Phil Moss and Photography

Apologies for the absence of a posting yesterday but I’ve been ill for most of the last week and my pre-scheduled posts ran out. I’m up and about again today. I’m determined to be better for the week-end because GB is coming to visit. And I’ve got a parcel to unpack – it arrived on Tuesday – a month early. It’s my birthday present from GB but at my age I think I’m allowed to open it early. And with GB being here for the weekend we can both have a play with it. It will be an approriate time to do so because one of our best family friends was a keen photographer and he died twenty two years ago tomorrow.


Tomorrow I have my scheduled post of the Friday My Town Shoot-out so I shall use today’s post to mention a great family friend who died on 25th September 1987 at the age of 76. His name was Clarence Albert Moss but he was known as Phil – a name he adopted when he entered the army for the Second World War. I think he decided that Phil was a more acceptable name to his army buddies than Clarence or Albert.


Phil’s wife was mentally ill and he cared for her unstintingly for many years but from the early 1960s onwards he managed to ‘get away’ for a fortnight each year, holidaying with our family. We went to the Lake District, Scotland, North Wales, Mid-Wales, Devon and Cornwall and on a tour of the South of England.


Like Dad, GB and I Phil loved photography and poor Mum had to pose for all of us! Here are Dad, Phil and Mum on the top of Blencathra in the Lake District (obviously after the mid-1960s when GB started to holiday with his partner).


Whenever Phil put on his boots and we headed up the fells he would display his wonderful red socks about which we kidded him on many an occasion.


Mum also got in on the act and photographed the menfolk a few times – first of all on her little Kodak Box Brownie and then on a slightly (but only slightly) more sophisticated camera. That is Dad, Phil and me on Haystacks - one of my favourite little fells in the Lake Distruct.


Here is Phil with Mum in Llanrwst. He is looking after Bryony and Helen while Mum is enjoying herself and I'm just taking photos!


This was Phil on a very wet holiday in Ambleside around 1964. It rained very day so by the end of the week we’d played quite a few games of darts.


This photo was taken by Phil around 1961 and shows GB, Mum, myself (not looking overly happy!) and Dad. (Note the square format of his 2¼ inch square film.) You can find out a little bit more about Phil on an earlier blog posting of mine.


 

Songs to which I am allergic

All of us have our favourite songs but what about songs you dislike intensely; your pet hates.

Many years ago I compiled a series of fifty audio tapes of my favourite pop songs. I’m not sure how many songs that is but I imagine about 700 or so bearing in mind that pop songs were generally a lot shorter in the 60s than they are nowadays. One day I shall hunt out those tapes and see if I can compile a similar selection on the computer. If I do so I may comment on some of those which I love and which had a life-changing effect upon me for one reason or another.

In the meantime I thought I would share with you the story of why three songs are never likely to make it onto a selection of my favourites. These are my pet hates; the songs to which I am allergic...

The first is “Home on the Range”. Based on an 1873 poem by Brewster M. Higley the song has appeared in many films. I assume it was its popularity in the 1948 film "Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House" (where it was sung by both Cary Grant and Myrna Loy) and the 1946 Western film "Colorado Serenade " (sung by Roscoe Ates) that led to my teachers choosing it for an end of year concert at Prep. School. We had to dress up in cowboy costume (not great hardship); walk on stage (slightly more of a hardship for a shy six year old); and sing it (total and utter horror for that shy six year old!). Every time I hear it I am taken back to that horrendous experience. I have no singing voice and never have had - unless protected by 60,000 like-minded Liverpool supporters singing ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ at a football match. So the idea of singing was awful. Added to which I had great difficulty memorising the words. Needless to say, once the event was over I could recall every word and the whole song has stayed with me ever since and even fifty odd years later I could sing it in my sleep. So, very sorry Kansas folk, your state song brings me out in a rash.

The second – with only a brief explanation – is “Sugar Sugar” by the Archies. This saccharine sweet ‘bubble-gum pop’ song from 1969 was at the top of the charts for eight weeks and apart from the fact that I didn’t like it I also associate it with a girl I was going out with at the time. Disastrous relationship, disastrous song – need I say more.

The third song is “Remember you’re a Womble”. For those who don’t know (Oh fortunate people!) the Wombles were a mid 1970s’ novelty pop group featuring musicians dressed as the characters from children's TV show The Wombles, which in turn was based on the children's book series by Elizabeth Beresford. Songwriter and producer Mike Batt wrote the series' theme tune, and went on to perform and produce a number of highly successful albums and singles as The Wombles. In 1974/5 I was a branch librarian at one of the tougher branch libraries on Merseyside and the Library Department’s Children’s Division had the bright idea of popularising the library service by having a visit from The Wombles. They had reckoned without the hundreds of groupie-like children and parents who would turn up as an uncontrollable mass and turn the library upside down even before the group arrived. Meanwhile, the group drove up, saw the chaos and raced away never to be seen again leaving us to explain their absence to a horde of irate children and adults. For years after one only had to mention the name ‘Womble’ and I would lie on the ground foaming at the mouth and beating my head against the earth.

In fact, just writing that makes me want to go and lie down; so if you’ll excuse me...


 

Happy Monday - Mirror Meditation

Another extract from the wonderful little book “The Little Book of Complete Bollocks” by Alistair Beaton. This time it is advice on ‘Mirror Meditation’:-

“Sit down in the lotus position, facing a full-length mirror.
In complete silence, stare at your own face in the mirror, without blinking.
For three or four hours, nothing will happen.
Persist.
After four to six hours, the face in the mirror will start to roll its eyes and its tongue will flop out of its mouth.
Do not be alarmed – this is perfectly normal.
Persist.
After seven to eight hours, the face in the mirror will suddenly become distorted and appear to be screaming. Do not be alarmed –p this is perfectly normal.
Persist.
After eight to ten hours the face in the mirror will come to meet yours. It will feel as if you are bashing your head repeatedly into a glass object.
You will now find yourself in an altered state of consciousness.
This is known as unconsciousness.
It is followed by another, higher state, known as hospital.


 

Another Award - this time it's local!

Each Sunday I give an award to one of my favourite blogging photographers. (The award is in no particular order so please don't feel left out if others precede you!)

The recipient is welcome to display the award on their blog but is equally welcome not to do so. There is no passing on or writing deep secrets necessary. It is simply an acknowledgement from me of how much I have appreciated the person’s photographs. This week I am awarding it to Julie - the Compulsive Worrier.

Julie, a local librarian, has branched out in recent times to taking wedding photos and I have been very impressed with the ones that she has blogged.
As examples take a look at this black and white one (click to enlarge it); this New York shot or this portrait of one of her daughters.

If you visit her website you will see plenty of examples why I’d be more than happy to book her for a wedding!


 

At this moment

Nan of Letters from a Hill Farm introduced an occasional posting idea called ‘At this moment’ based on the idea of what she was doing at a particular moment. It is an exercise in awareness.

This is my first attempt at it...


When it was: Saturday morning.

Where I was: On the two-seater settee in the conservatory.

What I was doing: Some embroidery.


What I saw: Jo in the chair opposite (note how she’s vacated it once the camera came out!), the garden outside the window, the occasional bird on the bird table.

What I heard: Jo reading out crossword clues, the faint sound of traffic from the main road, occasional bird cheeps from a baby Greenfinch, a plane overhead, and the odd thump as a Wood Pigeon landed on the conservatory roof.

What I smelled: Sandalwood Incense

What I tasted: Morning coffee made with lashings of cream (before the doctor tells me off again on Monday) and plenty of sugar.

What I felt: Cosy and contented (not counting the occasional needle prick as I missed the embroidery and got my finger instead).