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Some Portrait Examples

TPP — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 11:49:14 +0000

About to see if I can garner some support to make a series of portraits. It’s all a bit under the wraps at the moment, with a proposal being written for circulation and some people to see, starting today. The above are a few examples from the HD that will allow people to see roughly the kind of work I’m proposing to do.

This is the link to the slideshow on a new page. That’s Wayne. His portrait is an example from the slideshow for the people who can’t see Flash in their browsers: iPhone users and whatnot.

Wish me luck!Similar Posts:

Volunteers and The Lumleys

TPP — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 21:41:15 +0000

Arthur COATES, born 27 Jun 1904 in Willington Co. Durham, died 21 Oct 1969 in Willington. He married Cora Lina LONGSTAFF, married 1925 in Durham District, born 1902 in Co. Durham, died 10 Aug 1981. They had 12 or so children, the eldest my father. Arthur and both oldest boys were coal miners, but that is only part of this story.

Arthur’s parents were George William COATES, born cir 1881 in possibly Crook, died ?. and Margaret Hannah LUMLEY. They were married 1901 in Lanchester District. Margaret was born 1883 in Darlington.

Margaret’s parents were Christopher LUMLEY, born cir 1845 in Burnley Lancashire, died ?, occupation carpenter. He married Ellen MOSES, on 27 Dec 1864 at St. John’s in Darlington. The 1871 census has them in Seaham Harbour, Durham, and the 1891 Census at 22, Chapel Street Darlington, and the 1901 Census at 49, Durham Road, Esh.

Ellen and Christopher’s Children:

i Eliza LUMLEY, born cir 1866 in Seaham Harbour, Durham, died ?.

ii Mary LUMLEY, born cir 1867 in Stockton Durham, died ?.

iii John LUMLEY, born cir 1869 in Stockton, Durham, died ?.

iv Frances Ellen LUMLEY, born cir 1872 in Seaham Harbour, Durham, died ?.

v James Christopher LUMLEY, born cir 1874 in Seaham Harbour, died ?.

vi Thomas LUMLEY, born cir 1878 in Darlington Durham, died ?.

vii Louisa LUMLEY, born cir 1881 in Darlington Durham, died ?.

viii Margaret Hannah LUMLEY, born 1883 in Darlington Durham, died ?. (She married George William COATES, married 1901 in Lanchester District.)

ix Robert LUMLEY, born cir 1885 in Darlington Durham, died ?.

The barely readable Census listings for Christopher and Ellen Lumley’s family has them living in Frances Street while they were in Seaham Harbour. According to baby Eliza’s date of birth, they were there from at least 1866 to 1874, so possibly a mere 8 years, maybe a year or so either side, but probably not earlier than 1864 or later than 1878. During this time, Seaham Harbour was at the beginning of its own industrial revolution. However:

The decade from 1871 to 1881 was one of almost continuous disaster for the ordinary people of Greater Seaham. It seems that no sooner was one tragedy over than another began. The Seaham Colliery explosion of Wednesday October 25 1871 occurred at 11.30 pm, otherwise the death-toll of 26 would have been much higher – by now the pit was employing 1100 men and boys. The shock was felt at Seaham Harbour. John Clark, aged 9, sitting on the surface in a cabin near the pit shaft, was blown 10 yards by the explosion. The force of the blast was such that many ponies were killed in their underground stables 1.5 miles away from the epicentre.

And:

A terrible storm occurred on December 17 1872. Newspapers of the time reported that six Seaham-based ships were lost with all hands but unfortunately they gave no names. It may be that dozens of Seaham men went to a watery grave but there is no record of who they were. The sea had not finished yet. On Tuesday June 26 1873 a dreadful boat accident took the lives of five men within hailing distance of the end of the pier…….

Both of those extracts are from one of the pages at Durham Records Online, a magnificent resource, thank you. It’s quite possible that by the mid 1870s the Lumleys had seen enough of all this tragedy. [Look who else was living in Frances Street around the same time? A Judson master mariner.]

Frances Street is named after Frances Anne Vane Tempest, who was married to the 3rd Marquess of Londonderry and recovered her wealth and her Seaham estate after ‘the old tyrant’ her husband died in 1854. Benjamin Disraeli visited her at Seaham Hall in 1861. He wrote:

…on the shores of the German Ocean, surrounded by her collieries and her blast furnaces and her railroads and the unceasing telegraphs, with a port hewn out of the solid rock, screw steamers and four thousand pitmen under her control…she has a regular office…and here she transacts, with innumerable agents, immense business – and I remember her five-and-twenty years ago a mere fine lady; nay, the finest in London! But one must find excitement if one has brains.

