Tish Murtha (1956-2013)

It was a pleasant surprise to see the BFI release a new documentary of Tish Murtha (dir. Paul Sng, 2023), the northeast photographer who catalogued the devastating effect of deindustrialisation during the 1970's-80's under Thatcherism. Murtha is probably most famous for her posthumously published books Youth Unemployment (2017), Juvenile Jazz Bands (2020), and Elswick Kids (2021).  

I have done a fair bit to highlight the photographic work of working class photographers on this blog, notably John Bulmer, Shirley Baker, Dave Sinclair and of course my own photography of Minsterley Parade in the early 1990's. I admit Tish Murtha slipped me by. At this point I should apologise profusely for my misogynistic oversight, but if you haven't heard of a photographer, you just haven't heard. It's ironic because she did quite a few exhibitions at the Bluecoat in Liverpool, and of course I lived there for a number of my most radical years in the 1990's. I should now rush to make amends and drag my sorry ass to the next film preview, examples of which are being screened in Liverpool, Edinburgh, Dundee, Hull and Newcastle. However, being more of an armchair anarchist nowadays, I think I will wait for a more accessible screening.

Update 9th April 2024: Tish is now available on BBC iPlayer, so available to all.  

For those that get to see it, the timing of this documentary could not be more apt. It was only a few weeks ago that Kier 'Stammer' was singing the virtues of Thatcher and how she 'did a lot of good things for the country.' Is this guy for real? Is he completely unaware there is an ingrained generation of northerners with long memories, who viscerally and antithetically reject the idolatry of Thatcherism as a cornerstone of their Labour support? The man is an idiot, and for that alone (well, actually many things besides) he can go and holler if he wants me to put my X next to his red version of the Tory party at the ballot box. Look at the photos below: of course not. Of course not Starmer, you f*cking culturally tone deaf cretin. 

Fischer-Lagerhaus, Neuwied

There are some stores which are just kryptonite to your wallet. I used to think I had the perfect kryptonite to avoid at all costs in the shape of B&Q, especially when they crank up that 80's style dad music; Duran Duran, Africa, Bananarama, etc. So much the more allure when I was fresh from the press with a new job, with a burning need to make DIY repairs to a new house. Well, scrub all of that. Fischer-Lagerhaus, has stores all over Germany including Neuwied near Koblenz. Their cathedral-like Aladdin's caverns purvey the most epicurean selection of ethnic trophies from around the world, from India to China, Africa to Tibet. In its splendour, taste and voluptuary elegance, it makes the likes of Dunelm Mill look like Preston Bus station in the 1970's. I have every confidence these people will bankrupt me in the most supremely ethical way, and leave me sitting in an immaculate museum piece of a house, surrounded by exotic leafy plants with furniture smelling sweetly of polished mahogany and sandalwood, as I weep into my final credit card bill with fond Sanskrit memories. 

Waldsee (Rieden, Eifel)

 In December I had a wonderfully romantic visit to Reiden in the Eifel region of Germany. Our accommodation was in the style of a secluded holiday log cabin, which was nestled into a hillside overlooking a lake called Waldsee (Forest Lake). The first night we arrived, we ascended into the hills to be greeted by cobs of fluffy snow which carpeted all around in a magical Christmassy scene, and pretty much sealed us off from the urge to explore. We were accompanied by a kind of industrial pellet oven heater we mischievously called the 'mini Gigant', which groaned and spat out flames all day and night, to whichever temperature setting you wanted. In this cabin more than any other, there were also a plethora of soft lighting options which offered an endless fascination with engineering mood. In all it made for an incredibly cosy retreat. In the grounds of the holiday cabin, there was a small outbuilding which served as a sauna, complete with coals, water pail and ladle, woodland essential oils and fragrances, plus the inevitably refreshing dash back to the cabin in the frosty night air. Whilst we had planned to explore the surrounds of the lake, woods and nearby restaurant, it turned out we caught covid, so had some enforced downtime, which was no hardship. Below are various photos of Waldsee. Some of them are from the internet, some self-taken of the cabin, and some out of season, but hopefully they illustrate the beauty of the area, which is an inspiration for naturalists, walkers, writers, and carries a rich tradition of folklore and fairy tales. We both have every intention of visiting again in future. 

Für Mein Waldelfin im Dezember

Today the mist hangs low
Black branches graze the air

Canopies dissolve in a mystery of longing
Their memories aloof to the forlorn earth
All is quiet in meditation
The birds bowed in reverence
I light a candle
And beg the trees to remain.

Heute hängt der Nebel tief
Schwarze Äste streifen die Luft
Baldachine lösen sich auf in einem Geheimnis der Sehnsucht
Ihre Erinnerungen sind weit weg von der verlorenen Erde
Alles ist still in Meditation
Die Vögel verneigen sich in Ehrfurcht
Ich zünde eine Kerze an
Und bitte die Bäume zu bleiben.

Viktor Frankl: Man's Search for Meaning (1946)

"The way that led from the acute mental tension of the last days in [Frankl's concentration] camp (from that war of nerves to mental peace) was certainly not free from obstacles. It would be an error to think that a liberated prisoner was not in need of spiritual care any more. We have to consider that a man who has been under such enormous mental pressure for such a long time is naturally in some danger after his liberation, especially since the pressure was released quite suddenly. This danger (in the sense of psychological hygiene) is the psychological counterpart of the bends. Just as the physical health of the caisson worker would be endangered if he left his diver's chamber suddenly (where he is under enormous atmospheric pressure), so the man who has suddenly been liberated from mental pressure can suffer damage to his moral and spiritual health. 

During this psychological phase one observed that people with natures of a more primitive kind could not escape the influences of the brutality which had surrounded them in camp life. Now, being free, they thought they could use their freedom "licentiously and ruthlessly. The only thing that had changed for them was that they were now the oppressors instead of the oppressed. They became instigators, not objects, of wilful force and injustice. They justified their behaviour by their own terrible experiences. This was often revealed in apparently insignificant events. A friend was walking across a field with me toward the camp when suddenly we came to a field of green crops. Automatically, I avoided it. but he drew his arm through mine and dragged me through it. I stammered something about not treading down the young crops. He became annoyed, gave me an angry look and shouted, "You don't say! And hasn't enough been taken from us? My wife and child have been gassed - not to mention everything else - and you would forbid me to tread on a few stalks of oats!" 

Only slowly could these men be guided back to the commonplace truth that no one has the right to do wrong, not even if wrong has been done to them. We had to strive to lead them back to this truth, or the consequences would have been much worse than the loss of a few thousand stalks of oats. I can still see the prisoner who rolled up his shirt sleeves, thrust his right hand under my nose and shouted, "May this hand be cut off if I don't stain it with blood on the day when I get home!" "

Frankl, Viktor, 1946. Man’s Search for Meaning. Washington Square Press.
Below: Various images of devastation in Gaza.

Winter on your Doorstep

I'm sure its not just me. There must be a certain type of domestic nature photographer, or "nature under your own nose" type, who, seeing an eerie sunset, or odd weather phenomenon, rushes out and captures the scene immediately outside of their house, pretty much dressed in a pair of boxer shorts or like Arthur Dent, in a dressing gown, and beggar the attitude of the neighbours. I enclose my own Winter on your Doorstep masterpieces from the 2023 winter period, and hope you can appreciate that in winter, such artistic sacrifice is often accompanied by a diminution of testicular circumference.