Snapshots of a Camera

This week's Saturday Snapshot is really special to me because it shows my Father's old camera. Dad died nearly seven years ago, just before Christmas, and this camera lay hidden in a cupboard for a long time because I felt tearful every time I looked at it. But recently I took it out and prised it open, and made a little display on a shelf, a kind of memory corner, with a couple of shots of Dad holding the camera, and a few of the pictures he took with it, and a photo of him and Mum at their wedding.

It's a No 1 Pocket Kodak Camera Autographic model manufactured by the Eastman Kodak company some time between 1926 and 1932, and it must have been old he acquired it (he was born in 1922) but it was his pride and joy for many years, and he kept it long after he stopped using it. Other cameras came and went over the years, with assorted lens, filters and flashlights, but this one  outstayed them all, and it must have meant a lot to him because he hung on to it, even though was (and is) unusable without some kind of restoration work being carried out.


Personally I think the name is a misnomer, because you'd never fit this into a pocket - the leather case is around 2mm thick, and it measures about eight inches, by four inches, by two inches, and is quite heavy. 

The concertina bit that pulls out is actually called a bellows, and now lets in little pinpoints of light along its edges and points, so there's no way you take pictures, because any film put through it would almost certainly be badly fogged and damaged by light, but film is still available which would fit it, and I would love to know if it could be repaired.   

The original film, which is no longer manufactured, could be written on with a beautifully decorated metal stylus which looks like a pen or pencil and is clipped to the side of the lens. Apparently the stylus slotted into into a hole, and could be used to write the date on a film, or the place where a photo was taken, or the name of the person in it.  people could write the date on the film (there is a little hole at the back that the  

The photos taken on it were all black and white (I guess no colour film was available in those days) and they were quite small, and some of them seem quite fuzzy, but the camera is surprisingly sophisticated, with variable shutter speed and all kinds of features. 

Dad loved taking photographs. The more complex a camera was, the more he liked it, and he took everything very seriously, checking the position of the sun, and his light meter, and the distance from his subject.  Sometimes he spent so long setting things up that we all got fed up, and would wander off, but it was worth being patient because he took some beautiful photos when we were on holiday, and lovely portraits of my brother and I when we were young, and of my daughters when they were small (but not on this camera, of course). 

Anyway, now I have the camera on display I find I can look at it and smile at the memory of Dad taking his pictures and think of how much pleasure it gave him.

Saturday Snapshot is hosted by Melinda at West Metro Mummy.

Irish Memories

The Grianan of Aileach (http:://pdphoto.org Jon Sullivan)

WHEN I was a child we used to holiday in the north of Ireland (geographically that is, not politically). My grandparents moved to Donegal after the Second World War, setting up home on the Inishowen Peninsula, a magical, mystical place, cut off from reality by the water which surrounds it on three sides.

Up the road and a bit from my grandparents’ house was Malin Head (you may recognise the name from the Shipping Forecast), the most northerly point in all Ireland. There we sat on the edge of the word, huddled under a huge umbrella as we watched the rain sweep in from the sea, and my grandfather brewed tea on an antiquated Primus stove. On the beach granite and quartz pebbles glistened, their jewel-like crystals shining black and green and pink and red through the gathering gloom and mist.

It was this view of the past that came to mind while I was working on my latest OU assignment, showing how Irish nationalists used ‘created tradition’ to forge a national identity, and it made me re-examine my own my own memories in a completely new light and set them in a different context.

Take the Grianan of Aileach for example. Up the road and a bit less (everything in Ireland was measured like this) there it stood, an ancient stone ring fort growing out of the heather on top of Greenan Mountain, with the cold wind blowing around and over it. Once the seat of the royal O’Neills, it was, according to legend, blessed by St Patrick, who left his footprints behind when he paid a visit – but no trace of them could be seen on our outings, however hard we searched. One story says it was raised by the Dagda, the ‘Good God’ of the Tuatha de Danann, while another tale claims the Celts gathered here to worship their sun goddess. The truth is lost in the mists of time, but Neolithic activity could date back to 2,000 BC, or even earlier.

Even as a child I could sense the power and history of this place. It was (and, I hope, still is) awe inspiring: it’s a great, roofless, circular, stone fortification, with walls so thick the entrance is like a tunnel. Terraced steps and ledges, just wide enough to walk along, run around the inside of the wall, giving the most spectacular views. Look inland and you can see five counties stretched below you like a living map. Look seaward and you can see Lough Swilly to the west, Lough Foyle to the right, and beyond them the great Atlantic Ocean, with nothing between us and America. Inside the Grianan (http:://pdphoto.org Jon Sullivan).

