In Praise Of Women
A pseudo-biographic novel
by
R.A.Brotherton.
Published by Bretwalda Books at Smashwords
copyright © R.A. Brotherton 2010
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ISBN 978-1-907791-41-3
Contents
Chapter 1 - of Serbian relations and old underwear.
Chapter 2 - of moving house and finding lost treasures
Chapter 3 - of an early life, military service and liberated goods.
Chapter 4 - of cold winters, warm evenings and romance.
Chapter 5 - of first times and proposals
Chapter 6 - of figure work, marriage and nudes.
Chapter 7 - of new people and businesses
Chapter 8 - of studios and dancing couples
Chapter 9 - of renewed acquaintances and new models
Chapter 10 - of false starts and horsey finishes
Chapter 11 - of horses and dance teachers
Chapter 12 - of over exposure, angry women and a date for a dance
Chapter 13 - of dancing in the garden, weddings, meals and young girls
Chapter 14 - of young girls, bath time and family times
Chapter 15 - on weddings, celebrations and a group
Chapter 16 - of the postman knocking and a new set of pictures
Chapter 17 - of Nurses and Crawling Felines
Chapter 18 - of students and other advertised models
Chapter 19 - of cleaners and hot days in the park
Chapter 20 - of lectures, questions and a group session.
Chapter 21 - of oil, dances and married women
Chapter 22 - of revelations, changes and bereavements
Chapter 23 - of changes and the end
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Chapter 1- of Serbian relations and old underwear.
“While you’re down there, would you like to make on old soldier happy?” The old man sat in his chair, his walking stick leant against the wall within easy reach. He was looking at the young care assistant, on her knees in front of him cleaning up a dropped cup of coffee. He watched the tight material of her navy uniform trousers emphasise the roundness of her shapely buttocks. As she worked to clean up his mess he could see that under the nurse like top she wore a tight white tee-shirt.
“Sorry what you say I could not hear very well?” She asked as she completed the task. “Take no notice of me I was just thinking of times past. It was just the ramblings of a silly old man” He replied.
“You not very silly and not very old.” She scolded him.
“I’m young enough to appreciate that lovely bottom of yours.” He said. “If I didn’t have a gammy leg, I would---” He said.
“You shouldn’t think about that.” She said smiling. “You are being very naughty. She smiled and gave a tinkling laugh. “You are a very naughty man.” She said wagging a finger at him. Then thinking of a reply she answered “I think that make you a ‘dirty old man’?”
He looked at her, his smile broadening, he said to her.
“That should be ‘makes’ not ‘make’.” He corrected then continued. “I am that, and always have been, and probably always will be, but it doesn’t make me a bad person. But I will say that what I said about you being beautiful, looking good, moving well and so on, is all totally true, and at judging that sort of thing I am an expert.” She looked at him again and then said,
“Is that you being a ‘dirty old man’ or are you joking again?” He put on a look of hurt pride.
“My dear, I am not being any of those things when I say what I did. I was a professional photographer and my speciality was women, young or old, big or small, clothed or not. I, therefore, count myself as something of an expert in that area.” She looked at him doubtfully again.
“I think you are telling me a long story.” She said.
“You mean tall story. It is not a story at all. Here on that shelf.” He indicated a shelf. “That album –the red one, – Yes. Open it at any page – what do you see?” She gave a little squeak as the book opened at a picture, it was of an attractive young lady sat astride a grey horse; she was obviously totally naked.
“Jedan go djevojka na konju” She replied, in her native language.
“I’m sorry I don’t understand.” He said.
“No No it is I who is sorry, I am not sure of the words – I think it is a young lady on a horse with no clothes; that is correct Yes?” She said.
“That is very nearly correct except it is the young lady ‘with no clothes’ not the horse, so it should be – ‘It’s a naked young lady on a horse’– That will be Lucy, Lucinda Parker-Smythe. Lift up the picture and details will be underneath.” She did as instructed and saw the name, a date and a location. Below that was a rubber stamp that showed:-
“What is my name?” He asked.
She thought, “Robert – Bellford – Oh! I see. You were telling the truth.” She said almost in amazement.
“Yes My dear I was Bellford Studio – I was a Professional Photographer.”
“I sorry I no believe you.” She said seeming genuinely sad that she had thought him a liar.
“When you were cleaning up after me.” He said. “I was looking at that beautiful bottom of yours. I tell you that it is as beautiful as any I have photographed. A quick look through that album will show you that I have seen many in all shapes and sizes, and yours is one of the nicest” He watched a blush spread over her face.
“Volja te uzeti moj fotografija?– err– will you my photograph make?” she asked I am sorry I got lifted away.” She said.
“Carried not lifted.” He corrected. “I’d love to.” He responded.
“I have a picture – I show you.” She got a small photo out of her pocket, it showed a family. “Lice od to be u prezentu moj majka pa otac pa tim biti moj braća.– That is my mother and my father and those are my brothers. That is me.” She said proudly pointing to the people in the picture. “I like to send a picture of me so they can see I am alright.” She explained.
“Not quite what I had in mind but ---” He mused.
“I come back when I not working and you photograph me – Yes?” She asked. The old man bowed a little.
“It would be a pleasure my dear, what day will you be back?” He asked.
