Steve's Photo Site

Part 3: The Plans Take Shape

by Steve Wells

In which decisions are made and in which dreams of the future are discussed.

-o-O-o-

Later that week we gathered again in the bar of the Falling Plate Arms, John Quinton, Henry Bell and myself gathered again to check the quality of the landlord's beer. It was brewed on the premises in those days. You can still see the old brewery building, but it's a vegetarian tea room now.

Quinton was tall of his new camera. It took roll film so far as I can remember... but I wasn't listening. It's strange the way I switch off the moment anyone mentions equipment.

Henry interrupted my reverie. "Isambard, do you think the Pump Room would be suitable?"

"What?" I had been dreaming about blackfly and how to get rid of it and only heard part of the question.

"You know the Pump Room at Dumpington Spa."

"What about it?"

"For the exhibition. It's a very prestigious locale."

"Yes". interrupted Quinton. "rather, very, don't you know. but it is a tweeny, weeny bit large draughty: and several miles away."

"...and the roof leaks". I added. "There's no way I'm going to let that roof leak over my pictures."

Henry was not to be beaten so easily. "But its got style. All those columns and caryatids. it could have come straight from ancient Greece..."

"Actually, the plumbing did! what!" Quinton snorted at his own joke. "No. what we jolly well need is somewhere bold and new to welcome the new century - I say, did I tell you about my new camera?"

"Yes" said Henry and myself in chorus.

"Oh jolly good. what! Well 'seems to yours truly that what we need, don't y'know, is something to symbolise the coming age. The magnificent machine age where no-one will have to work because machines will do everything. For our exhibition we need something glorious like a Steam Powered Cotton Mill. Rather!"

"Coal Dust", said I.

"Smoke", said Henry'. "and anyway there aren't any Steam Powered Cotton Mills anywhere near here. This. I might remind you is Yorkshire. Here we make wool. Leave cotton to those red-rose half wits from over the Pennines... And before you ask. there aren't any steam powered wool mills either."

"There must be something steam powered". insisted Quinton.

"No". came the chorus again.

"Actually". I said "I've been thinking a bit myself How about the old stables up at the Hall. They're clean and dry."

Quinton looked at the ceiling as if to accuse me of a lack of imagination.

Henry pointed out that we wanted the mayor to open the exhibition and you can't invite mayors to stables - its just not done. I pointed out that Alfred Withersnach, this year's mayor was, in fact the owner of the county's largest knackers yard and would probably think a clean stable was a bit up market. Quinton, meanwhile, was off dreaming again.

"It's not just roll film. but you could use machines to wind the film on."

"Steam powered I suppose". said Henry with just a trace of irony.

"A steam powered film winder. Wow. Jolly Good! And for bigger cameras you could have a steam powered plate changer. Oh jolly good... you'd have to have a pulley with a long string round it connected to a weight..."

"I suppose the cameras of the future will be nothing like anything we can imagine." I was now off dreaming. Something to do with the ale at the Falling Plate Arms. "If you go right back to basics you only need a pinhole. Lenses are just an extra complication. Why, if you don't really need lenses. Perhaps the camera of the future won't have one... and perhaps we won't need chemicals. What a nice idea - photography without smells."

Henry' sat bolt upright almost knocking his beer over. The idea of photography without chemicals was calculated to hit a chemist just where it would hurt - in his wallet.

"While you're up". I said. "Your round."

"Rather!" said Quinton.

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