Only people of a certain age will know what a bogey is. I’m not talking about something nasty that lives up your nose. I’m talking about one of the best possessions a 1950/60s boy could have. A bogey was a hand-made, four-wheeled cart. The base was usually a few planks of wood nailed together, mounted on four old pram wheels. It was narrower at the front to take an axle that pivoted in the middle. You placed your feet on the axle and steered with them. There was usually a loop of rope attached to it for you to hang on to. You really needed two people to use it. One sat at the front steering and the other ran at the back pushing you as fast as he could. When you got a decent speed up, the lad at the back jumped on too and enjoyed the ride.
Well I never had my own but my best friend Barry turned up one day with one. I think he bought it from a school pal for 2/6d (12.5p in today’s money). Boy, did we have some fun with that thing. We built a chicane at the end of the front path using concrete building blocks. It was positioned to take us around the corner and onto a rough stony road that led downhill to the main road at the bottom. We took it in turns to push or steer. The game was to try to get as much speed as possible, steer through the chicane without hitting it and then hurtle towards the main road at break-neck speed. At the latest moment, the driver had to avoid running onto it and being crushed by a passing vehicle by turning the axle sharply, putting the bogey into a sideways skid until it finally stopped.
The aim was to get as close to the road as possible. Often we’d miss the corner and fall headlong into a patch of nettles. Many times, after achieving top speed, the sideways skid would throw us off and onto the gravelly side road to shred a few layers of skin from our legs and arms. Health and safety – thankfully it hadn’t been invented.
We buckled quite a few wheels but usually found another pair and nailed them in place. Barry decided one day to build a small trailer to attach to the back. We hooked it up and invited all the neighbouring kids to pile onto it. I think we got about a dozen on before all the wheels collapsed under the weight. It was too large a task to find enough replacement wheels so I think the bogey was swapped for something like a few plastic soldiers or a bag of conkers.
Tuesday 10 February 2009
Tuesday 3 February 2009
the camera
I have long held a fascination for photography and cameras. They fall into my category of ‘magical’ things, along with magnets, gyroscopes, magnifying glasses and fire. The ability to capture a visual moment in time is fantastic and still excites me. My earliest experience of photography goes back to the age of around four years old. Two friends of my mother arrived one evening to take some family photos, this was a first for me. Not only did they have a rather impressive camera but also lights on stands and large flashbulbs. The whole affair was quite exciting, although I didn’t understand what it was all leading to until we got copies of the pictures a few weeks later. This was the start.
Photography for ordinary folk was rare, reserved mainly for special occasions such as holidays, and visits from far-off relatives. Film and processing were an expensive luxury. We had a simple Ensign box camera. It was an ugly thing but provided my first glimpse into this visual sorcery. There was a small internal mirror that reflected the image onto a large magnifying glass on top, which you used to compose the picture. I remember mum allowing me to look down into it and being entranced by the miniature picture of the world around me. I wasn’t allowed to press the shutter button and take a photo for a long time. That was something only adults were entrusted with. It was a pity because mum had poor eyesight and most of her photos were lopsided or cut off half of the subject.
Photos were black and white, colour had been around a long time but it was far too expensive. The roll films held only 12 pictures, unlike the almost limitless capacity of digital photography nowadays, so you couldn’t afford to be extravagant with them. That means that we have relatively few photos to look back on those times but makes them precious. Changing a film was another act of sorcery. You had to find a dark place – a cupboard or shady spot for this procedure. That added to the air of secrecy and mystery about photography that appealed to me. It was usually a job for dad who always seemed a little stressed, as if it was a major responsibility. Once the film was loaded you looked into a small transparent red window on the camera whilst you wound it on. Small arrows could be seen passing by until the number one appeared and it was ready to use.
