Street Photography Edinburgh_12

As I am in lockdown my ability to take photos is diminishing so todays post will be different. I recently received access to some old family photos from my father. These date back quite some time. My parents, grandparents and even great grandparents are present. While looking through the photos what struck me first was a sense of rediscovery. Even though I knew some of the faces within these photos there was also an unfamiliar quality to them. These pictures were from times when I was not around. The people in the pictures did not yet know of my existence. I was looking at them from another time in their lives, when perhaps they were quite different people to the ones I would know. And some I would never know. Neither of my grandfathers lived long enough for me to actually meet them. These men are phantoms to me. They are stories. They are names and faces frozen in faded images. I'm thankful these images exist and that my father has always been an archivist of things. I wanted to look and write about the photos in an unsentimental way but undoubtedly the words will stray into these realms. I asked my father for some added information as background to my own musings on the images. The timeline jumps around. There are gaps but each image is a record within itself. The first set of images are from my father's side of the family. The Mc Cabes. The earliest photo shows my great grandfather Henry Mc Cabe and Mary Ann Murphy. It is their wedding day.

The year is 1909. Before World War One. Henry is 32. His new wife Mary Ann is 33. The couple stand in front of what looks like a painted background, wheeled in for the shot. I can see the edge of a mantelpiece and mirror. At first glance the viewer might think they are somewhat grand in stature. However, the background is an illusion. Henry's suit has seen much better days and he looks somewhat uncomfortable wearing it. The fitting is off. His visible hand is not the hand of a business man. It is a workers hand. My father told me Henry was a farm labourer. Mary Ann's face is round and she is almost glaring at the camera. Her left eye looks slightly crooked. She is thickset. She looks strong and slightly wild and intelligent. I am fond of her hat. Henry, my great grandfather, looks at the camera with a slightly bemused expression. He is still relatively fresh faced. In his eyes I see my fathers eyes. Not the expression or character but the physical makeup, the heavy looking lids. The bowler hat is slightly too large for Henrys head. I wonder if any of the clothes are actually his or did he borrow them for the day? Did Mary Ann borrow her frock? And what happened after this moment? What was Henry and Mary Ann's marriage like? Did their love last? We're they in love? This picture, although posed and set up still reveals something to me about who these people were. They are cocooned in this picture and they look out at me and I gaze on them as if they are two strangers. They are strangers but also they are family. They are part of the reason I am here.

Jump forward and I see Mary Ann, now clearly older and much less adorned in a deck chair in a garden somewhere. It looks sunny. Mary Ann once again glares at the camera. She is leaning forward slightly as if she might be about to say something. Beside her is my grandfather Jim in a suit and tie. He is smiling. His expression looks quite genuine to me. He seems amused by the situation. I hover over his features to see if I can detect any familiarities. My brother Conall maybe. Mary Ann looks old to to have a child of his age. She almost looks like she could be his grandmother in this picture. This photo was taken in 1915. The World war was over. But Ireland was in tumult. The Rising was looming. This is the only other image I have seen of Mary Ann. I am speculating but it looks like her life might have been difficult. I don't see happiness in her face. I see a face that has endured.

A considerable gap in time and space and I see Jim, the little boy from the previous image now standing in his garden in Dwyer Park Bray where he raised his family. This is one of the few images of the man I would never get to meet. Jim was a gardener his whole life. My father told me a story of when Jim was young, before he entered adulthood and life took him down his pathway. When at school Jim, my Grandfather, was smart and people noticed this. Ann was advised to allow her son to go on to secondary school to further his education. He could have a bright future. Ann refused. Jim was destined to go to work after primary like many of his contemporaries.

Here he is chipping away at a hedge. This hedge, I am almost certain is one that, years and years later, as a youngster I would also chip away at. Gardening at my grandmother's house in the summertime is a clear and happy memory for me. Jim wears a flat cap. I also wear a flat cap religiously these days. I cannot see his face here. The sky is bleached out. The photo has suffered some kind of damage, a jagged outline surrounds Jim's figure as if he was about to be cut out of the scene. My grandfather still remains distant to me in this picture. He is just a man in a garden performing a simple task. But my knowledge of who this man is connects me to it. I want him to turn around. I want to know what his voice might sound like. It would make me happy to be there in the garden with him, watching him do this simple task in the flesh.

