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A Camera in the Dales: A Photographic Record

A Camera in the Dales: A Photographic Record

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A Camera in the Dales: A Photographic Record

Longitud:
115 página
1 hora
Editorial:
Publicado:
Aug 22, 2000
ISBN:
9781469797854
Formato:
Libro

Descripción

When he gave up smoking in the 'fifties, John Moore was able to buy a camera with the money he saved. This book, with its 56 monochrome photographs of the Yorkshire dales and dales life, is the result! The book is more than a colourful survey of the dales it is a potted history, for many anecdotes, picaresque characters and old customs are captured here through the lens of the camera and the sensitive mind of the author. The reader will be taken back not only to the days of Lady Anne Clifford, to the days of the carthorse and the blacksmith, but will witness the passing of the steam railway and the changing seasons in what must be one of the most beautiful parts of England.
Editorial:
Publicado:
Aug 22, 2000
ISBN:
9781469797854
Formato:
Libro

Sobre el autor

John Moore (1907-1967) was a British author and pioneer conservationist. He was born in Tewkesbury, Gloucestershire in 1907 and died in Bristol in 1967. His most famous work was Portrait of Elmbury, published in 1945, about life in Tewkesbury in the early 20th century. This work, along with Brensham Village and The Blue Field, formed part of the 'Brensham Trilogy'.Most of his books had a rural setting and long before conservation came to mainstream media attention he wrote about the effect of technological advances on the countryside and rural life.

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A Camera in the Dales - John Moore

Record

All Rights Reserved © 2000 by John Moore

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Published by Writers Club Press an imprint of iUniverse.com, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse.com, Inc.

620 North 48th Street Suite 201

Lincoln, NE 68504-3467

www.iuniverse.com

Photographs are by John Moore.

ISBN: 0-595-12892-0

ISBN: 978-1-4697-9785-4 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Dedication

Epigraph

Foreword

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

About the Author

Dedication

To Myra, a frequent companion during my photographic excursions, and without whom this book would not have been possible.

Epigraph

Beauty is God’s handwriting (Seen on a wayside pulpit.)

Foreword

It was by mere chance that I took up photography. The anti-smoking campaign was not heard of then, but as smoking appeared to be troubling my stomach I was thinking of giving it up. I discussed it with my wife Myra and she said, Put away the money every day which you save. So I did. I stopped smoking and put the money away every day. Although cigarettes in the ‘fifties were much cheaper than today, it wasn’t very long before I had £20 in my little box.

John Moore

When he gave up smoking John Moore was able to buy a camera with the money he saved. This book, with its 56 monochrome photographs of the Yorkshire dales and dales life, is the result! The book is more than a colourful survey of the dales—it is a potted history, for many anecdotes, picaresque characters and old customs are captured here—through the lens of the camera and the sensitive mind of the author. The reader will be taken back not only to the days of Lady Anne Clifford, to the days of the carthorse and the blacksmith, but will witness the passing of the steam railway and the changing seasons in what must be one of the most beautiful parts of England.

Charles Muller

1

The meadows were a blaze of buttercups when I had my first glimpse of the dales. It was one of those narrow dales where the fields rise steeply from the road and where whitewashed farmhouses tuck snugly into the hillside. For years I had lived within fifty miles of the dales, yet I had never seen this unique countryside.

A few years later my wife and I bought a small business in a small dales town…Hawes, at the head of Wensleydale. Here we saw the dales in their many moods as we lived and worked among the dales folk for over twenty years.

Duerley beck runs through Hawes. It drops over a small waterfall right against a shop built out of the beck bottom. This is where we lived when we first came to Hawes. Most of the time the fall sounded like a kettle boiling gently, but when there was a flood it roared; and when the rocks started rumbling over the solid limestone bottom it was more like thunder!

A little upstream from the waterfall the beck once turned a mill wheel. The outside of the building is very much as it was but the inside has been converted into modern flats. In summer, visitors often line the bridge a few yards downstream, watching the fish in the lucid pool below the fall. On the other side of this bridge there used to be another mill; since no building or space is ever wasted in Hawes, this is now the Conservative club. I found an old photo of this mill wheel taken more than seventy years ago: though the wheel has gone, very little has changed.

Water Wheel in Hawes at the turn of the century—and as it is today.

Half a mile upstream from the waterfall is the tiny village of Gayle. Although so close to Hawes, it has always clung tenaciously to its own identity. It’s a closely-knit community whose inhabitants regard Hawes just down the road as virtually another country. I remember an old lady who moved to Hawes from Gayle; when I asked her if she had settled in her new home, she replied, Oh no, the folk aren’t like the Gayle folk—as if Hawes were a hundred miles away! There was a time when they had their own football team and billiards team; also, any Hawes boy who

was so bold as to come courting a Gayle girl was promptly chased out of the village!

The bridge is the focal point of the village. If the weather is reasonable there will always be two or three villagers chatting there. There’s the story of a stranger who once asked a man on the bridge if he could tell him where Richard Iveson lived. Now there are an awful lot of Ivesons in Gayle—known mostly by their nicknames, a not unreasonable state of affairs, really, with so many people of the same surname. Well, the Gayle man went through all the Ivesons in his mind and confessed that he couldn’t place this particular one. As the stranger turned to go, however, he exclaimed, Wait a minute, that’s me!

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