Category: Black and White Photography

Summer 2025. Part III.

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From Lourdes to the mountain. 

Lunch Before the Climb

The children walked ahead through the Sanctuary, as usual. Why is everyone in such a rush? Is it really that important to be first?

We’d done God. Now, God’s creation. But first: lunch. We stopped at Leclerc — secular, efficient, French.  Cheese and chutney for me, sardines for Killian, pâté for Kate — and a baguette each, because of course. Beer for him, ginger beer for us. And diesel for the car.

Driving Hairpins and Dodging Ravines

We would eat on the mountain side, and it would be amazing.  Back to the Pont d’Espagne — still in France, we checked. In Cauterets, we stopped for ice cream. Sat on a bench. Looked at the mountain. Said nothing. Then I herded them back to the car. “Souvenirs on the way down,” I promised.

It was much the same as last time, lots of first and second gear.  Praying all the way not to go off the road and die at the bottom of a ravine.  I wasn’t dying in a ravine today…  Around the hairpin bends we went, but since I had driven there last month I was slightly less panicky, and even started to enjoy the drive.  At last, we arrived at the car park, still in one piece and happy to be alive.  We were guided to a parking spot by staff.   

Killian got his day sack out of the car and as foolish as I am, I decided to rough it and not wear my hat.  I didn’t want to lose it.  When we got to the official entrance we found out that the télésièges and cable car were working. I took my stick anyway — just in case. And if I needed to beat any small children on the way up? Well, it might come in handy.  We bought our tickets to go right up to the Lac de Gaube, Killian would see it at last….  And, I wouldn’t have to walk 500 metres further up in altitude.  This was turning out to be quite the civilised way to go up a mountain.  I could get into this.  

The Cable Car: A Snug Fit

The cable car, well, to do it justice, could best be described as a snug fit, but the three of us piled in.  Up till that point, I was fine — just panicking when phones were poking through windows to film.

Some children were very nearly beaten!

Nearly…

A very close thing…

Mostly because I’d be the poor bugger having to replace thephones if anything happened. 

Nothing did happen.  Thank you Lord!

Surviving the Télésiège

At the top, we faced the télésiège — a bench on a wire, a bar that barely keeps you in. I took my stick. Just in case. And if I needed to beat any small children filming while rocking the thing? Well, it might come in handy.

My legs shook. Not from height — I’m fine above a certain level. It’s the low heights I hate. The ones where you fall and get impaled by trees. Or worse — have to explain it to their mother.

I survived. Stepped onto solid ground. The more-a the firma, the less-a the terror!

Lunch with a View at the Lac de Gaube

The “short” fifteen-minute walk up to the lake was fine and we passed those coming down, and were overtaken by those going up.  I didn’t care.  I would get there eventually.  Killian spotted a couple of boulders that would do very nicely for table and chairs and we sat down for lunch. I joked that my dark brown chutney, squeezed from the container, looked — and sounded — alarmingly like something it really shouldn’t.  The children did NOT find it as funny as I did.  No sense of humour these youngsters!  But with a baguette and a view? Near perfect. He’d regret the beer later. 

Kate in the Water, Me in Awe

Kate paddled in the lake. It was amazing. I’d heard of someone bivouacking up here. Now I understood. Mountains inspire awe. A glimpse into the glory of God’s creation.  

The Descent: More Civilised This Time

The descent was a more civilised affair.  Kate and I shared the télésiège, Killian took the one just behind us.  We got off and I told Killian to stop hanging around…  The “children” — Killian (26), Kate (nearly 16) — filmed the river, even under the water. I was impressed. Back at the car, Killian dumped the rubbish, then sneaked up and went “boo.” The little shit scared me half to death. Much to his merriment.

A Perfect Drive Home

The drive home was perfect.

God is, indeed, good. 

Summer 2025, Part II: Faith, Family, and the Road to Lourdes

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The Lourdes trip.

The Plan: Stress-Free or Bust

I wanted the trip down south to Lourdes to be a quiet one—especially for Kate. Stress-free, as much as possible. I can do this. No stress. Who needs stress anyway? My wife? Definitely not! No shouty-shouty, nothing.

There was an era in French driving when people thought nothing of a five-hour dash. I am not of that persuasion. Not my thing. If I want to stop, I will stop. We had one goal: get to Lourdes—and not die on the way. If that happened… my wife would kill me!