And then I see Jim. An older man. Full faced, looking at the camera. Looking back at me. It took me some time to work out what his expression was telling me. He wears the very beginning of a smile. His eyes are shaded. They are well worn eyes and the slightly raised eyebrows remind me of both my father and my Uncle Seamus. The overall expression to me is open but also questioning. I see an inquisitive spirit. I see a gentleness there but it is guarded. Why, I wonder? The flower, a carnation perhaps, is well placed and Jim looks like a man who knew how to wear a hat. I do not know the location of this photo or the occasion but this doesn't matter as much to me. The image is a decent portrait. It captures something beyond a smiling family snapshot. I can look at this man and try to find something of myself there. I have seen this look, in passing, through the years. It has flashed across my fathers brow, my brothers, perhaps mine too. Jim had lived at this stage and that life had unfolded how it did. He worked, had a family, kept a house, provided for people. At this stage I am curious as to whether he surveyed this life and wondered how things might of been different had he taken another route. If Ann had allowed her son to walk an alternative road. Like any person there will always be the 'what ifs'. Perhaps if Jim had entered further education, I would not be here. He may not have met Nora, my Grandmother. A whole slew of possible outcomes will always be there, unrealised, at rest in the shadows.

Nora, Jim's wife is seated in a deckchair. The picture speaks of summer to me. The summers back then always look more pleasant. I do not know who the two women are or the child. Perhaps neighbours. If I am correct, this looks like the side of the house in the family home at Dwyer park. I wonder what age Nora, my grandmother, was here. Perhaps in her late forties. She seems to be looking slightly off camera but it is hard to tell. I also wonder who took this photo, many of these photos. They read like casual shots, not organised posed pictures. The women may have just been chatting with each other when someone arrived with a camera and they bustled into position.

I would later in life learn that Nora suffered with her mental health. My father recalled her falling into episodes of what he called 'black depressions'. I was surprised by this revelation. My grandmother had never come across as someone with such a crippling affliction. She must of hidden it well. in her time and circumstance I can't imagine there being much in the way of proper therapy or even understanding for such illnesses. My father also told me how Norah loved to be around people. That she would go to the local pub even though she wasn't really a drinker just to be surrounded by activity, by the sounds of people chatting, the convivial atmosphere. I wonder if this helped her in times of distress. I hope so. This image makes me happy to see her front and centre. Nora looks happy here, almost playful. And she was playful and warm as I remember her. Later, the child me would enter this environment. I remember the coal shed in the back yard. The tools hanging from hooks. The small kitchen. The soap Nora used. The sweet cakes and biscuits. Her great fondness for Daniel O' Donnell. Her laugh.

An animated gathering of children ushers me into another era. The time of my fathers childhood. I enjoy the jumbled look of this picture. it expresses the unconfined energy of its subjects. Some of the kids pose and look towards the camera where others are distracted and more interested in what is happening outside the frame. This was taken on Maitland street where my fathers family spent some time before moving to Dwyer Park in Bray. My father tells me that the occasion was a festival of sorts known as Bray Civic Week when all sorts of outdoor activities were organised in the surrounding area. The hats all sport the name Lyons tea, a now somewhat emblematic Irish brand. There is something very joyful in this picture. The children are out on the streets. Together. They are part of a small but bubbling community and there is a sense that this community plays a big part in their raising. My father Dermot and his older brother Seamus are perched on the far right in the back row. Seamus rests an arm around Dermot's shoulder,protectively perhaps. Characters peak out from the collection of bodies. The boy on the far left in the suit stands upright with shoulders back. He could be either awkward or confident. The three boys in the centre back look like they might cause some trouble together. There is a gaggle of girls all together at the front, the older ones looking after the little ones. it's a perfect candid moment of small town life. I wonder where these kids ended up and if anything extraordinary happened to any of them.

And then I see Seamus . My uncle Seamus. His likeness to Jim is striking here. The jawline is the same, those ears, the way the eyes are set and lined. Seamus, with his chipped teeth here has the countenance of an old man. An old, Irish man who would take the piss out of you. There has always been something quite enigmatic about Seamus. Even my father says it. He recalls how Seamus would deliberately say untoward things around people of the older generation or those who were more conservative in their speech just to get a rise out of them or to entertain. A certain friend of Noras was apparently told to 'f***k off' one day when she called to the door for the umpteenth time. This still makes me laugh. To me, his likeness to Jim is mainly in his bone structure. The characters are different. Seamus smiles with teeth here, even though they are damaged. There is wit in his expression, humour, a hint of defiance. He looks very like the Seamus I know even to this day.