“I am free Friday afternoon are you free then?” She asked.
“When am I not free in this place?” he asked.
“You should not be so grumpy,” she said. “You very nice when you happy.” She said “I see you on Friday – don’t you be naughty now.” She continued.
“Okay I not be naughty now. I be naughty on Friday.” He said smiling broadly. She wagged a finger at him and tut-tutted. Then laughing she left.
He watched her pert figure disappear from his flat. He dragged himself over to the bookcase and replaced the album. Then he limped to his bedroom and he took from his wardrobe an old and well worn camera bag. It was heavy, worn and bore the scars of a long and adventurous life. He turned and placed it lovingly on his bed. He sat on the edge of the bed, opening the case he removed a battered Leica IIIb, he blew some dust from it. He took out a small brush from the case and dusted the camera – he opened it to clean the inside. He removed the lens he dusted that, then all the equipment in the case. His hands caressed the worn metal of the equipment belying their gnarled appearance they moved expertly and with extreme love over the worn metal.
“Shit – I need film.” He said out loud to himself. He went to his bookcase and in ‘Yellow Pages’ looked up an address. He phoned a taxi. He struggled to put on his coat on, and was just going to the door when the bell rang it was his taxi. He struggled down to the lobby and into the taxi. He gave his instructions to the driver. He arrived at the shop. He told the driver to wait. He limped into the shop.
“Can I help you, Sir?” asked a well dressed assistant who looked at this limping old man.
“I would like 10 rolls of 35mm 36 exposure FP3 please.”
The assistant looked down his nose at the customer. “They haven’t made FP3 for many years, Sir.” He sneered. “They make FP4 now.”
“Then if the speed is the same I’ll have 10 rolls of that.”
“Of course, Sir.” He placed the film on the counter.
“What have you got in colour film?” he asked.
“We have Kodak, Fuji, Agfa and of course our own brand.”
“What speeds have you got?” The old man asked.
“We have 100/21̊, 200/24̊ and 400/27̊. The 100 is the slowest and finest grain; the 400 is the fastest and has a very grainy appearance. The 200 is a compromise between. Which would you prefer ---Sir?” The old man looked at him blankly then.
“I would prefer that someone who wasn’t even born when I was earning a good living as a photographer would be less patronising just because I do not know of all the changes in film technology. I would also like 10 rolls of Fuji 400 ASA colour negative film 36 exposure 35mm size. Thank you.” The assistant looked stunned and after a short break placed the film on the counter. The old man paid with a credit card, gathered his purchases and left. Back into the taxi and home.
Back in his flat he had a rest, laughed to himself about the assistant. He was not so old, but his gammy leg made him seem much older than his years. He organised his room into a small studio, he cleared the detritus of his life and covered the bed with a cream satin bedspread as a drape. The walls, painted cream when he moved into the flat, would make a good background. He had his lunch and relaxed the afternoon away. He was feeling a lot better with his lot. The young care assistant had whetted his appetite for life, and photography.
As every day eventually arrives so Friday came and the morning slowly went. At 2.00 o’clock there was a short ring at his bell and he called.
“Come in.” The door opened slowly and the care assistant came in and closed the door behind her.
“Ja rečenoj Ja dogoditi se – I said I would come.” She explained. “No one saw me arrive.” She was smiling. “They would give me work if they saw me here today. But then I would do more hours than my Visa allows, and they send me home.”
He looked at her. “Are you short of money?” he asked.
“I have enough to live on, but more would be nice.” She said “Ja poslati većina moj zarada dom za Srbija– Errm – I send most back to my family in Serbia.”
“I will say something now that is meant to help but it may upset you. If you don’t like the idea, please don’t be upset, it is meant for the best. As you know I was a professional photographer. I used to pay for a lot my models – I paid a good rate. When I sold the studio I was paying nearly £20 an hour. Would you be interested?” She sat on the arm of his chair, “They only pay me £4 an hour here. What would I have to do?” She asked.
“Don’t get upset, but that is for figure work, full nude.”
“Ja ne misliti Ja mogao činiti taj---I don’t think I could do that.” She said.
“Why?” He asked. “I am not going to chase you round, my leg and age precludes that.” He said.
“You funny man. I never been nude with a man – I am a good girl.” He answered.
“If you weren’t I wouldn’t be interested in photographing you.”
“Let us take some photographs.” He said.
“Ipak nijedan konj – But no horse.” She said laughing. “Make it a very nice picture for my family, please?” She asked. They prepared to go into the make-shift studio.
“You no tell immigration I work for you?” She asked.
“No-one works for me I’m retired.”
She laughed. She gave him a quick peck on his forehead. They got up and went to the studio.
“If you would stand just about there.” He said pointing to the spot he had pre-arranged. She stood on it and looked at the camera. “Now I would like you to look this way– look at me.” He viewed her through the camera.
“This is a camera.” He said, “I want to take your picture this is not a firing squad. Relax – this should be an enjoyable experience. It will not hurt.” He said. He took a picture, but still she was tense. “Olga, what is the matter, you are so tense?”
“I do not know, perhaps I am a little shy.” She responded.
“Think of the naughtiest thing you have ever done?” He asked her. She was still for a moment and he noticed a slight smile creep over her face. He took a picture.
