It's quite rare for early photographs to feature people in their working clothes. Whilst working people had their photographs taken, visits to photographers' studios were occasions when you wore you "Sunday best". I don't know what the origin of this particular photograph was (other than it was taken in the Oxford Electric Studios in Cardiff) but it makes me think of that wonderful book by Robert Tresses, "The Ragged-Trousered Philanthropists".
Sometimes memories are like that: out of focus, lacking in detail in some respects, overcrowded in others. You might not remember where or when or even who, but you remember the bend of the body and the pragmatism of the lettering. You dodge the puddles as you walk back in time.
Halifax has more than its fair share of underpasses. These concrete arteries date from a time when roads were king and pedestrians were corralled down stairs and ramps so as not to get in the way of passing petrol donkeys. Many now are dark, intimidating places full of litter and odours you are better off not identifying. Some, however, are impromptu art galleries just waiting to be visited.
No comments:
Post a Comment