All praise those sainted mortals who, When given a photo know what to do. With pencilled words small and clear, Discreetly say on the photos rear Whether it's Jack or Joe or God only knows Or in this case, Great Uncle Albert and his wife, Rose.
Month: May 2024
Commercial Street
From the mid nineteenth century onwards, every northern town worth its weight in brass had a Commercial Street. To these streets the new generation of drapers, bakers and umbrella makers were drawn. I took this photograph of Brighouse's Commercial Street over half a century ago. It was busy then and, I'm glad to say, it's … Continue reading Commercial Street
Study In Faces
41/1001 : A Study In Faces - Yorkshire Miners' Gala Parade, Doncaster, 1982
Top Brass
Chapels, town halls and banks: northern towns have always done them well. There is something about faith, brass and municipality that fostered the architectural pride of countless northern towns. Here's one of Halifax's entries in the banking class - the palatial Lloyds Bank.
Time Travel Time
40/1001 : It's time travel time. Choose your vehicle: maybe it is the headscarves and the plastic rain hats, perhaps it's the back-slashed prices or the thought of pure boiled sweets. For me it is those stacked biscuit boxes: square, solid and ready to whisk me back to my youth.
Voting Day
I've just realised it is 50 years since I walked through those doors and started work behind that arched window for the first time. A lot has happened in the intervening half century. I'll be thinking of those times when I go to cast my vote today.
Never Square
39/1001 : Square Church was never square. Not when its nave gave shelter to praying congregations, nor when its skeleton lay open to the elements. Nor now, when it cosies up to books and arts and shops and bars. Square Church is never square.
To The Woods
Of course this is not realistic, it's not meant to be. Realism can wait for another day. On the 1st of May I want to feast on patterns and gorge on colours. To the woods!
Back Yard
38/1001 : There is something real about back yards, something honest, something revealing. They represent domesticity without make-up - a place for all the ladders and bins, and all the pipes and washing lines to do what they need to do. This was my back yard forty-odd years ago.
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