 when we were […]