I can see you down there Ron. Dad will be back with my lunch soon. He will see you. Get a quick photo when he comes back, then leave us in peace.
Great Spotted Woodpecker at the nest hole with food for the young.
Hello World!
Fujifilm XT30, 15-45 Kit Lens
I never thought a kit lens could be as sharp as this.
I will be getting the Fujifilm 18-55 soon!
Total Silence, Then You See It
May was sunny in 2018 as we stepped aboard a small fishing boat.
Saying hello to the Captain we sat down, my heart beating faster as the boat engine started.
Slowly we left the small fishing village looking around at every movement. The sea was calm and I had my attention firmly on my camera settings; had I done enough research to capture the image I wanted so badly? If I got it, it would take pride and place on my wall at home in full view for all to see.
An hour went by. We saw a Red Throated Diver – another first for me. Waves gently hit the side of the boat.
A few clouds appeared and I began to panic. My anxiety started to kick in.
Would there be enough light hitting the camera sensor? Would I be able to get the fast shutter speed of 1/2000? Is my battery full? Did I put the SD Card in? Should i use Manual mode or Aperture Priority mode?
Checking the camera, Ruth could see the excitement building. I’d spoken and dreamed of this moment – some good dreams and some nightmares where the camera had failed to work (which had happened to me before with Canon).
Having traveled all this way, I had fallen in the bay the day before when out walking and this was playing on my mind. I had slipped, hitting the deck, the camera taking the full brunt on the body, covered in water and mud. I had limped back to the house we were staying at, stripped off all the wet garments and had sat praying that my beloved camera was going to be OK for the trip next day.
It was time. All the worrying would have to wait – the moment was about to happen.
The boat stopped and the anchor was dropped. Total peace and quiet – no wind, no gulls overhead, only chit chat from the people sat across from me. I think they were also wondering whether my setting were going to be OK.
The Captain said “Well we are here, and it’s a matter of waiting to see if it comes. When, and if, it comes all depends on if its hungry but when it does it will come in flying horizontal about 500 feet up looking down for the fish on top of the water. Don’t get too excited when you spot it a mile away as it will come so close you with the big Lenses will have to pull back if you have a zoom.”
Heart racing, palms sweating, finger twitching; hovering above the shutter button. Then I got sight of it, filling the viewfinder against the grey sky.
The White Tailed Eagle Canon 7DMK2 100-400 MK2
Not knowing at the time if any of the images were in focus or if they would edit, she came in for a second run, this time swooping from 200 feet downwards like a dart.
She tucked her wings back to increase speed and then the moment came and this huge eagle opened her wings and with a snatch took the fish from the top of the water. It happened so quick and sometimes I wish i could witness it without looking through the half inch window of a viewfinder.
Did it get the image for my wall?
As the magnificent eagle flew high into the sky, I gazed at it with total admiration. To be able to see this once persecuted bird that was hunted to extinction in 1918. Amazing.
Ruth gazed across at me with a very worried look on her face as I looked down at the LCD screen on my camera, my finger scrolling through the images. I looked up and a Cheshire Cat couldn’t have smiled any bigger.
What a trip we had, and to top it off a Dolphin came into check the boat out.
Military Humour 1983 Bicester
From civilian life just seeing a few pals that I had a laugh with, to a Company of lads men and boys, all from different parts of the UK.
See you laddie, do you Ken, or right Mara?
The first night I was sitting on my 10 foot square bed after arriving on a afternoon and tuned my little 12 inch TV in with a metal coat hanger. The room consisted of four men who I had never seen before.
As I watched TV some music started and I gazed over to see a young lad with his arms folded around himself as though he was dancing with his girlfriend or wife.
He looked over and smiled, “Come and dance”.
I really didn’t know what to do, so I lay back on my bed trying to work out where I had come to.
About a week later I was watching Dallas, comfy on my bed, and relaxing with a bag of Golden Wonder crisps. The lad called Brian walked over without saying anything and started turning my four channels over one by one seeing what was on. He then put his hand in my crisps, took one out, and walked back over to his bed and lay down.