In actual fact much of the Grianan is a reconstruction, erected in the 1870s by Irish antiquarian Dr Walter Bernard, who was concerned about the monument’s dilapidated condition. It was left in ruins as early as 1101, following a raid by Murtogh O’Brien, King of Munster, who ordered each of his soldiers to take away a stone from the fort. In the ensuing centuries more stonework disappeared, and the remains fell into disrepair, falling victim to age, weather and souvenir hunters - until it was rescued by Dr Bernard.

As a child I imagined him as a wealthy but dotty ‘gentleman’ antiquarian, passionate about preserving the past. That may well have been true, but the project certainly fits with the ideals of Ireland’s burgeoning nationalist movement, which was striving to create a national identity while calling for independence from England. To this end they ignored 700 years of English rule and focused instead on the period before the 12th century. Policies of Gaelicisation meant greater value was put on Ireland’s ancient buildings – the Celtic churches, round towers and Neolithic monuments which owed nothing to English culture but represented a golden age in Irish history, and boasted links with the mythical heroes and holy men of the distant past (Laurence A (2008) Ireland: The Invention of Tradition, in Moohan E (ed) Tradition and Dissent (AA100 Book2), Milton Keynes, The Open University).
The Grianan’s importance is shown because before Dr Bernard took personal charge of the reconstruction, nationalists were involved in repairs. In the early 1870s the Irish Irelanders spent Sunday afternoons working on the site, assisted by members of the Gaelic League and the Gaelic Athletic Association (Sean Beattie, Ireland in Old Photographs – Donegal, http://unknownswilly.orgfree.com/griananbernard.html).
Dr Bernard used information gained from his historical researches to recreate the Grianan by piecing together the tumbled stones from the collapsed fort – but since much of the structure was missing he augmented his supply of authentic material with other stones found around the area. This action, together with the actual nature of the restoration he undertook, has been questioned over the years, because some historians felt the end result was not authentic.

Almost a century later there was similar criticism of Professor Michael O’Kelly’s excavation and recreation at Newgrange. Over the years both men have been accused of compromising the truth with their interpretations of ancient remains, rather than simply stabilising the relics. In years to come new evidence may show their work was flawed: meanwhile their view of the past has helped shape the way we see Ireland and history.

This photo, from Sean Beattie's, Ireland in Old Photographs - Donegal, Bigger/McDonald Collection, shows workers at the Grianan of Ailech during reconstruction in 1878.

ALL BUTTONED UP

I HAD a glimpse of the past yesterday when I went to the doctor. While waiting for my prescription, I limped into the supermarket to buy milk and bread, when a lady said hallo and explained she recognised me from her days volunteering in the Oxfam shop. I used to go in and out quite regularly with The Daughters when they were small, hunting for treasures – for them and me.

I was amazed that she recognised me after all these years, and we had a pleasant chat, about charities, volunteering, daughters, and community life. How wonderful that she took the time and trouble to approach and greet me – it really gave me a boost.

And it brought back happy memories of The Daughters when they were small. In one charity shop Elder Daughter once discovered an old straw hat, decorated with artificial flowers and ribbons, and she wore it everywhere, on every occasion, whatever the weather – we have a photograph of her in the rain, clad in wellies (on the wrong feet – she had just learned to dress herself), dress, mac – and ‘The Hat’!

Younger Daughter was the Button Queen. Wherever we went she scoured charity shops for buttons. We amassed a collection of tins, jars and boxes which she would empty, then sort the contents according to her mood… colour, size, patterned, plain. She would count them out, devising strange games which the rest of us failed to understand.

But the buttons presented endless possibilities for play, learning and creativity.
They were used as counters, weights on scales and money in a ‘play shop’ stocked with empty cartons, unwanted toys and battered books. They were pressed into home-made playdough to create patterns; painted to produce printed designs; placed beneath paper for rubbings with wax crayons, and stuck to collages.

Additionally they were threaded on wool to make bracelets, necklaces and Christmas tree decorations, or stitched to offcuts of material, transforming the fraying remnants into colourful flower pictures which were hung in the kitchen, and brooches, which were fastened with safety pins.

However, the one thing I never did, unless absolutely unavoidable, was to replace buttons which fell off our clothes!

When I started this posting I intended to say ‘what a difference a day makes’, but ended up writing something completely different! Anyway, in just 24 hours most of the snow has gone and the temperature has risen so much I opened all the windows to let some fresh air in.

Perhaps spring is on the way after all.