A Contented Pig

 

I met this splendid fellow yesterday during a visit to the Pigs In The Wood Animal Sanctuary in Scissett, Huddersfield. When I asked him to smile for the camera, he delivered a look of such contentment and satisfaction that it was a pleasure to behold.

The Celebration

 

This photo has been in that suitcase of memories I call the "family archives" for as long as I can remember, and I always assumed the cake was celebrating the birthday of one of my relatives born in 1851. On closer inspection, it doesn't say 1851 on the cake - it says 85. Given that the photo must have been taken around 1920, that means I'm looking for someone born around 1835. I haven't found her yet.

Revealing Dress

 

You can have great fun with artificial intelligence by asking it to transform a familiar picture of your favourite relative into an image of a 19th century Victorian gentleman - or whatever you like. More revealing, though, is taking a century old studio portrait and using AI to dress the subjects in modern clothing. My photo is a 1916 portrait of my grandparents and my mother (the little girl at the front). Put them in modern clothing, and suddenly I see my granddaughter.

Long And Winding Path

 

It's the end of the month, and here is a path leading somewhere - but who knows where? Whilst this is true in a literal sense (I have no idea where I was when I took this photograph nearly half a century ago), it is also true in a wider, philosophical sense. Perhaps May will bring peace and understanding. Alas, I'm not particularly optimistic that it will.

Dirty Old Town

 

I frequently met my love by these gas works walls; they were opposite the carpet mill where I was working at the time. Around then, I may have walked a little way up Old Bank in Halifax to take this photograph. In many ways, I suppose it was a "dirty old town", but it was my town and my home.

The Maid And The Watchers

 

This photograph, which I suspect dates from the 1920s, was in an old album I bought on eBay. The first thing to capture your attention is the maid, enjoying a moment of freedom - or sunshine - before returning to her duties in the big house. Then you notice the watchers. Who are they? And who are they watching - the maid or the photographer? There's half a novel in this one little photograph.

The Sirens Of The Gas Works

 

I know what you're going to say - you're going to say, "You cheat; you've used that photo on your calendar before!. What about 1st August 2024?" . It is not the same image, however. Throughout my life, I have been drawn to Bank Bottom in Halifax, like Canaletto was drawn to Venice and Cézanne was captivated by Aix-en-Provence. The sirens that inhabited Halifax Gas Works lured me there again and again - on this occasion in 1970.

The Quiet, Rhythmic Beauty Of Cleethorpes

 

There is a quiet, rhythmic beauty to the seaside that only reveals itself when the tide retreats, and this photograph captures that fleeting interval with striking architectural precision. The image is framed through the industrial skeleton of a Victorian-style pier, using the heavy, dark ironwork as a literal and metaphorical lens through which we view the expansive shoreline of what appears to be a British coastal town. (AI wrote that, I didn't)

What's In The Parcel?

 

This is a picture of my Uncle John and Auntie Doris, taken 75 years ago. I have lived with this picture all of my life - seeing it as a child, sticking out of crumbling photo albums; as an adult, confined to cardboard boxes of family memories; and as an old man, where it has become an exercise in scanning and saving. One unanswered question has stayed with me all that time: what on earth was in that brown paper parcel?

Faique News

 

When I was in Anglesey a couple of weeks ago, I was reminded of those wonderful paintings by Alfred I. Faique. He managed to capture the very essence of the coast so well, which must surely be a sign of a masterly artist.

Smokescreen

 

A photograph of mine from back in the days when smoke and steam swept through the ginnels and industrial waste dyed the becks and brooks. It was taken from Old Lane in Halifax, looking towards the then-mighty Crossley's Carpets Mill. Most of the buildings still exist - the smoke and the steam are long gone.

Under The Tram-Lines

 

I'm quite fond of this photo of mine - fond of the combination of brutal straight lines and sensuous curves, and fond of the way your eye is taken on a tram-ride of a journey through the scene.

Let's Face It, AI

AI-driven image restoration programmes are undoubtedly getting more sophisticated, and their use is clearly much more widespread than in the past. However, I still have reservations about how they treat faces. That little extra smoothing and additional touch of colour too often seem to change a recognisable face into something indistinct and slightly foreign. Interestingly, my AI-driven facial recognition software failed to recognise the AI-rendered restored image of Uncle Harry in today's photograph.

Industrial Memories

 

My less-than-comprehensive negative filing system has this one listed as "Industry, Sheffield, 1980". I have a vague memory of taking the photograph, so I shall call it "Industrial Memories". I like a good chimney, whether it be a West Yorkshire mill or a South Yorkshire chemical works. Give me a good chimney and a bit of smoke, and I'll take a picture.

Pub Of The Week - MacSorley's, Glasgow

 

This week, my selfless and altruistic campaign to keep the great British pub in business took me north across the border to Glasgow. It was, of course, necessary to sample a good few contenders, but my nomination for Pub of the Week goes to MacSorley's on Jamaica Street. Built on the site of a former pub at the end of the nineteenth century, it is today famous for live music on most nights of the week. It's a pub like a pub should be.

In Search Of Art

There sometimes comes a point when old photographs become more than just a historical record or a family memory and instead blossom into works of art in their own right. Sometimes this is obvious; other times you have to search for it within the very fabric of the image. Once found, the effort is always worth the time spent.

Glasgow Days

 

Some years ago, I acquired a small collection of glass negatives - photographs taken in and around Glasgow between the early 1920s and the mid-1930s. Today’s image comes from that collection and shows the University of Glasgow and Kelvingrove Park. It feels especially fitting, because I’m travelling up to Glasgow today to spend a few days in the city.

Shoulder Of Mutton

 

In a single handed attempt to save the fortunes of that threatened institution, the British Pub, I have decided to embark on a series of visits to public houses. Where better to start than the splendid Shoulder of Mutton in Northowram, the village where I grew up? Spreading over three adjoining buildings, parts of the pub date back to the early seventeenth century, and it also incorporates the eighteenth century Priestley Hall. 

Memory Road

 

This is a scene I am so familiar with that I can almost physically feel its presence just by looking at a photograph. And it doesn't matter that it was taken half a century before I crossed this road - on my way to school, to the bus, to visit friends - or that many of the buildings have changed and some no longer exist. I can still look at this photo and see my future. I can still walk along this road today and feel my past.

A Grand Place

 

I started the week in Anglesey, and today's picture is from that time. So many things seemed to come together, to merge together and to mix together: winter and spring, sun and storms, the wild hedgerows and the concrete highway. It's a grand place, and it has left me with a strong desire to return.

Albert And Gladys

 

This is a photograph of my parents, Albert and Gladys Burnett, which must have been taken just under a century ago (it makes me feel old just writing that!). In his 20s, my father was a keen cyclist, whilst my mother was more of a reluctant one. By his 30s, he had graduated to motorbikes, and by his 40s it was motor cars. Whatever his age, when the sun came out, he would want to be out on the roads of his native Yorkshire. The sun has come out, and I'm thinking of him.