A Day in CLOVELLY 1983

This week's Sepia Saturday prompt is a small village in England, Clovelly. I visited Clovelly a long time ago. I went out of my way to find it after having seen photos in a UK brochure.

The year of my trip was approximately eighteen months after an auto accident on Hollywood Boulevard. I'd spent ten months in physical therapy and was in the midst of a lawsuit to try and receive compensation for my losses. I was also on the verge of going nuts. My stress level was as high as it could go and I needed to leave everything behind. Find a place where for a short time I could shake out the cobwebs and feel free of everything. Yeah, so…the trip sort of worked.

The three months before my trip I'd spent fighting walking pneumonia. By the time I got to England the worst of it had passed, but I still had a horrible sounding cough that would shake the rafters in many old English hotels. So the reality was that Clovelly was not the best choice for me being that no vehicles are allowed and it's a walk down a steep cobblestone street from the car park followed by an even more stressful walk back up the same cobblestone street to the welcoming front seat of my rental car.




The cat as I went downhill.



The night before venturing to Clovelly I'd stayed in Bude and had gone to a local bakery in the morning to buy a meat pie for a "picnic" in Clovelly. When I travel I'm cheap; otherwise I could never afford to travel.

So meat pie in my purse, camera in my hand, I began my descent into Clovelly. The going down was easy. No problems. No coughing or lungs heaving. I stopped into a shop to buy a 7-UP. I stupidly assumed 7-UP would be available in England. I was wrong. I always got sold some weird concoction that wasn't lemonade or 7-UP. Generally it was pretty dreadful, but it's what they had so I bought it. As I wandered around the shop, eyeing ice cream bars, the owner asked, "Are you here for the job?" I turned and looked at him wondering if he was actually talking to me. I'm figuring I look like a tourist. I reek of tourist. Apparently not. I looked like a local and he wanted to know if I wanted a job. I told him no and he said, "Pity." Now I'm not a person used to compliments, but I took that as one and it made me smile and walk a little straighter down the hill. (I was not walking straight coming back up.)




I got to the bottom of the hill and heard people having a grand time in the Red Lion Hotel, probably very nice meals. But that was not my destination. I was heading for the beach for my picnic. Ummmmm…this is the beach. Not what a girl from California is used to. But I settled down on the stones with my lunch and my can of soda. It took a bit of work to move the stones around just right so my soda would sit level enough to not spill. Everything was going along fine and dandy until a hornet decided it wanted my soda. Let's just say it looked like a mad comedy routine with me battling the hornet for possession of the soda. Some people leave their hearts in San Francisco. I left my soda in Clovelly.

It just screams picnic!










The same cat as I climbed uphill. She'd seen all of this before.





Having had enough of my picnic I headed uphill. It was a slow and very painful climb. I was leaning on posts, buildings, bushes…anything to keep me upright and moving uphill. Eventually I crash landed on a curb conveniently just outside the doctor's office. I was sitting there gasping for air when he came out with his black medical bag heading for an appointment. He was not expecting to find someone doing heavy breathing at his front door.

"Are you okay."

I could manage a nod and a wave of my hand.

"Are you sure?"

A smile, a wave, and a thumbs up. I think I probably got out "Yes, thank you" but I can't be sure.


The donkeys who kept whispering to each other and laughing at me.




And the nice lady who let the wild haired heavy breathing woman take her picture. Bless her.



Eventually I made it back to the car park and the rental car with the worst automatic transmission in the world. I sat for awhile just breathing before thinking, "Okay, now where?" In a little while I was back on the road to my next destination.

I'd like to say my health improved as the weeks passed, but the reality is a few days after visiting Clovelly I was staying with a friend at her digs in Oxford where I got a concussion on a low pitched ceiling. So the rest of my trip was cough two, moan two, and try to not die in any hotel rooms.

I'm late getting my post in this Saturday, but I finally found the slides and decided to share my story. It's rare I share anything from my life more than a few odd bits and pieces. This is just a slightly longer bit and piece.

_____

Tattered and Lost volumes 1 to 7 available at Amazon.