A strange, almost surreal photo shows my father at eighteen years of age. There is something a little perplexing about this image. Although I am sure it was unintentional, the picture has a sinister atmosphere. Dermot looks pensive here. His shoulders look stiff. His hands are restless or holding something. And of course there are the two ominous silhouettes on either side of his frame. Who are these hidden figures? The one on the left looks to be standing with arms folded, judgemental, while the other could be approaching with menace. Are these figures about to alight upon my father? Of course I am imagining all this. I am inventing what the image possibly presents. My father says he can't clearly remember where this was taken or what was happening. This adds to the mystery of the picture. If I were to look at it with no knowledge and no connection to the subject I could come up with all sorts of ideas for what is unfolding here. That is the beauty of the still image I believe. I will never really know what happened directly before this moment or directly after. This frozen time is all I have to analyse. I also like the sharpness of my fathers shadow. It would be interesting if this picture had been completely made up of shadowed figures. it could then almost be read like a still from some black and white thriller or crime movie.

What was happening for Dermot at this time of his life? He is dressed in a suit but there is something still very boyish about his face and how he holds himself. What was he dreaming of here?

I return to see Jim once again. A blurred image. He gazes down from a window, framed by a column of darkness. He looks like my father here. There is something melancholic for me about this image. Jim is receding again into that unknown space. He becomes distant to me. I can't make out his eyes. He looks slightly thin, unwell. I am looking up towards him but he is out of reach.

Jim died quite early. This is why I never met him. He was a smoker. Cigarettes and a pipe. He always had a pipe in his mouth my father said. He developed emphysema. He enjoyed a pint too but was never really a heavy drinker. I'm not fully sure why I feel quite a loss at not knowing him. There is a mystery about this man that floats somewhere in my subconscious. As I grow older I find myself thinking more about these matters. What might Jim make of me as his grandson if he were to know me now? Would I be similar to him in any way? What would we talk about? What could he tell me about my own father? What was important to him in life? These are questions that will go unanswered like many others that come into our minds as we move through time. But I am glad for these images of him. They connect me to another era and make me reflect on myself in relation to what came before me.

Annie Mc Cabe was my fathers aunt. I knew her quite well. She was present in my life as a youngster. I also performed gardening duties at her cottage in Loughlinstown in the summer with my brother. Annie was an interesting character. She was central in the family and each year would hold a large get together for her birthday where all the relations would gather at a hotel. She would sing at these parties, even though she had no sense of melody or tuning. She enjoyed singing and expected that people would listen to her. As an older woman she shared her cottage with a number of cats. We knew her as nannie. She would place notes into my hand in a ceremonial way after I had worked in her garden. She was very generous. Here she is posing. I believe she liked attention and was not shy. But the younger Annie in this picture is unknown to me. I saw the old woman in cardigans who moved slowly, giggled at times and offered my brother and I sandwiches on plates that had cat hairs on the edges. This Annie looks to have energy and self awareness. Her hat almost looks like it could be worn on safari. She curls her wrist around the arm of the chair. She looks off to somewhere else. This could be aping a pose she saw by some star of the screen at the time. I am curious about this version of Annie. What was she like. How did she spend her days? What ambitions might she have harboured for the future at this time?

And back to Nora. This is more the woman I would know. Her hair is wild. She has a strong brow. I think I see the door of the toolshed behind her in the small concrete backyard. The house was always very clean. I recall many buckets of soapy water flowing down drains, counters being scrubbed. I wonder if Jim is still with us when this photo was taken. Many women from this generation in Ireland were destined to spend a large part of their later life without their partners. The men died younger. The women soldiered on. Nora became the matriarch. A woman alone in the house she once raised a family in. Dwyer park is a small council estate at the northern end of the town. The people that lived there knew each other. They checked on their neighbours. What is Nora thinking here? I can't tell. But similar to the photos of Mary Ann her face speaks to me of endurance. There are people she knows will come to see her. She possibly has a new generation of Mc Cabes that will soon develop under her gaze. She is living and that is enough.