“That was better, what were you thinking about?” He asked.
“Te treba ne pitati mene taj---You should not ask me that, it is a secret.” She answered. But he had noticed that he had broken the ice with her. He gave a few more instructions and took a few more pictures. She was relaxing more now.
“I am going to be very naughty now. Would you take your uniform off, it is very cold and clinical and hides the fact that you are an extremely beautiful woman.”
“Činiti te oskudica mene za uzlijetanje svi moj odeća?---Do you want me to take off all my clothes?” She asked. He looked at her and with a big smile on my face.
“I only asked for you to take your uniform off.” He answered.
“I am sorry I am worried about being here with you.”
“Olga, my dear I am an old man, I have a dodgy leg. I would not do to you what you are worried about. I would not insult you by even making ‘passes’ at you. I am sorry you feel that way.” He feigned hurt on his face.
“Sorry Robert I no mean to insult you. I am just worried. Dobar Ja volja činiti to---I will do it.” He bowed gently to her. She undid her uniform jacket, and removed it from her shoulders. She had a tee-shirt on under it.
“You want the trousers off?” She asked.
“Not yet my dear. Let us make some pictures just as you are.” He said. They worked together and she responded to his instructions like – “Can you act a little coy – look down – raise your eyes, Lift your tee-shirt a little, – yes, that’s fine, – now a little more – can you hold the edge between your teeth – great.” And so it went on. Eventually they ran out of ideas so he asked her.
“If you would remove the trousers it would be great.” He busied himself with the camera, as she undid her trousers and removed them; He tried very hard not to look. When he heard her shoes fall on the floor he looked through the camera and saw a beautiful girl standing there dressed in a white tee-shirt, white pants and a pair of white socks on.
“All in white like that, you look just like an angel.” He said.
“I am a virgin.” She replied “I say I am a good girl.”
He took a picture of her standing there, he needed to go back to get all of her in. All the while he was taking pictures of her. He asked her to sit on the very edge of the bed and she did, more pictures were taken, each with slight variations on the previous one. She was really warming to the task now. He asked if she would sit further on the bed. She took up the pose. She was putting more into the poses and allowing her inner woman to show through. He asked her to sit cross-legged. He took more pictures of her. He thought he would try to push his luck.
“Would you remove the tee-shirt?” she was asked. She was quiet for a bit, she was obviously thinking.
“For you Robert – I do it, I do it all for you.” She said. She crossed her arms over her front, grasped the edge of the shirt and pulled it off, over her head and threw it out of range of the camera. As she did all this he continued taking pictures. As she threw the shirt to the floor by the door he ran out of film.
“Have a rest. I need to re-load the camera again.” He instructed her. She relaxed. He rewound the film into the cassette and changed it. He could not help but see her sat on the bed in a white bra, pants and white socks. He also noticed that her bra was worn and looked very tatty. He took new pictures of her with the new film. He asked.
“Do you think you could remove your bra?” She looked at him and smiled.
“I do it for you Robert. You want to photograph my tits? – I let you.” She said. As she removed the bra he watched her movements and photographed her. Dressed only in white pants and socks, she sat on the bed and gently massaged her breasts; it was more of a wiping action than a massage, which she stopped when she reached the neat small pink nipples which she pulled gently.
“You like them sticking out?” She asked. Turning herself slightly from side to side so he would get a good view of her now pert nipples.
“I like them any way you show them.” He replied.
“You are being a naughty man again.” She said.
He looked at her sitting on the bed naked apart from a pair of pants and an incongruous pair of white socks. It was not long before he had asked her to remove her socks then her pants, all the time he viewed her through the camera and taking pictures. She was surprisingly not very reluctant to take her clothes of. He took many pictures of her, the pile of used film mounting on his dressing table. The session ended with her lying on the bed, on her side facing the camera in a foetal position, with her knees up, as if in sleep.
“Are you tired?” He asked.
“Yes.” She answered, “It a lot harder to pose without clothes than I think.” He smiled at her.
“It hard to take pictures of a lovely naked girl.” He mocked her way of speaking.
“I sorry I no speak good English I try to learn at college.” She said looking a little sad.
“Why so sad?” He asked.
“Well I want to be better but I seem forget a lot of it.” He smiled at her.
“Go and get dressed and we will have a talk. By the way I noticed your bra was very old and worn. Look in that box under the bed you may find a better one in there. They came from my studio.” He said. She knelt down on the floor, still naked, and pulled out a large shoe box.
“In here?” She asked. He found it was very off putting as she was still totally naked.
“Yes. But not the black one that is one of my memories.” She opened the box and in it were tightly rolled, a number of bras and other articles of underwear. She quickly looked through and selected a white bra and slipped it on.
“This fits alright.” She said viewing herself in the mirror.
“Have it, it is better than the one you came in, and I have no use for it.” He said. Dressed only in the bra she came over to him and gave him a kiss. She carefully put the rest of the items back in the box. She looked at the black see-through bra and matching pants.
“These are lovely.” She remarked. Putting a hand inside the pants and looking at it through the sheer material. “They hide little.” She said.
“I know, they belonged to a friend and she wore them the first time she modelled for me.” He said. He looked out of the window to hide a slight wateriness that appeared in his eyes. She put them back in the box and quickly dressed.
