A high resolution scan of the fallen blossom from the Camellia bush in the back garden. For weeks I have watched the bright pink fading into brown, and now most of the life seems to have gone from it. It leaves, however, a kind of beauty that can rival the boastful loudness of its prime.
Category Archives: Picture Post
I took this photograph a couple of days ago whilst walking in Greetland. It shows the view across some fields towards Wainhouse Tower and Crossley Heath school in the distance. It’s a lovely sight, as fine a view as you could find anywhere in this land. What you can’t see, however, is what I love most of all about this place I call home. Behind the first set of trees and before the second, there is a valley. Not some piddling little thing, but a monumental valley carved by glaciers many thousands of years ago. A valley with roads, railway lines, rivers and canals. A valley with houses, factories, offices and workshops. A valley with life and love. We hide these things well in these parts.
Just waiting. Waiting for a passing breeze or a swinging foot. Waiting for the earth to move. Waiting for a new start. Just waiting.
Yorkshire stone: from a passing stone wall. Stone with a crust like burnt toast. Stone with an interior like a golden honeycomb. Priceless.
If you have to be locked down. If you have to be restricted to just one hour’s exercise a day. Let it be Spring. Let the sun shine. Let the waters of the Black Brook flow through the green fields.
Can something be too beautiful for these difficult days? To idyllic for the dark times within which it is set? This footpath through the woods in Fixby tests the theory to its extremes.
They loved churches and chapels in these parts. In the nineteenth century, every street corner or half-empty plot became potentially sacred ground – if it hadn’t been occupied by a beerhouse already. The churches and chapels they built were often grand affairs, signalling piety without recourse to subtlety. And when the praying stopped, other uses for the stone-built citadels had to be found. This fine nineteenth century Congregational church at Bridge End in Brighouse, first of all became a sports club. And when the sporting stopped, it became apartments.
Being limited in the distance you can travel allows you to discover beauty close to home. All too often we are fooled into the belief that grand sights have to be paid for with mindless travel over great distances. Only if you have sat crumpled up on a noisy plane for eight hours can you expect to see sublime nature at its best. As we are discovering, this isn’t the case. Beauty is alive and living a short walk away down the road.
On the concrete wall of Owlerton Stadium in Sheffield someone once painted scenes of the wondrous activities that took place inside: greyhounds racing, speedway bikes crunching into sliding corners. They are faded now as are the wonders they depict.