Frances Anne died on January 20 1865, well within the time that the Lumleys were in Seaham. Maybe baby Frances Ellen Lumley, born in 1872 in Frances Street was named after this major celebrity of the day, everyone’s paymaster.

So. One of my big projects of 2009 has been St John’s Square and its redevelopment. The Volunteer Arms (in the photograph above) is the only building that remains of Frances Street, the rest having been knocked down to make the library, bus station, Magistrate’s Court, Health Centre in the 1960s, all of which is now being demolished and rebuilt. There are some inspection contacts: the work has mostly been in 35mm. These night photographs taken in the snow are taken from what would have been the top of Frances Street.

And the Volunteer Arms’ gable end, the line of Frances Street:

The teens posed for the camera. Great spot for skateboarding, bmx-ing, rollerblading.

Of course, until today I didn’t know that I’d been standing in what once was the street where my great-great grandparents lived.

And on a completely different note, a Reading newspaper reports a photographer given an ASBO for photographing graffiti.

More St John’s Square from the contact sheets, and a new set in MF when this amazing weather clears and we get back to the diffused northern light we all know and love.

Please do let me know if you think you’re connected to any of these Coates/Lumley/Moses/Longstaff people. The full tree is on the internet somewhere. Or if you know any more about Frances Street and goings on around there in the 1860-70s. We’ll meet for a pint in the Volunteer’s Arms if you do.

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Dig Where You Are

TPP — Fri, 01 May 2009 16:53:48 +0000

A long time ago, Myra Connell wrote a short story about a woman sitting in a railway carriage imagining the lives of those around her and dreaming thoughts of turf and territory, of land and home, as the wheels sped through the countryside.

Of late there’s been a bit of a buzz about psychogeography. To some extent, all the very best of the modern wave of landscape photographers are telling their life stories, their autobiographies. Not the pretty picture landscapes, not the sunscapes or the stunning mountain views. Although perhaps them too, yes.

One wet day this winter last, in an attempt to find some of the houses where I used to live, a sudden storm blew gusty rain into my eyes and this piece was found, later.

As a representation of the house, of a certain style of suburban architecture, Google Street View surely does it better. But this day, this night, photographing on that corner, in that rain, is personal. This corner once looked upon, looked into my personal space, where I slept.

This is where I first heard that Diana had died, where one night I fell and knocked myself out cold on the staircase, where my son hit an emotional and traumatic high. Things happened. Big things, life changing. Irrevocably, unalterably, nothing would be the same. It was a house of the cusp, of the tipping point.

This one isn’t my house. I never lived here. It’s in Scotswood in Newcastle, where the council has torn down street after street of graceful Victorian terraces because it didn’t like their inhabitants.

I once lived in house like it, though. And its destruction is a better metaphor for digging where we all were then, than the other neat double-fronted with its grassy verge. One theory was that if you had a patch of grass between the pavement and the road in your street, then you’d really made it. Scotswood has all grass and all pavement now, and bright sunny days filled with emptiness. Nobody made it.

This is the first in an occasional series where I’ll dig where I am. It might be rooted in the now, or in place far off in time, or in geography. Like Myra’s train journey, we are not dependent upon a sense of place, but place might define who we are in some way, tangible and intangible.

We shall see.Similar Posts:

Small Can Also Be Helpful

TPP — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 12:38:37 +0000

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These Fields Were Once All Houses [2]

TPP — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 00:10:09 +0000

It’s a point-and-click digital, small size jpgs, ideal for the interwebs. Thought twice, then decided to put ‘em all up here. They’re heavily saturated in the originals, with a weird turquoise sky that can still be seen (desat) in some of them, and the characteristic non-grad white sky in others. Thankfully the synch button in Lightroom dealt the whole batch the same edit. It really would be too bad to have a camera that needed every single shot to be edited in some software or other. Camera colour has been disabled for now, until this is sorted out. It may be that the camera will not handle contrast properly, like most of the cheap point-and-click efforts.

There’s not much left of Scotswood, for some value of ‘much’. Probably 10 streets, give or take a corner shop or so. Will go back with a proper camera, whatever that is, but it’ll have to be soon.

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