Saul Leiter: An Unfinished World

To Milton Keynes Gallery for another photography exhibition – this time by Saul Leiter (1923-2013), a New York photographer and artist who captured his corner of the city for almost 60 years. He never photographed the obvious: he tended towards abstraction, with lots of blank space and puzzling perspectives/reflections, and was brilliant in making something strange from the familiar. Over the course of the exhibition you got to know what pressed his buttons: umbrellas, hats, canopies, the views from the elevated railway or through steamed-up windows.

The full quote of his from which the exhibition title is taken is:

Photographs are often treated as important moments but really they are little fragments and souvenirs of an unfinished world

which I rather liked. Of course, I had to take my own photos!

Fashion City at the Docklands Museum

An exhibition looking at the contribution of London’s Jewish tailors, dressmakers and milliners to global style. There was little that I wasn’t already aware of so I found it slightly underwhelming, but it was interesting to consider how some quintessentially British brands – like Alexon, Chelsea Girl and Moss Bros – originated in the East End of London. As a site for garment manufacturing it was preceded by the Huguenot silk-weavers and, by the time I worked near there, largely replaced by sari shops. Some of the displays were very local such as seamstresses turning out bespoke items of clothing or wedding dresses. Others spoke of mass manufacture but didn’t dwell on the inevitable sweatshop aspect to that. Looking up close at the craft and skill involved was, as ever, fascinating. Tailoring was an eminently portable skill – sadly useful in a world where you might have to flee persecution.

There was a definite sense of the disappearance of the world it commemorated. All those famous brands have now gone, and its “fashionability” barely outlived the sixties. As I walked back to Tower Hill along Cable Street a noisy jeep-type vehicle with two Palestinian flags roared past. Πάντα ρεί.

Cark to Grange . . .

. . . the long way! It was such a beautiful day that I just had to play truant. At first I intended going for a long walk from Grange now that the railway line has finally re-opened, but I remembered that I need to improve my cycling fitness so I switched to the bike.

Train to Cark, then Cartmel, where I found the priory church open and finally visited the interior after seeing the massive building so often from a distance. The 15th-century misericords are wonderful, and it’s interesting to see the style shift from Romanesque to Gothic as the chancel and transepts give way to the nave.

Then to High Newton and over Newton Fell, where I ate my sandwiches with a big view over the Winster valley. There were bluebells and wild garlic everywhere, and I realised how starved I have felt of the “incidentals” of sunshine, like shadows and slanting light. Then Witherslack and a coffee at the Derby Arms – where I realised that if I could cover four miles in 25 minutes (no guarantee: I’d been making heavy weather of cycling up to that point) I would catch the next train from Grange.

In the end I pulled into the station just as the train drew to a halt. I ran up the ramp and found myself right in front of the carriage door with the cycle logo. A satisfying end to a lovely day.

Buxton

A sudden heavy hailstorm as we walked to the bus stop this morning killed any desire to go for a walk. It’s been a cold, wet, windy day, with the very brief eruptions of brilliant sunshine galling for reminding me of what I’m missing.

Never mind. It gave me the chance to see what the big issues of the day are.

Disley to Whaley Bridge

The Gritstone Trail starts just outside Disley station so was perfect for the start of today’s walk. It takes you past Lyme Park and up to the Bow Stones (the shafts of two Saxon crosses); here we left it and continued over Whaley Moor down to Whaley Bridge.

Lots of gorse and skylarks and wonderful views. From Lyme Park you could see Manchester clearly, but I preferred our lunch stop view of rolling green hills. Still plenty of mud around, but nothing compared to previous walks like Penrith and Saltburn.

Monsal Dale

We caught the bus then walked beside the River Wye to the Headstone Viaduct – the old railway line between Buxton, Bakewell, Matlock and Derby. From the viaduct, we continued along the railway path beyond Litton Mill – through the Cresswell and Litton tunnels – and then up and over to catch the bus back from Taddington.

There were wood anemones everywhere and a few early bluebells. On the Wye below the viaduct we spotted three mandarin ducks, and towards the end we walked beside a jumbled-up field – the site of an old mine.

Furness Vale to Buxton

We caught the train to Furness Vale and walked back to Buxton along the Midshires Way. The High Peak Canal to Whalley Bridge then the Goyt Valley. We passed the Toddbrook Reservoir; all the work on it reminded me of how it was feared it would collapse in 2019 and that Whaley Bridge was in danger.

It was a pleasant walk – varied enough and not too muddy, and the weather was good to us. The final section, along the old Buxton-Whalley Bridge road, gave us a good view of Combs Edge and convinced me that it was not a route I wanted to attempt.

Yanwath

An ad hoc walk to Yanwath to see the hall that the railway line flies past. The idea was to go further but mud and the difficulty of finding the right way made it an unattractive prospect. Instead I chose a route that looked as if it went back to Penrith . . . but it was in fact blocked by a council depot. A word and a smile provided the Open Sesame (oh, the advantages of looking harmless!) and there was no need to trudge all the way back to the main road.

A reminder though that I need to improve my map-reading skills.

Eamont Way

I am Penrith again. Not the weather for it – storms and yet more rain – but I should know by now how to make the best of things.

I walked to Pooley Bridge mostly along the Eamont Way. Into a headwind. It was – as I’d expected – very slippery and muddy. Fortunately little rills (previously known as “footpaths”) washed my boots clean as I walked. Over the motorway, under the railway (built in brick stripes – that I loved) and across the fields. I stopped to look at St Michael’s Church in Barton – dating from the 12th century and reshaped over the centuries. It was in Barton that I walked across a farmyard: a couple of new lambs with their mothers in a pen, a collection of old farm machinery, a large Tudor-looking farmhouse that must be a devil to maintain – and an elderly farmer carrying a pail and walking with a limp along a muddy path. Now that looked like a hard life.

At Pooley Bridge I considered walking back on the opposite side of the river . . . but there was a bus to Penrith due in 10 minutes, the prospect of cheese on toast at Cranston’s and the chance of going to the cinema at teatime. No contest.

Long Meg and Her Daughters

At present any day without rain, no matter how grey, counts as “fine” – so it was “carpe diem” today.

The Brompton came out for the first time in (gasp) two years. Trains to Carlisle and Langwathby, and from there I pedalled (and walked) the couple of miles to the stone circle. It straddles a farm road – which at first sight seems intrusive, but presumably it’s a millennia-old path that now happens to be tarmacked. Long Meg stands apart from the circle: it’s a red sandstone monolith and on the winter solstice the setting sun casts a shadow across the centre of the circle. Her “daughters” are glacial erratics – 68 of them.

I decided to cycle further to the site of an old cross marked on the map: it turned out to be an old hammerhead cross in the churchyard of St Michael and All Angels, Addingham. This was a tiny church – much restored over the centuries, but indefinably “ancient”, with a Viking hogback grave marker in the porch.

Exploring over and my curiosity satisfied, I headed to Penrith and the station, walking up the long drag from the River Eden. I hope it won’t be another two years before I get the Brompton out again. No one to hold responsible but myself for that.