Breakfast In The Cookhouse
Starving, I made my way for breakfast. I was careful not to cut across the grassed area as that was an offence and could land you a £50 fine or four weekend duties which prevented you from going home to your family.
If you arrived a little late, the selection of bacon, sausage, fried bread, fried toms and (if you wanted it) a fried egg had all sat there for an hour.
If you were a fly boy, you attempted to take two slices of bacon or two sausage and got away with it. If I tried it, I always got caught – never mastered the art.
The Kebab
The story goes that in the 80s in the army not many lads had a car, so as I had one I became the taxi guy to take lads that lived near me home.
We set off from Oxford county and made our way up North to Manchester.
About halfway I would look over at the lads and they would all be asleep. For a laugh I would shout “Watch That Cat” and turn the steering wheel of the car quickly to the right, then the left. All the heads would sway from side to side and it would wake them up. “What was it Blackie?”. “Not sure but I had to swerve.”,
This happened on a regular basis, so when my mate borrowed his sister’s car it was my turn to sleep in the back of the car. The only thing was that the first time I was my mate’s passenger we were coming back from the weekly Disco, very drunk and having stopped for a Kebab.
We were approaching the barrier to the barracks when my mate thought he would pull my trick as we had fallen asleep. He quickly turned the steering wheel and the next thing I remember was looking at my mates, all sitting upside down.
One lad shouted, “lets stay calm and we will get out no problems”, but me being drunk shouted “yes that’s OK for you, but there is petrol pissing out all over me”.
At that point we all screamed “Lets get out”. Kicking the doors open, they all left except for me who was trapped by something.
I collapsed, and as the ambulance arrived they pulled me from the wreckage. The paramedic lay me back on the stretcher but there was no pillow. “Here” my mate said, lifted my head up and put the still hot Donor Kebab under my head. The medic said “That is OK, he will be comfy on that”.
How the accident and outcome gets exaggerated. From the lad on the barrier, to the Guardroom, to the officer on duty that night. We all died in the accident. The Abulance took us all to hospital where we stayed overnight, but the message was never passed on to the duty officer so he informed everyone we all died in the car crash.
We all walked through the camp next day. We got some very startled looks fro soldiers and officers.
Foggy Dawn
Dawn Photography
Penny for your Thoughts
Heroes
How life has changed in such short a time.
Do we really understand the meaning of a simple four letter word?
However you define the title of hero, the label dares us to ask what we would do in situations such as these.
Would we charge into blasts of battlefield gunfire to save our comrades? To save civilians that we’ll never see again? Would we sign up for active duty in the first place?
Following orders from superiors that could result in your death, but doing it anyway. Acting out of loyalty and dedication instead of self-serving means. To act in spite of being afraid, instead of being void of fear.
Who do you know who is truly worthy of being called a Hero.
As a private soldier, I gazed up at an old black and white photograph hung on the corridor wall of our barracks.
There was a face; a soldier in uniform, not covered in medals or ribbons and badges, but two simple white stripes on his sleeve arm. He looked like anyone else.
Please read his amazing story.
I suppose as an ex military man, to me the word Hero meant someone who had not thought of himself and put the needs of others first. A person putting the safety of others first.
But then I think back to a image I lost along the way. A simple image of the front of a motorcycle bearing the number seven on it.
It was 1973, and as I stood beside the Oulton Park race track I heard the sound of the two stroke engine screaming out as it hit the first bend.
There he was – my hero Barry Sheene; the world number one, he would stare death in the face many times that single race.
Sheene’s high-speed crashes during his racing days were legendary. In 1975, a blown rear tyre caused him to crash at 175 mph during practice for the Daytona 200 in Florida, shattering his left leg, smashing a thigh, breaking six ribs, fracturing a wrist, and wrecking his collar bone.
Then I hear of Riley Howell. 21 years of age when he gave his life by tackling a Gunman.
Ron says it like this: Your’re sitting in college, in a classroom on a course. You’re sitting in a meeting at work. You are just having a normal day in your life. You sit with your wife, brother, friend, work colleague.
The door bursts open and in rushes a man with a gun.
Without a single thought for yourself you rush forward and tackle him, gun shots ring out in the room.
