My turn to host Leanne’s Monochrome Madness this week. I thought it would be fun to explore those shots which, by accident, design, or clever editing, are monochrome in any colour but black and white. Let’s go…
Winter scenes can often offer opportunities. The camera often seems to re-register those – to our eyes -crisp white snowy scenes to muted greens and blues.
Some years ago, this church in Bamberg took my eye, its doorway saints ravaged by the weather, and presenting to the world as olde-worlde sepia.
Sepia again. It was a sepia-ish sort of day when I spotted this young herring gull in Newcastle.
And this cherry blossom? I had an afternoon of blameless fun playing with the special effects on my camera.
One day – quite a few years ago now – my grandson and I enjoyed ourselves at the Horniman Museum, where a tent was in place bathing us in a range of different colours. Here William is in blue – and inevitably- red, because who knew that eventually, the shot would find its way into Becky’s Squares challenge #SimplyRed?
We’ll finish off in the natural world again.
I think this final shot just about squeezes under the wire as monochrome. What can you show us?
Well, in among all the other acts, Ripon’s Theatre Festival included a few sets of Morris dancers – just as likely to be women as men these days. And they all flaunt terrific Headgear on their Heads. I mean… Hats. Here are a couple: and including two more in the featured photo.
Horses. I won’t show you show-jumpers, or mares with their foals in bucolic meadows. Here’s one waiting patiently for the 159 in Masham one evening as we were on our way to Photo Club. The last bus had left an hour and a half before. In truth, she was on the way to Appleby Horse Fair, an event that. although centuries old, isn’t as long-established as Morris dancing. This horse was one of dozens of horses and vardoes we see making their slow way there in the weeks before.
Let’s continue to be a little Olde Worlde. Here’s a House spotted last year in Vitré in Brittany, a town which boasts almost no other housing style.
Or shall we go for a little Hut in the grounds of Sleningford Old Hall, or a tiny House, fairies-for-the-use-of, in Nidd Hall?
Fairies make me think of other out-of this world creatures, as seen at Hallowe’en.
Not frightened yet? I can sort that out. Here’s the Hideous Head of a Gegant in Premià de Mar , and a Haunting Harridan from the Puppet Museum in Cádiz.
I don’t want to leave you quivering though. Let’s go back to Morris Dancing and Hats of course, and let the Slubbing Billys cheer you up. In black and white, and in Glorious Technicolor With Red Highlights for Becky’s #SimplyRed Squares.
The theme Dawn has chosen for this week’s Monochrome Madness is Transport. That’s a bit of a facer. I’m not the sort of person who ever thinks to take a shot of a car, or be part of a cluster round someone’s state-of-the-art motor bike. I only notice trains or buses if they’re late, and you’ll never catch me on a bicycle.
So my best bet seems to be a visit to the past, and a trip we took last year to Beamish, a wonderful open air museum, telling the story of life in North East England during the 1820s, 1900s, 1940s and 1950s.
The site is huge, and public (well, public to those who’d paid to get in) transport a necessity. We had fun popping on and off trams, trolleybuses, and single decker buses, and inspecting the bicycles of delivery boys.
My feature photo shows no trams and bikes. There are tramlines, but what it illustrates is the most common form of transport there is, world-wide. Shanks’s pony. I’m not sure if this phrase has spread as a description of walking beyond the UK, nor am I sure of its origins. There ARE various theories on the internet: but I believe none of them.
Here’s a gallery of all the transport we used as we explored this site.
Trams …
… and buses …
… and bikes.
And does a merry-go-round horse count as transport? My granddaughter thought so.
And here’s a final photo, as evening drew in, and people hurried onto whatever form of transport they could find to take them towards the car park, and their journey home.
This wasn’t the post I intended to make. But an accident turned into an opportunity..
Yesterday morning saw me with a friend, completing our tour of duty as volunteer Roaming Rangers in the Deer Park at Studley Royal. This involves doing a low-key census of the deer, looking out for noteworthy wildlife, answering questions from the public, and occasionally asking dog-owners to put their pets on a short lead, especially now, when female deer are busy giving birth. And I took my camera. Accidentally, I left it on black and white setting. But I find I don’t mind. I’ll share some of my images with you.
The featured photo shows the first scene we saw: red deer stags all sitting resting beneath the trees. This is their languid time of year, when they eat and rest, building up their strength for the autumn rut.