“Našto volja te pokazivanje mene određeni član fotografija?---When you show me?” She asked.
“Next week.” He replied. “One big one for your family and the rest as proofs for you.” “I go home now. You pay me next week as well?” She asked. He looked at his watch.
“Two hours at £20 is £40 Okay?” He said.
“That Okay.” She said smiling. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon, thank you for the pictures and thank you for the bra. It is very comfortable. Please no tell other people I took my clothes of for you.” She smiled and came over to him and gave him a big kiss. She went to the door, opening it gently, looked out and slipped out.
“Vidjeti te idućeg tjedna-– I see you next week, naughty man.” She blew him a kiss and disappeared.
Next day he was still a little tired but he phoned his friend Philip Allen and asked him if he would take him to town. He gave them the address of his old film processor. Phillip took him quickly and without fuss. They went into the building. At the counter he asked to have his film processed and printed to 6”x4”. He further asked how long it would take.
“It should be ready tomorrow.” He was told.
“No sooner?” He asked.
“You used to do it in a couple of hours at one time.” The assistant said he’d have to find out for him, and disappeared. He returned and said.
“For an old customer like you we can do it in an hour sir, I apologise for not recognising you.” He apologised.
“May we wait?” the old man asked.
“Of course, would you like a drink?”
“A coffee would be nice.” They sat and quietly and with great patience let the time pass. Eventually an older worker came out.
“Mr Bellford, it is so nice to see you. We thought you had given up photography.” The worker asked. “We rather missed your pictures they used to brighten up our dull lives.”
“It’s a long story but it gave me up for a time, I’ve just started again, just for old time’s sake.” He explained.
“We noticed the same subject, it’s nice to have you back.”
“Thank you.” The old man said. He looked at the pile of prints and was pleased.
“The old magic is still there.” The worker said.
“Looks like it.” He remarked. He handed a film to the worker. “Can I have 10”x8”’s of numbers 1, 4, 6, and numbers 15, 23, and 33 on that film. Can you send them to my address?” He asked.
“Of course, Sir.” Robert paid his bill and started to go out to the car. Thanking the worker for recognising him.
“It’s nice to be remembered after so long.”
“Who could forget your pictures?”
They got in and returned home. He was quite pleased with the day. He was tired and after an early meal went to bed. Two days later he received a package through the post. He delayed the opening of it till he could sit quietly and concentrate on the contents. It contained the six 10”x8” prints ordered and all his negatives neatly packaged. He was very pleased with the prints, the portrait of the care assistant showed her well in her uniform looking cool, calm, clean and efficient. It would be just the thing to send to a loving family to show how well she was getting on. The other pictures were of her in far less clothing ending with the final picture of her lying on the bed fully naked but looking as if she was enjoying the experience. He spent some time looking through the proofs to see if he had chosen the best pictures. But he could not better his original choice.
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Chapter 2-of moving house and finding lost treasures
Brandon Road curves gently downhill from the main Stratford Road to Sarehole Road; both sides of the road were lined with terraced houses. All the houses had been built in the couple of years just before the start of the First World War, 1913-1914. They had been built in blocks of six, a passage to the rear, and then another block of six. All the houses had originally been built exactly the same to a standard design. The only difference was that they were alternately left-handed and right-handed.
On entering the front door you came to a small nearly square lobby; mat finish tiles covered the floor with a pattern in black, white and terracotta. A further door led from this lobby to a long narrow corridor running straight down the house at the end were two doors, the first one on the side opened into the parlour, a long narrow room with fire place and large light bay window overlooking the small front garden. A second door at the end of the corridor led into the square living room, facing this door was the only window in the living room which looked out onto the back yard. Crossing the living room one came to the door to a small passage, with a pantry on the left then on into the kitchen/scullery, a long but narrow room. In its original form the kitchen had contained a black-leaded cooking range and a brick built copper for boiling water for the weekly wash and any other use 30m gallons of hot water could be put to. Back to the living room there was one other door, in the corner diagonally opposite the window a small cupboard was found under the stairs; the entrance was hidden in a small square alcove.
Returning to the kitchen there was a door which lead to the back yard. In this back yard positioned at the end of the building was a small suite of rooms, a coal house, a toilet and a storage shed. From here the garden ran some 30 to 40 ft to the end. This garden would have been the pride of the householder – as big as an allotment and capable of producing fruit, vegetables and flowers. Across the end of the garden was a pathway that ran three houses on either side of the passageway from the road.
Back in the house and back in the corridor from the front door, there was a third exit from the end of the passageway, between the doors; this was the foot of the stairway leading to the first floor. The stairs were set across the house. Up these stairs you come to yet another corridor this one leading from the stairs towards the back of the house. To the right of the stairs a door leads to the main square bedroom the windows of which overlooked the road and the front garden. Back along the corridor there were two doors each leading into a bedroom, off the side of the corridor was the door to the middle room with one window above the window in the living room. The final door opened into the second bedroom which was above the kitchen. We thus now have a word picture of the layout of all the houses in the road from when they were originally built.
The description was of the houses when they were first built in 1914. Since then the layout had gone through many modifications to allow for the changes in facilities and the expectations of the residents of the houses.