Our camera eventually started to allow light to leak into it, causing white patches around the edges of the photos. Mum eventually stopped using it and I was allowed to play with it at last. It had only been used for taking photos of people, but I discovered the wider potential of photography as an exciting art, composing pictures in the viewfinder of landscapes, flowers, buildings and unusual angles on the world around me. I pretended there was film inside and got great pleasure from pretending to ‘take’ these pictures. I was about thirteen when I convinced mum to give me the camera and allow me to buy a film. She tried her best to put me off the idea because it leaked light and the pictures would be useless and a waste of money but I didn’t care. I was incredibly excited at the prospect of finding something interesting and making my own pictures. I took my first photos and handed the film in to the chemist shop to get them developed. I had to wait about a week for them. What an exciting time that was when I picked them up. Yes the photos were badly blotched but they were my work. I was hooked.
Mum must have noted this enthusiasm and on my fourteenth birthday, I was presented with one of the wonderful, newly invented, Kodak Instamatic cameras. This was state of the art equipment for the man-in-the-street photographer. The film was held in a lightproof cartridge that you simply dropped into the camera, wound on a few times and was ready to go in seconds. No need for dark cupboards and no blotchy white photos. There was a clip-on flash adaptor that took tiny disposable flashbulbs for indoor shots. I used this little camera for years and eventually started shooting colour slides with it. That took me into another dimension in this magical world. I still have that little camera.
I now have a couple of digital cameras and although they have taken some of the anticipation out of the hobby, I still get that excited buzz from composing a scene in the viewfinder and pressing the button, knowing I have captured something special, a moment in time and space where I stood and the thrill of seeing it later on my computer screen.
Photography for ordinary folk was rare, reserved mainly for special occasions such as holidays, and visits from far-off relatives. Film and processing were an expensive luxury. We had a simple Ensign box camera. It was an ugly thing but provided my first glimpse into this visual sorcery. There was a small internal mirror that reflected the image onto a large magnifying glass on top, which you used to compose the picture. I remember mum allowing me to look down into it and being entranced by the miniature picture of the world around me. I wasn’t allowed to press the shutter button and take a photo for a long time. That was something only adults were entrusted with. It was a pity because mum had poor eyesight and most of her photos were lopsided or cut off half of the subject.
Photos were black and white, colour had been around a long time but it was far too expensive. The roll films held only 12 pictures, unlike the almost limitless capacity of digital photography nowadays, so you couldn’t afford to be extravagant with them. That means that we have relatively few photos to look back on those times but makes them precious. Changing a film was another act of sorcery. You had to find a dark place – a cupboard or shady spot for this procedure. That added to the air of secrecy and mystery about photography that appealed to me. It was usually a job for dad who always seemed a little stressed, as if it was a major responsibility. Once the film was loaded you looked into a small transparent red window on the camera whilst you wound it on. Small arrows could be seen passing by until the number one appeared and it was ready to use.
Our camera eventually started to allow light to leak into it, causing white patches around the edges of the photos. Mum eventually stopped using it and I was allowed to play with it at last. It had only been used for taking photos of people, but I discovered the wider potential of photography as an exciting art, composing pictures in the viewfinder of landscapes, flowers, buildings and unusual angles on the world around me. I pretended there was film inside and got great pleasure from pretending to ‘take’ these pictures. I was about thirteen when I convinced mum to give me the camera and allow me to buy a film. She tried her best to put me off the idea because it leaked light and the pictures would be useless and a waste of money but I didn’t care. I was incredibly excited at the prospect of finding something interesting and making my own pictures. I took my first photos and handed the film in to the chemist shop to get them developed. I had to wait about a week for them. What an exciting time that was when I picked them up. Yes the photos were badly blotched but they were my work. I was hooked.
Mum must have noted this enthusiasm and on my fourteenth birthday, I was presented with one of the wonderful, newly invented, Kodak Instamatic cameras. This was state of the art equipment for the man-in-the-street photographer. The film was held in a lightproof cartridge that you simply dropped into the camera, wound on a few times and was ready to go in seconds. No need for dark cupboards and no blotchy white photos. There was a clip-on flash adaptor that took tiny disposable flashbulbs for indoor shots. I used this little camera for years and eventually started shooting colour slides with it. That took me into another dimension in this magical world. I still have that little camera.
I now have a couple of digital cameras and although they have taken some of the anticipation out of the hobby, I still get that excited buzz from composing a scene in the viewfinder and pressing the button, knowing I have captured something special, a moment in time and space where I stood and the thrill of seeing it later on my computer screen.
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