And here’s a stag; a young calf; and a hind with her calf.
We’re just about to change terminology, because we’re leaving red deer behind, and joining the fallow deer. The male is a buck, the female is a doe, and the youngster a fawn.
As we spotted fallow deer ahead of us, we all but walked into the youngest of young fawns, left sleeping by its mum far too near an – admittedly little-used – path. I snatched this photo, but we hurried away, not wanting to cause distress to the little creature’s mother.
Then we had a wonderful twenty minutes or so, staring across a deep dry valley much loved by the deer because of its relative inaccessibility, and watching a young fawn gambolling through the long grass, dashing back from time to time to see its mum.
And here are two typical does: one looks ‘normal’, but the white one is too. She’s not albino, but leucistic: she has reduced pigentation in her coat: it’s a pretty common variation – as is melanistic, where the opposite is true, and over-production of melanin leads to a black coat.
But I’ll leave you with a further set of silhouettes from those utterly relaxed stags.
For Monochrome Madness this week, Elke, of Pictures Imperfect, asks us for images which are naturally monochrome. Or in my case, accidentally monochrome. So it’s all about winter then ….
Not necessarily. Statuary answers very well. Here are two chaps seen at English Heritage’s archaeology store in Helmsley, North Yorkshire: and another at Rievaulx Abbey, all in North Yorkshire.
Or these, from door frames at the Modernista Casa Coll i Regàs in Mataró, Catalonia.
And birds against a reliably grey English sky:
Finally, an all too typical scene from a corner of an English farmyard. I make no apology for not removing the splashes of colour in this, or in my header shot.
I went to London last week. But it wasn’t all about seeing family. I enjoyed a few hours with Sarah of Travel with Me fame, and the day after that, walked part of the Thames Path. This route does exactly what it says, and offers you the chance to walk from where the river rises in the Cotswolds, to where it joins the North Sea: that’s 215 miles. Which must seem pretty small beer to most of you living outside the UK, but it’s our second longest river.
I opted for the stretch between the assertively twentieth century business district of Canary Wharf – along the north side – to Tower Bridge, before returning on the south side. A walk of some eleven miles.
I rather enjoy Canary Wharf. It’s high rise, everywhere. But there are – slightly self-conscious – efforts to make it human-friendly. I found sculpture trails, and massed plantings in an around the various waterways. There are parks, and even mini woodlands with water tumbling about in mini waterways. Even the public toilets are interesting, as my third photo here shows.
But then it’s the Thames Path. And the water’s edge round here means wharfs and warehouses: reminders of a time when London was an epicentre for receiving tobacco, cotton, sugar, coffee, tea, porcelain, silk ….: offering hard and poorly paid labour to thousands in the Docklands and industrial towns throughout England, trade and prosperity to many beyond, and slavery to many of those who produced the goods we were happy to import.
Now these warehouses – handsome buildings – are repurposed, often as sought-after apartments overlooking the Thames. I saw too pillars of rotting wood poking through the foreshore- evidence of once-upon-a time busy jetties and quays. There were even a few mudlarkers: hunters for souvenirs of London’s past as a settlement even back to Bronze age times. And always the contrast between old and new in a single glance.
I arrived at Tower Bridge just in time for a lunch time sandwich. The area is glutted with tourists, but take yourself only a few yards away down the path and you can have a bench with this view all to yourself.
I didn’t stay long near Tower Bridge, built in 1886 or the Tower of London, built in 1066, both log-jammed with visitors. But the contrast between the very old and the extra-new captured in this shot appealed to me.
It was time to head back along the southern shore. This was easier. My morning journey had been hampered by diversions as a giant sewage system was being installed along the route of the path. My return through the evocative-sounding communities, reminiscent of Dickens (Bermondsey, Rotherhithe) was straightforward. It was here that I learnt about Alfred and Ada Salter, both born into relative privilege, who over a hundred years ago, devoted ther lives to alleviating the tough lives of the poor in Bermondsey. Quakers, Alfred was an outstanding doctor who treated poor patients for free and imported into Bermondsey all the latest medical clinics and facilities, creating in miniature an ’NHS before the NHS’. In 1922 Alfred was elected as MP for Bermondsey, representing Labour. Ada devoted her life to the demolition of slum housing. She built a model housing estate at Wilson Grove, campaigned against air pollution as early as 1913, and on the London County Council carried through a programme for the beautification of all of London Borough parks, children’s playgrounds and tree-lined streets. She became the first female Mayor of London – and the first Labour mayor! They insisted on living amongst the poor they devoted their lives to, and in 1910, their only child Joyce died of scarlet fever: a tragedy they never got over. Alfred and Ada earned the unending trust, support and love from the community they devoted their lives to. Somehow though, I only seem to have a photo of the statue of Joyce, playing by the Thames. The Salters were, I think, the kind of couple to gladden the heart of Anabel, The Glasgow Gallivanter.