When Phillip Allen moved in some of the houses were still being rented from their individual landlords. As each became available, usually due to the death of the resident, the houses were ‘done up’ and sold. Phillip Allen was an early owner-occupier of the house he moved into. Numerous changes had been made to the original layout of the house, the long back bedroom had been split into two and a bathroom fitted into one part the other being left as a small bedroom. Eventually the downstairs of the house was changed; the Lobby was left as original, but the wall between the corridor and the front room was removed to make a bigger and a more useable shaped room. The end of the corridor was blanked off and a door through to the back room made through the wall into the back of the small alcove. The original door from the corridor to the back room was left as the way to the stairs.
Phillip Allen moved into the house with his wife to be, it was to be their first house together and they took possession of it on in the 1990’s. He was to be married in the August of that year and in the June they took possession of the house. The idea was to have the time to decorate it to their liking. There was much to do, various repairs and modifications needed to be made.
Phillip Allen was just short of thirty when he married. He had two passions in his life, his new wife and his hobby of photography. He had met his wife at a party some two years previous. His other passion, photography, had occupied his mind since he had been about twelve years old. He had learned to use a camera and how to process his own films. He had learned how to enlarge his pictures in a temporary darkroom set up in his parent’s bathroom. He had tried various Photographic Clubs and societies but they had not satisfied his craving for photographic knowledge. They were more social events not knowledge transference groups, which was what he wanted.
So the first major change he undertook was to convert the three outside areas into one useable room or store. With great difficulty he was able to remove the toilet and the two intermediate walls and he then put in a front window and door in the place of two of the three doors; he removed the old and damaged brick floor and replaced it with one of level concrete. With a little more work he was able to bring through to the new room a supply of electricity. He also arranged a supply of water, both hot and cold. He was thus able to convert the three outhouses into a small and functional darkroom where he could pursue his hobby.
Moving back to the house he started work with a vengeance in the kitchen he removed the 1930’s fire place and most of the chimney breast by putting up a heavy timber joist at about six feet above the ground he cleaned and plastered the walls in a rough ‘rustic’ style. In the space thus formed he fitted a large range type gas cooker. In the first part of the kitchen where the pantry had originally been, he fitted a breakfast bar and built in an upholstered bench. Not all this work was done before he moved in but was spread over a very long period of time.
They moved in half way through August at the same time as they married. They soon got to know the neighbours and the area. The neighbour on the uphill side of them was Carl who lived with his wife and their two children. Carl was a very outgoing person, but moved in very strange circles. He trained greyhounds at the local greyhound racetrack. He did not have a regular job but raised all his money by the sale of old clothes (Second hand clothing!) at the famous Birmingham Rag Market. He obtained much of his stock by clearing out empty houses. He was madly keen on sport of all types, he played golf, having been a Golf Professional for a time and he watched football on the television, any match at any time accompanied by all the noises that matched the sound of the crowds at St. Andrews. His favourite team was Aston Villa Football Club – the other Birmingham football team.
Over the years Phillip and Carl got to know each other, which was why in the late 1990’s Carl approached Phillip to find if he was interested in a large box of photographic books he had obtained while emptying a house. He offered it to Phillip at the price of £50. He explained that it was a large ammunition box and it was full of books on photography, some photos, albums and a few negatives and films. When asked if he could see it before he bought it, he was told.
“It’s all or nothing I won’t split it. But you will probably find it worthwhile, knowing how interested you are in photography.”
Phillip thought for a moment and said, “Okay I will give it a go how about you making it £25” he calculated that loud as Carl was he was not dishonest.
“£45,” Carl bartered.
“I’ll split it with you £35.” Carl agreed to the bartered price. They shook hands on the deal. The box was brought round the next day it consisted of a very large, slightly rusty but still intact ammunition box. Phillip had it put on the floor (on old newspapers) in the centre of the living room floor. He gave Carl the money. He looked at the box it was about 24” wide 36” long and about 18” deep. He wiped it down to remove the dust and cobwebs. A quick glance told Phillip that it had only been opened for a cursory glance. He opened the spring catches and pushed back the lid. Inside the contents were wrapped in an age discoloured bed sheet, this he also pulled back, and was amazed at the contents.
It seemed that the box was lined with a complete library of books on photography. He started removing the books and when he had moved a couple of layers he found that in the centre was a case made of brown leather, very old, battered, and much used but when it was moved he found it was heavy with equipment. Alongside this was a more modern rectangular black plastic camera case, also heavy when lifted out of the box. All the rest of the space was filled with photo albums, some films still in cassettes, and small boxes full of photographs and files full of black & white negatives, a mix of 35mm but some on 120 sized films, there were also strips of unmounted 35mm transparencies and a lot more books. When they were all removed he found that below the sheet were a number of old ‘glamour’ magazines from the 1950’s, 1960’s and 1970’s, unfortunately slightly discoloured by too long contact with the matte brown paint lining of the slightly rusting ammunition box.