Donald and Betty in ENGLAND IN 1949

It's always fun to go through another box of slides from Betty Schnabel's estate. Her father, Donald G. Schnabel, traveled a lot and took thousands of slides; sometimes Betty traveled with him. In this case it was to England in 1949.

These are all black and white slides. I'll admit to not knowing there ever was such a thing. Their quality is not particularly good, but they do give the feeling of stepping back in time, only four years after the war.

The theme for Sepia Saturday this week is hotels. Below I give you a hotel. This is the Welcombe Inn located near Stratford-upon-Avon. This shot certainly doesn't make the place look particularly interesting, but click on this link and you'll be impressed.

Click on images to see them larger.



Betty and Donald visited Shakespeare's home while in Stratford-upon-Avon. Two chatty ladies with a pram would have never imagined they'd one day be shown to people around the world.



And here we have some folks considering a tour of Shakespeare's home. Looks like one of them wants to first lean in and see if it's worth it.



Betty and Donald also visited Kenilworth Castle. The second shot is labeled "Stables Kenilworth Castle 1949." Personally I think I could live quite nicely in the stables.





The strange thing about all of Donald's slides is that his wife, Louise, never seems to be in any of them. She died in 1972. Occasionally there are shots of his son, Donald Jr, who died this past year. Betty traveled with her father on several trips. Now, since I only have slides from Betty's estate I have no way of knowing what photographs her brother had or what became of them. He lived in Florida, Betty in California. The family images are doomed to never be together.

So I'll leave you with Betty in Stratford-upon-Avon in 1949. I can't decide if that's a feather in a hat or some strands of hair blown straight up. It doesn't help to see the photo larger. You can decide for yourself. Betty does not appear to be enjoying herself.



To see more photos taken by Betty's father click on his or her name in the links below.

THE QUIET ART OF READING from Tattered and Lost

Now that Christmas has passed, I can be a bit more vocal about my latest creation since those who received it as a gift won't have had their surprise taken away by a post.

Tattered and Lost: The Quiet Art of Reading is a book that came about during a dinner conversation when reading became the topic of discussion. Since the future looks questionable for finding vintage snapshots with the advent of everything being digital, and so few people getting actual prints made, I wondered what would happen to images of people reading actual printed material. Will the future be just shots of people staring at antiseptic digital devices? Will photos of people actually holding printed material become a novelty? The hunt was on for a new category; I do so love categories. I love to immerse myself in a subject. This was a really joyous one to collect with most photos from the U. S.,  but Germany, France, England, and Japan are also represented.




If you love reading, appreciate the time you spend reading, and recognize that there is a certain beauty in the act of reading, then I think you'll enjoy the vernacular photographs in this book.

The book is available at Amazon and CreateSpace.

A FOGGY DAY in London town?

I found this snapshot in an antique store. Though small in size I knew that once enlarged there would be something interesting. That's what I like about found photos. I've said before that you often don't see the details upon first look.

I often see other collectors, whether in books or online,  stating that they are presenting the shots at 100 percent size so that the viewer can experience what it was like to find the actual photo. Not sure completely how I feel about this because for me the image, the content of the image, is what's important. I want to be drawn into the image and I don't put as much value on the actual object I'm holding in my hand, which is often quite small. I think of the person that took the photo, what they saw at the moment they took the shot. They wanted to capture something that was before them which, let's admit, was not tiny. Obviously we aren't going to experience any of the found images life size, but we have the ability to enlarge them and look into the world, examine it for the details. 

I have no idea where this shot was taken, but for me it's full of mystery. From the details of the signage I'd say it was taken in England in the 40s or 50s. To the left is a sign "Gould Dispensing Chemist" which sounds very English, possibly Canadian. 

I find it interesting that all of the people are almost neatly grouped in a vertical which adds to the overall vertical feeling of the shot. The man about to disappear down the side street with the woman in uniform following behind. There are a lot of stories that could be spun about what appears here. I imagine a freeze frame in a movie while opening credits run, the music then fades, and this photo comes to life with all the people moving. Which one is the main character of the story about to unfold?