Four people are lying wounded from gunshots. Your friend is lying dead and sadly you are dead too.
I salute you 21 year old Riley Howard for giving your young life.
You never grew up to see the world. Never spent the next meal with your family.
But the four people you saved will grow old and hopefully will say they knew a hero worthy of the title – Riley Howard.
Ron’s All Time Hero
Standing 7,985 miles away from home, I gaze down at the grave, a grave in the middle of nowhere. Cold and windy, the hills stretch for miles out to the Atlantic.
The Cross has an inscription – Capt John Hamilton, Died In Action, June 10th 1982.
I think to myself was this where he fell? And who was he?
I bow my head and say:
‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.’
I take two photographs of the cross. I don’t know why I did, but I still have them safe in my album.
After 38 years I come across them again as I write ✍ my life through the Camera stories.
The word appears again and again in daily life.
I know the word hero can be defined in so many ways.
I would like my children to know
that just because I was in Northern Ireland twice and The Falklands. I was on active duty protecting people against the enemy that didn’t wear a uniform.
I could have died doing what I joined up for. God was with me on two occasions, otherwise I would not be here writing this now.
Instead I told my children about my running achievements, skiing medals, athletics, cross country, triathlon awards, Best Recruit and Best Pt. Oldest Sgt to pass the Parachute Course in my Corps. My Long Service and Good Conduct Award. How I climbed the highest volcano in Mexico. How I saved a life of a small child from choking on a beach in Cyprus.
So when they say “Dad, or Granddad were you a Hero when you served?”, I will say “No, but I can tell you about a man called John”.
You may rest 7,985 miles away and think that what you did was just your duty but your bravery to save a Signalman is my meaning of hero.
My Hero. R.I.P John.
Monty and Jake’s Resting Place
Warm under my 15 tog quilt, my mind wondering what images would I get today, when I remembered the weather forecast for the day.
Sunny it said, with Sunrise at 6.15am.
Fitting my boots and getting into the Paramo gear, I picked up my new Fuji camera, trying hard not to show our African Grey Bella I was up and about.
Firing my little Owl scooter up and making my way out of the site, the cold Autumn air hit my bald head, giving me a chill in my hands.
The road was quiet at 5.30am; travelling warp speed at 8mph the G Force blew my cheeks out.
Arriving early, I started to check the settings as it is always a bit strange with a new system.
The Whitethroat was singing on top of the hedgerow and sheep were getting up from the night’s sleep, shaking and moving slowly through the wet grass. The Church in Burton-In-Lonsdale sitting in the valley that stretches beyond to Ingleton.
Ingleton has a special place in our hearts.
When our little Jake died I put some of his ashes in a silver container. I still had my first dog Monty’s ashes, my Golden Labrador, and I placed some in next to Jake.
After engraving the box, I made the plan to walk to the top of Ingleton and place the box on the edge of the mountain where they could watch me and Ruth everyday.
My Step Daughter Faye was to accompany me to the top, so on a cold snowy frosty morning in November we met in Clapham and we started our journey.
The going was slow with lots of talking about Jake. Me and animals bond in a special way and it takes a good two years for me to get over the loss of a loving pet.
The clouds were very low as we made our way up; it got colder and mist came in, wet and freezing cold. I cried most of the way up as feelings were running high.
There had been no blue sky or sun all the way up from base camp.
As we reached the top and walked to the trig point, the sky just opened.
I burst into tears and just said “Jake and Monty are with us”.
We sat down for a while and then I made my way to the edge of the mountain looking for a suitable rock to put the ashes under.
After placing the tin under the rock, I stood and said a small prayer for my beloved companions that gave me so much love and made many special moments for me and Ruth.
As I said a prayer a man appeared before me, said good morning and turned and disappeared. The strange thing is, I walked to the edge and it was a shear drop for hundreds of feet.
One of the first things I did after we lost Jake was to carve his image into a nice log – a silver birch. It takes pride on our step at home in Cleveleys.
Every time we go out, we look up and always say the boys are looking down on us.
Rest in Peace Monty and Jake over in Rainbow Bridge.
Rons life through the lens 