Turning back to the brown leather case, he opened it. Inside he found a heavily worn but still functional (or so it appeared) Leica IIIb camera the leather covering very heavily worn, there was brass showing through the nickel plated body of the camera. The lens fitted was a collapsible 50mm f/3.5 Elmar. Along with this in the case were two further lenses, a 90mm f/4 Elmar and a 35mm f/3.5 Elmar, each with an appropriate viewfinder. A collection of filters and cassettes filled the remaining space. He carefully repacked the equipment back in the case, having dusted it and played with it for a short time.
He turned to the other case. Again this was also found to be full of photographic equipment, this time it was a much newer set of equipment, comprising a Mamiya C330F twin lens reflex camera with four interchangeable lenses, a 55mm, an 80mm, a 135mm and a 180mm. Along with a number of lens hoods, filters etc. Also in the case was a Weston Master V exposure meter. All this equipment was dusty but appeared to be in excellent condition. He again carefully repacked it after a close inspection.
He had a quick look through the books. It was a wide range of books many from as early as the middle 1930s, but the majority came from the 1940s and later. The books covered a wide range of subjects from technical manuals to books of pictures, but the emphasis seemed to be on figure studies. Again he carefully repacked the books after dusting them. He opened the boxes of pictures; about half of them appeared to be family and holiday pictures taken over what seemed a long lifetime. The remainder comprised a large collection of black and white and colour figure studies, all appearing to date from the middle 1940’s up to the 1980’s. Phillip was able to work this out from the make-up, hair and fashions of the subjects (his wife helped him with this information). It also showed by the fashion of the photographs, many being on unglazed glossy paper and showing the depredations of time. Usually this was seen as the fading of the image from black through to a pale yellow before the image finally disappeared. He put the pictures back into the boxes in as close to the same order as they came out.
He looked at the albums, each was numbered and many of the pictures were titled. Again the mix was similar to the box contents, family shots wife, children and holidays. The rest contained hundreds of portraits, glamour and figure studies. Many of the pictures were as earlier stated titled, and quite a few were named and dated.
All this was very carefully cleaned and then repacked and the box put away temporarily to give Phillip time to think about the contents, and what he was going to do with them. It was evident that the equipment alone could very easily repay his original outlay. Over the next few weeks he thought deeply about the box of equipment. In fact much of his waking time was filled with thoughts of the man who had produced this wonderful archive of pictures. It was during this long time that he eventually decided what he was going to do.
He had decided he was going to keep all the negatives, and see if he could print from them. The books would also be kept as the core of his own photographic library. The one set of camera equipment he would keep and use if he could and the other he would sell in the hope of re-cooping his outlay. But it was the albums that caused him the greatest problem. He kept looking through them. He could see that they were a record of a fairly long and full life as well as of a long working career. But whose life, whose career was it. It was to become almost an obsession with him. He had decided he had to find out more about the author of the pictures, what was his or her, or their life. Some of the photographs in the albums were stamped with a professional trade mark, and some advertising matter was also found, as below:-
Phillip had decided that to start his quest he would have to talk to his neighbour. He would ask him all he could about the house he had emptied. He had to explain why he wanted the information but reluctantly Carl eventually gave him the house number. Phillip decided that he would find the name of the resident of that house from the electoral registers of the area. Phillip knew he could get that information from the local library, which he proceeded to do.
He arrived at the library early next morning and requested the electoral registers for the area for the previous year, 1994. He took the register to a table and looked for Brandon Road; looking down the list he found what he was looking for alongside the entry for number 15 Brandon Road was the name -- ‘Bellford, Robert.’ -- There were no other people marked as resident at that number, the name coincided with the name on the visiting card BELLFORD. He logged this information. He took the register back to the librarian and asked her.
“How far back are you able to go with the Electoral Registers for this area?” The answer he got was not as helpful as he had hoped.
“We only keep the last two years, but if you want to go back further you will need to go to the Central Library I believe they keep copies back to at least the turn of the century.
He resolved that as soon as was possible he would go to the central library and find when the house was first occupied by ‘Bellford, Robert’ and what other members of his family he could find out about. After a search that took a couple of months, other important things intervening. He was able to locate that ‘Bellford, Roger’ had moved into the house shortly after the end of World War II. In 1949 two people were shown as living there, the second being ‘Bellford, Margaret’. So Phillip assumed that he must have married at about that time. He further researched the address and found that in 1974 a third person was included on the electoral register ‘Bellford, Jennifer’
He decided that he had to trace the child but it would be difficult as the name could change as the daughter might have married and changed her name. After many weeks of search he eventually found a matching name and sent a letter:-
It was a few weeks before a reply was received by post:-
Phillip was so pleased that at last his research had been successful and he could now visit the object of his obsession. All he now needed was the time to visit Robert Bellford.
After contacting the warden of the flats and enquiring about Mr Bellford of flat 20. Phillip found she was very helpful and said that if he phoned 0121 777 5954 he would be able to contact him and make an appointment for a visit. He inquired from her about his health. She replied that his health was fine but he was lonely as he seldom had visitors and due to his disability was not able to get out easily.
As suggested he phoned Robert Bellford and having explained what he was after asked him if he could come and talk to him about the contents of the box. Robert Bellford said that he was at home every day and would be very pleased to see him; he did ask if he would bring some of the contents of the box. This was agreed and said he would be round next Saturday if that was convenient.