A little further along is another group: commemorating this time the intrepid band we call the Pilgrim Fathers. They were a group of English separatists – Protestants with extremely severe principles – who in 1620 sailed to America on the Mayflower to establish a colony where they could practice their religious ideas freely. Very bright sunshine made it impossible to photograph them easily, so you’ll have to make do with this one .
As I approached Canary Wharf again from the opposite bank, it suddenly occurred to me there is no bridge there. Aagh. Transport links from this side weren’t ideal for me. Cogitating my conundrum, I noticed signs for a ferry that would do exactly the journey I needed. Here is my saviour ferry boat. But salvation comes at a price. My two minute journey cost over £7.00. The ferry company knows a captive passenger when it sees one.
But I had a day filled with interest and exercise. And a plan. Over my next few visits to London, I’ll be walking the Thames Path. I’ll start from – not the sea itself. That’s too complicated. But at Crayford Ness. It’ll be unlovely: but interesting. From the Thames Barrier at Woolwich I’ll walk the river’s course through London. Using my son’s family’s home as my overnight base, my quest may end as London peters out. But we’ll see … Watch this space.
For this week’s Monochrome Madness, This week’s host Brian of Bushboy’s World has asked us to consider Street lights. I assembled a clutch of them, and realised that they all come from Spain.
The featured photo was taken one evening near our hotel in Seville. This next batch all come from Cádiz.
… and one of them is merely a shadow of a streetlight.
Off to Málaga now, just after Christmas.
Another one from Seville …
And the city I know best, Barcelona? Well, not a single night time shot. Instead, here are two taken in broad daylight.
Near the Arc de TriomfNear the Cosmo Caixa Museum.
I’m away for a few days, so this post, and the next few are scheduled. So – sorry – I may be slow in commenting, and even slower at reading your posts.
Today, it’s my turn to offer a theme for Leanne’s Monochrome Madness. And I’ve chosen Mirror.
‘Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?’ So asks the evil queen in the classic 1937 Disney film Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.
I haven’t used my mirror to find the answer to this question, largely because I haven’t got a magic one. But I have found some mirrors in a junk shop in Harrogate, reflecting both some of the goods on offer, and the Victorian street where you’ll find it. In fact the shop window itself serves as an extra mirror.
And here’s another street mirror, helping the motorist out into a busy road. And a car’s passenger-side mirror in Lancashire one winter’s morning.
Lee, LondonNear Ramsbottom, Lancashire
Let’s default to shop windows as mirrors.
Views in and out of a Barcelona groceryA view you’ve seen before of a bar in Newcastle
And the Baltic Gallery in Gateshead makes a ceiling into a mirror, while outside the VA in London is one in marble……
Water is an old favourite for a reflective surface. Let’s go to Studley Royal, Seville, a humble puddle in Masham, and the Leeds and Liverpool Canal in Gargrave.
…. and finally, an impromptu wintry lake mirror near home.
Oh, and finally finally, a bit of fun. Two little lambs spotted last week. Using a pre-digital film analogy, one’s a negative of the other. Not quite mirror images, but please don’t quibble when they’re so sweet.
Browsing through my photos of five years ago, it was soon clear that they were all local views. Scenes taken during my solo Covid Lockdown wanderings exploring every local path that I knew, and some that I didn’t. We’re limited by having a river near our house, with no local bridge. So instead of having a whole circle of walks at our disposal, it’s only a semi-circle. That didn’t stop me discovering woodland I hadn’t explored, hitherto uninvestigated quarries and farmland, secret tracks near the river. I didn’t always take my camera, because I preferred being ‘in the moment’ as I tried to identify birdsong, enjoying clouds, grasses, emerging blossoms and flowers.
And just one from our village, where families got busy confecting scarecrows celebrating all the keyworkers who kept on working while we all stayed at home.
From Pyrenees to Pennines 
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