Entering Slaithwaite

 

For status and gravitas, you can't beat a triumphal arch. Rome has several, Paris has a famous one, and now Donald Trump is getting in on the act in Washington. Few of them can match the triumphal arch you have to pass under when you enter Slaithwaite in West Yorkshire. Here's a photograph I took the other day just in case Washington wants to copy the design.

This Is My Space

 

I know that look; I know that stance. This chap might be in a shed surrounded by pots of this and jars of that, and I might be in my room, buried under piles of paper and layers of ephemera. The message is the same, however: "This might look like chaos to you, but I know where things are. This is my space. Keep out."

Geometric Ramblings

The cubist painters of the early twentieth century revolutionised art by breaking objects down into geometric, fragmented forms. If Picasso, Georges Braque, and the rest had wanted a real challenge, they could have done a lot worse than coming to Halifax and applying Cubist techniques to Square Church. Once they had finished they could have popped in for a pint at The Triangle Inn.

Up Gog Hill

 

This is a photograph I took at the bottom of Gog Hill in Elland about fifty years ago. Because my in-laws were living near the top of Gog Hill at the time, I assume I was about to walk up the hill - which is a substantial climb at the best of times. Of course, the sun always shone in my youth, so we can assume it was warm. I considered retracing my steps yesterday but quickly abandoned the idea and stayed inside instead.

A Nice Collection

 

This postcard was sent from Budapest to North Wales 126 years ago, during the height of the early twentieth-century postcard-collecting boom. It dates from the period before the postcard backs were divided to accommodate both the address and the message, so any message had to be squeezed onto the front of the card. No problem - after a century and a quarter, the message becomes more interesting than the view.

Bank Holiday Monday

 

What better way to celebrate a Bank Holiday Monday than to stride across the green fields of Yorkshire, leaving the smoke-filled streets behind, and then scale the gorse-clad valley sides in search of a perfect English pub and a foaming pint of ale? Or, alternatively, you can retreat to the safety of your room - free from UV rays and stinging wasps - and tidy up a 56-year-old photograph of the green fields of Yorkshire (the Shibden Valley, actually).

Shared Art

 

These days, if you buy shares in a company, the best you can expect is a pro-forma PDF digital certificate - with all the elegance of a breeze block. Back in the last century, you'd receive a work of art to record your acquisition, with classical figures and semi-naked gods welcoming you into the realm of capitalism. I bought my share certificates as a job lot for a few pence: devoid of property, rich in art.

Waiting For The Cable To Drop

 

This is an old photograph, picked at random from the boxes and drawers of old photographs I live with. There is nothing special about it - I have no idea who Mac and Burbidge were - other than that it sums up everything I love about old photographs. I could no doubt feed it through an AI machine and it would come out looking clean and new ... and somehow false. It's the sepia patina of time that makes it special.

Temple To Steam

 

While we’re on the subject of ancient monuments (see yesterday’s post), what about this fine obelisk? Built as a temple to Steam, the god of industry, it was worshipped by thousands of acolytes who would gather in its shadow daily. Mill chimneys are the monolithic heads of West Yorkshire.

Them And Us

 

Down south, if they find a load of standing stones, they declare it an ancient monument and charge people £30 to look at it. Up north, we simply assume they're there to stop the cows from wandering out of the field.

Waves And Hills

 

I think this photograph of mine of Elland dates from the early 1980s, but I can't remember the exact date (oh, how I wish we had metadata back in those pre-digital days). The theme is timeless: waves of stone-clad industry washing up against the natural Pennine hills. I still travel up and down those steep roads several times a week. Timeless.