Sometimes you don’t need to know who the people are. You don’t need to know their story: their past, present or future. Sometimes the image itself is enough.
SCANNED NEGATIVES : HALIFAX FROM THE SHIBDEN VALLEY (c1968) This is one of my photos from 50 years ago and shows Halifax from the Shibden Valley. The town seems to be spilling from the lip of some giant industrial cauldron, or nestling in a cradle of the arts. This particular photograph comes from a time when my brother, Roger, and […]
POSTCARDS FROM HOME : BULL GREEN, HALIFAX (1950s) Bull Green, Halifax in the 1950s. Little has changed as far as the built environment is concerned, but it is a different world revolving around the roundabout these days. I suspect that this postcard dates from the 1950s, but as it was never postally used I have no proof of that. The […]
SCANNED NEGATIVES : COBBLES AND CLOTHESLINES Another of my photographs from fifty years ago. This was one of the many streets that climbed the hill to Claremount, Halifax. Streets of cobbles and clotheslines. Many of the tightly packed streets that climbed up New Bank were swept away when Burdock Way carved its way through Halifax. The houses had no gardens […]
PICTURES FROM NOWHERE : OAKS AND STONE, RUPERRA, 7th APRIL 1932 An old photograph of a young man walking near Ruperra Castle in Wales in 1932. The photo is entitled “Oaks and Stone”, but that poetic title is the extent of my knowledge. This is a print from a tiny album of photographs taken in 1932 at Ruperra Castle in […]
Postcards From Home : Commercial Street, Halifax (1908) When it came to buildings, the folk of West Yorkshire favoured banks and chapels; temples to the soul and to commerce; brass and bibles. This fine building was erected in 1898 for the Halifax and Huddersfield Union Banking Company. To make way for it, part of Somerset House was demolished, but architectural […]
I’m not sure of the name of this machine, but generations of mill workers in my family will have known it well. To them it signified toil inside a dark mill; to me it is a shape against the light. I have lost the thread.
Bottles, jars and jugs piled high against a window in Salt’s Mill, Saltaire. A stained glass window of infinite variability.
A Yorkshire gable end. As uncompromising as a bigot. Two tight windows keep any illumination at bay.