Trish, my fathers younger sister, was always photogenic. This picture contains quite a lot of information for me. In the background we can see the shape of Bray Head spilling out into the sea. There is a clear, shallow depth of field in this picture. All is slightly out of focus until we reach my aunts face in the foreground. Even Noras profile is slightly softened. I am curious as to what camera might have been used here. There is clearly a modernity to this picture compared to most of the others. This was taken on the Bray promenade. The blue and orange railings are so ingrained in my memory now. The stretch of concrete and grass that leads you down to the other end of the beach, to the amusements, to the foot of the mountain. I know this part of town, every detail. I can almost hear the sounds of the waves, feel the temperature of the place.

What jumps out to me immediately about this picture is the very clear divisions of generations. Nora the older, stands in a formal blazer and brooch. Her hair is cropped back. She looks every bit a church going Irish woman of her time. Trish on the other hand represents the newer Ireland. An Ireland looking towards a possible change. An Ireland that is reaching beyond the confines of its conditioning. Trish has adopted a bohemian aspect here. She reminds me of some of the folk singers of the time. The new guard of young adults searching for ways to reimagine the culture around them. Funnily enough I remember telling Trish when I was in my late teens how I would have liked to be a young person of the sixties. I was captured by the music of this era. The attitude. She told me that in Ireland, at the time, nothing was really happening. We were still in the iron grasp of Catholicism and all that entailed. All the excitement was to be found across the water in London. My aunts character is very evident in this image. She is open and friendly, a free spirit.

Dermot, my father, poses here in a white polo neck with a group of work pals. This was taken in Glengarriff, Co. Cork. My father was embarking on his career with the national television and radio broadcaster RTE at the time. When I first looked at this picture, the film 'Dead Poets Society' sprung to mind. The young men are surrounded by nature. They contain energy and promise. The seated man stares off into the middle distance. Dermot looks to be in a jovial mood. Perhaps things were looking up for him here. He could see a future, could taste the possibilities ahead. I am guessing he was about twenty or twenty one here. He had yet to meet my mother Una. Again, there is something about this Dermot that I am not familiar with. He is yet to assume the responsibilities of fatherhood. He is young with prospects. The world is opening up before him.

RTE had created a new training scheme at the time. The chosen candidates developed their knowledge and skills in this period and were paid also for their time. There were only ten people picked and the scheme was dissolved after its first outing. My father was fortunate to get this opportunity. It must have given him a great sense of achievement. His studies had paid off. He was transcending his younger self, the environment of his upbringing, and life was starting to become his own.

I take a brief jump back in time. Essie Conroy, my fathers aunt is flanked by her nephews Seamus on the left and Dermot on the right. I immediately wanted to know who Essie was when I saw this picture. I wanted the motorbike to be hers. I imagined she was the wild card of the family, the black sheep. Apparently the bike belonged to a a male friend of hers but for my own purposes I will continue to picture her tearing about the back roads of Catholic Ireland with her hair flying in the wind. This photo was taken In Laois where my grandmothers family were originally from. Summers for the Mc cabe children were spent down here on a farm. The two boys look rake thin. Essie's face is distorted. I can't glean her character but I am told she spent time in London and was seen as the glamorous sister. It is interesting to me to even have small scraps of information and hearsay about the characters in these photos. The extended family I never knew. They had lives and experiences. They are all part of a patchwork that I am sewed into.

And so my father stands with my mother Una and Nora. I believe this was taken in Trinity College Dublin at Dermots graduation day. He had been studying while working at the same time with RTE. My mothers love of colour makes itself known here. To this day her dress sense continues to be adventurous. She is expressive through colour. She has always vowed to never fade into the subdued greys and beige of old age. If I were to see someone these days dressed like this I would probably think they are quite avant garde and interesting. Nora looks very happy here. Proud probably. Jim is absent. He has possibly passed at this stage but I'm not sure. Dermot looks handsome and self assured. again the future is beckoning him on to new shores. He was in love. There were plans and preparations. My brother Conall would enter the scene in the not so far future and I would follow some years later.

At the time of writing, I am confined to my flat in Edinburgh. It is 2020. Many years are between these images and where I am now. The current situation has pushed many of us to look inward. It has distanced some of us from our families. I would like to be around them but cannot right now. This walk through the past somehow brings me closer to them. it is an unexpected walk that I am taking. I hope to continue with further images. To explore perhaps some pictures from my mothers side of the family. Family is important at this time. In fact they are always important. I have learned this very clearly in recent times. Whether we are close or not, there are bonds, clues to what makes us who we are. I am thinking of all the Mc Cabes right now and hope they are well and looking after each other.

'Til next time...