On the Common – a One Shot Story

I grew up in a village in the south of England. Not a deeply rural place, but surrounded by enough woodland and field to keep any child exploring through many a long summer. During my childhood we would often go walking or cycling in the country with our dad, and one day when I was quite small we took a trip to the outskirts of the village and walked through a strip of land that extends for half a mile or so. We only went to this particular place once that I remember, but there was something about it that captured my imagination. Afterwards, I would dream about this landscape, and in those dreams it grew and took on otherworldly features and dimensions. My brother, sister and I would roam freely about the village, but this particular part was a little further than we were accustomed to go- and so to me it became a mythical place at the very edge of the known world. After a few years I was no longer sure whether it really existed or if I had dreamt it up. Then one day I stumbled upon the hidden land. When I realised where I was I had the uncanny, inimitable feeling of walking into a dream. A vestige of that wonder and unreality still lingers when I visit this place. It’s a place set apart from the rest of the world- existing simultaneously in space and inside my own imagination.

It’s common land- an archaic system that allows certain ground to be used by all commoners for things like pasturing livestock, collecting firewood and cutting turf. Nowadays the only people who take advantage of these rights are farmers, whose sheep and cows can sometimes be seen here during the summer. The Common has a pleasing scale- it’s maybe 200 meters wide and bordered by trees and unkempt hedges. A stream runs along one edge, marking the boundary. The grass grows short and dense, kept trim by grazing cattle, and molehills create an undulating landscape of tufty hillocks. It hasn’t been shaped for any purpose- not for farming or even as recreational ground- it’s simply been allowed to grow and develop through the simple uses to which it has been put.

The last time I visited the village I had a couple of hours to kill before a family function, and so my partner and I set out for the Common to test my newly acquired Rollei 35 with a roll of Kodak 400 Tri-X. This camera hardly needs an introduction to readers of 35mmc- suffice it to say, it’s capable of producing stunning images and is a total joy to use. When I got the scans back and saw the picture of my partner lying on a weather beaten bench, I immediately tried flipping it 180 degrees. The soft light and disorienting effect of seeing her right-way-up yet upside down on the bench somehow captures the uncanny feeling I have whenever I’m in this place. I love the delicate rendering of the grass and the way it becomes brighter as it recedes to the bottom of the frame, giving a feeling of lightness. And look at the subtle definition in the face- there are only two or three tones here. This is one of the things I love about film photography- It’s softness. Too much sharpness would have ruined the ethereal atmosphere of the scene. The day had been sunny but storm clouds were rapidly approaching. When I took the shot I had just opened up to f8 to match the changing light, and five minutes after this we were running for our lives to escape the hail (f5.6). Another five minutes and the hail had passed, and we were already drying out in the wind and sun. It was everything a spring day could throw at us.

Growing up and revisiting the scenes of childhood is often bittersweet. Although the Common never really changes, every time I visit it I find something there which isn’t quite how I remember it, and I am forced to confront its independent existence in space more and more. The imaginary diminishes and is slowly replaced by the real. That’s why moments like this, which recapture a small piece of that old magic, are so precious.

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