Saturday dawned, it was a miserable day, one of those days when it doesn’t know whether to rain or not so it did neither. Phillip arrived at the warden controlled flats at about the time that was agreed with Robert Bellford. He pressed the door bell and waited a short time then heard a tinny voice asking who was there. Phillip quickly explained who he was and who he had come to see. The door lock clicked and he entered. The hallway was spartan, the air was tired and felt as if it had been used a few times before. He looked for signs that would give him a clue to the location of flat 20. Eventually he noticed a small sign pointing to flats 19 – 30 he followed in the direction it indicated. It led to a long corridor of identical doors. Looking along the corridor he saw a face peer out from one; it was Robert Bellford looking for his visitor.
“Robert Bellford?” He asked holding out his hand in greeting. The resident pushed the door open to invite him in. Phillip noticed that he was using a walking stick and had a stiff leg. They entered and it was indicated that he go to a tidy living room which he entered. Robert Bellford followed him in. They sat down after initial greetings. Once he had manoeuvred himself to his chair Robert also sat down.
“I like to get right to business.” Robert started. “You said you were in possession of an ammunition box from my old home.”
“Yes, I got it from the house clearers when you left.” Phillip explained.
“What do you want to know about it?” He asked.
“Well I am assuming you know its contents, I would like to know a bit more about them as when I looked through the contents there were things in there which are usually very private and kept or sold for further use.”
“You want to know my life story don’t you? Well it will take quite a long time. But I would like to know why before I start. As you can see I’m not half the man I was and it was all a long time ago.”
He had difficulty understanding the interest Phillip had in him. The younger man tried to explain that he had been moved by the contents of the box and that over the weeks the excellent pictures had burned themselves into his imagination so much so that he just had to find out why, where, when, how and who they were of and also by whom they had been taken. He also needed to know why it had all been left. He explained that it had become his own ‘Mary Celeste’ mystery, and Robert was the only one who could solve all the mysteries.
They chatted for a time, Phillip explaining his interest in photography, Robert taking it all in and adding a few of his own ideas and comments. One of the things they spoke about was the old worn Leica IIIb outfit which Phillip had taken with him. The whole time they had talked Robert held and handled the camera with a love and look of complete unity with it. Although it was not part of the account, so impressed was he with Robert’s attachment to the equipment that when Phillip left he presented it to Robert. He noted there was a slight tear in the old man’s eye. Although the camera was there every time he visited neither of them mentioned it again, but Phillip could see from the condition of it that it was being treated with love and care. He knew it was home with its master. Phillip brought him some film on a couple of occasions, in case he decided to use it again. He found out later that it had already been put to use.
Over a few weeks and many visits during which time they slowly unfolded Robert’s life, the background of the photographs and the story of the camera equipment. Phillip then tried, as far as he found possible, to put the story into some chronological order.
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Chapter 3-of an early life, military service and liberated goods.
This is the start of the account as related by Robert Bellford to Phillip Allen and written as an account of a life.
I was born in 1925, February 6th to be precise. I was lucky as I had a nice uneventful childhood which seemed to go on for a long time, most of my life or so it seemed. I learned many things both at home and at school some of which were useful and some not so useful. I did learn that I liked photography as a pastime. I had received as a Christmas present, one year, a Brownie Box Camera.
It was a most un-prepossessing piece of equipment, black imitation leather covering and shiny black enamelled edges with a brown canvas boxlike case edged in leather. It came complete with a special close up lens. I loved this camera, it took a roll film, and using this film I was able to take 8 pictures each 2¼” x 3¼”. The viewfinder, or should I say viewfinders, were bright but so small that only a very rough idea of what would be in the picture could be gained. I could take pictures instantaneously, or by moving a lever a long exposures could be given. Along with the camera came a copy of a booklet entitled ‘How to make better pictures’ this was to be ‘my bible’ in photography for many years.
I learned to take pictures with this camera and I also learned to process the films in the dim light of my bedroom. The prints were small the same size as the negatives, 2¼” x 3¼”, but to me they were great. The limiting factor with this camera was that pictures could only be taken in fairly bright light or very slow exposures in any light. It was not possible to take photographs of action in poor light. It was also not possible to get closer than about 6ft, unless the special ‘close-up’ lens was added, but even with this portraits came out distorted, big noses little ears due to the effect of close-up and perspective. But with all this I loved it.
After a few years, however, I could no longer cope with the limitations of this camera. Eventually I was able to replace it with a folding Kodak camera, it took the same film as the box camera but it folded into a much smaller pack. The lens was much better; it had a choice of apertures enabling effects to be produced of varying depths of field and also enabling me to cope with a wide range of light effects. It also had a range of shutter speeds from 1 sec to 1/100th of a second letting me to take action pictures in many different light conditions.
I obtained this camera in 1939, just before the war started. I had used much of my pocket money to buy film and relied upon that and my father’s ability to obtain anything he required to keep me supplied with film for the foreseeable future. But I knew this situation would not last.
My father was a toolmaker working in those days for Austin at Longbridge, South Birmingham. A man highly regarded in his work and of course in a reserved occupation. I had always known that I would follow him some way, but with the coming of war I also knew that I would be conscripted before I could be classified as having a reserved occupation, and worst of all I might be drafted into the coal mines as a ‘Bevin Boy’. So as I reached the age of 17, I opted to volunteer; I had heard that if you volunteered you were able to choose what service you served in. I had decided I wanted to serve in the Royal Army Service Corps, I had calculated that I should be able get to go abroad, but I had also worked it out that in the R.A.S.C I would probably not be called upon to fight. Luckily, I volunteered before I was conscripted. My mother was not happy about this, but after I had explained to her why I did it I think she understood my reasoning, though she was still not very happy about her ‘baby’ joining the army, she was always aware of one of her brothers who volunteered in the Great War only to die in 1918.
Thus on the 28 February 1942 three weeks after my 17th birthday I reported to Norton Barracks Worcester, the headquarters of the Worcestershire Regiment, to do my 12 weeks of basic training with the General Service Corps. The training was as hard as you might expect all the trainers and instructors were regular soldiers and as rough, loudmouthed, offensive and abusive as you would expect. All this has been better said by others, I can only say that all the tales of Sergeant Majors, Drill Sergeants, and others were true. I can add little to this as it is not an integral part of my story.
I was young and fit as any youth just after leaving school but still it was an extremely hard time. After the 12 weeks I had become harder, fitter, stronger and I felt I was ready to take on the world. I had in a peculiar way enjoyed the training with the twice weekly trips round the assault course and P/T every morning, but I did not like the route marches, varying between 5 miles and on one occasion of 25 miles. I wanted to be in the R.A.S.C. why did I need to do route marches? The route marches just gave me blisters, the training gave me muscles; the trainers gave me discipline. I added to this a bloody minded attitude to life. In the time off, of which we had very little, I was able to build up a collection of pictures of my friends I met in training and show they suffered as much as I did.
After my basic training I was granted 14 days leave. I went home with my camera, my pictures, and my newly fully trained body. And after the leave, which seemed to fly by, I obtained my transfer to the RASC and I was posted to the RASC Driving School at Hadrian’s Camp, Carlisle. This was a lot further away from home than I had ever been but it was here that I was taught to drive a wide range of vehicles, but mainly lorries. After six weeks of intensive training I passed my driving test with flying colours on 9 August ‘43. On completion of my training at the RASC training school I was posted to my company. I was to be stationed at Codford in Wiltshire.
I was trained to drive many vehicles but the standard Bedford 3 ton, 4 wheel general purpose lorry was the vehicle I drove mostly. Some have said that the war was won by these vehicles as they transported just about everything everywhere during the war.
It was now becoming very apparent to all of us that an invasion was not too far away and we found ourselves officially attached to the third Canadian Infantry Division. In May 1944, we moved to our port of departure, which was to be Southampton. To get there, I remember driving through the streets of London during the night with a very heavy Police and Military escort. The roads were blocked off and all traffic movement stopped until we had passed. We parked up in streets, which had been sealed off around the dock areas of Southampton for over three weeks, and slept with our vehicles. I was able to get more pictures of people but I had to be careful not to take pictures that could identify places. I did not want to annoy the authorities. We did eventually actually load up onto the ships and started out to sea once (I think it was a few days before the actual invasion date, but time became condensed on itself during this time), but we were called back after a couple of hours out to sea and had to unload again. The waiting continued.
The night of 3 June 1944 the activity was unbelievable, but for me personally it turned out better than the way I had expected it to - instead of being loaded onto a landing craft as before, I was loaded onto the top deck of a large supply ship with my lorry and off we went. I was not going to be in the first wave of the landing, I’m glad to say. My camera was with me and wherever possible I used it, but I made sure that I did not run out of film, I kept a supply of film hidden away for use later. I also made sure that I was not watched by the authorities.
After a long and uncomfortable voyage suddenly all hell seems to have broken out. The noise came from all types of gunfire, shells and bombs exploding everywhere. What I was about to witness in the next few hours and months no training or teaching in the world could prepare anyone for. Death and destruction was all around me - there were unbelievable scenes and I will never forget the scenes that I saw, but for all that I realised that I had a job to do and that the best thing for me was to do it if I wanted to survive.
Our first semi-permanent HQ was made in a small Chateau about a mile from the beach and by midday the Canadian infantry, that we were supporting, had got about three to four miles inland and we set up their first supply dump. This meant that we could now start our work of getting all the supplies ashore from the supply ships as quickly as possible.
We worked from dusk until dawn every day, seven days a week. Almost every morning I was sat in my lorry by 4.30 in the morning, waiting to go down to the beach to start work. The discipline we had been trained in was maintained and within the first 4 weeks of the D-Day landing I had lost a lot of pay for minor infringements of the rules, but this was not a problem as there was nowhere to spend the money and nothing to spend it on anyway. It did make me more determined to recoup the loss at the first possible opportunity.
Because the Germans had us bogged down we worked the beaches with our vehicles for about five weeks until the fall of Caen, which I think was about the middle of July. It did show that our Bedford lorries as really good and extremely reliable workhorses. We were required to drive to the Mulberry docks which had been brought over as part of the invasion drive from the beach on the floating roadway, until we arrived at the actual dock. Our vehicles were then loaded direct from the incoming ships floating roadway and we were required to drive off the Mulberry dock by the second floating roadway. Which worked very well until autumn storms put the docks out of commission for a time.