On the Road: Wine, Pines, and a Good Co-Pilot

The only thing I insisted on was that Killian, my son, be my co-pilot on the Bordeaux ring road. His support on our last trip had been invaluable. He has a knack for staying calm and guiding me gently. As we went past Cognac, Jonzac, Saint-Émilion, and Blaye, I could almost taste the wine on my lips—but no, just keep driving, as Dory might say.

South of Bordeaux, other names began to appear: Graves, Cadillac (the wine, not the car), Sauternes, and eventually the Landes, with their towering Pins Maritimes. Then came signs for Madiran—a nice little tipple!

First Sight of the Mountains

Kate was in the back seat, seeing the mountains for the first time. As soon as the Pyrénées appeared on the horizon, we told her, “Those aren’t clouds—they’re mountains.” She seemed to share our awe. She was also amazed that I didn’t say no to snacks, especially the chocolate chip cookies. Killian got me a coffee to keep me going until we arrived. Good man.

Saturday Morning in Lourdes

Saturday morning would be for God, and Saturday afternoon for the mountains.

We set off relatively early—or, in my fifteen-year-old daughter’s eyes, the crack of dawn. We parked where we had during our last visit and walked gently down toward the Sanctuary. I didn’t even have to stop the children from entering each shop, intent on burning a hole in my bank card. The majority were still shut. And there might be some of you thinking I did that on purpose!

We popped into the café: Killian and I had espresso with croissants, while Kate enjoyed hot chocolate and a tartine of bread with unsalted butter. I felt so bad for her—we live in a region where salted butter is almost sacred! We thanked our waiter, amused by the children speaking French to me while I replied in a different language.

Faith, Water, and Candles

The morning was for God. I went to confession, half-hoping the nun from last time—the one who had made such an impression on Killian—would still be there. She wasn’t, but that was fine. We drifted toward the grotto and said a quiet prayer to Our Lady. Kate seemed less impressed than we were, and I secretly hoped she might feel something. We asked about the baths, but they had reached the daily limit. I still managed to have them sprinkle the healing waters of Lourdes on their faces.

As we crossed the bridge, we spotted a fish—Kate was delighted. She lingered, fascinated by the enormous candles left by pilgrims, each wrapped with prayers. We lit our own candles and said “our” prayers. I checked the mass times for the next day—and found them! No idea where the mass would be, but Kate got us there. Today was Saturday… not Sunday yet.

These photos were taken on the Nikon FE using HP5+ film shot at box speed.

Summer 2025. Part I: Beer, Bad Decisions, and the Road to Lourdes

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Beer, beer, and a dubious decision

A Little Context, Dear Reader

Hello Dear Reader. The last articles you read were a chronicle of the 14th of July celebrations and various disasters with the seafood god — more about family life than pure photography, not that I’m a participant in any risqué photography, as I assume you already know.

Now, this might surprise you — given my reputation as a total abstainer — but even I enjoy a little “drinkie pooh” now and again. That lovely boy of mine asked if I could help him move out of his flat and come home. How could I ignore his pleas for assistance? I couldn’t. So I drove to the boy’s flat and helped him get the last of his “stuff” into the car. We tied his bed to the roof, and he suggested we go for a beer to celebrate his homecoming. What a gentleman, and an all-round good egg!

A Good Egg of a Son

That wonderful son of mine even paid for round one: two pints and one saucisson, which hit the spot. Round two was my turn, and we had the same. The outing was turning into a good night. Round three was even better. We stopped at round four — had to get the car home and all that.

When Good Sense Abandoned Us

It was round four when good sense abandoned us, and the silly ideas began. We were talking about the trip to Lourdes back in June. Wasn’t it lovely, and wouldn’t it be nice to do it again sometime?

“Yes, of course it would,” I said.
Big mistake.
He pulled out his phone.
Tapped.
Smiled.
“Sorted. I’ve booked an Airbnb for Friday night.”
That’s when I realised: we’d fucked up.
His enthusiasm is infectious. But this isn’t the kind of trip you plan at the end of a little outing. Still, he was tickled pink.
I had to explain it to his mother…

Delicate Ground, Ian… Delicate Ground

It was with a contrite heart and much pleading on my part that we managed to get permission from she who must be obeyed. Yes, I was a fool and an utter eejit, and why did I let him be so bloody stupid? Delicate ground, Ian, delicate ground… A father–son trip is fun, but it’s an easier sell when you volunteer to take child number two as well. Killian was fine with this, and it was agreed: I would take the children — Killian and Kate — to Lourdes, without wrecking the car (or even scratching it), and return with all of us in one piece.

The Photographer’s Twist

I wanted this summer to be about film photography — so the ME Super and the Nikon FE were coming with me. No instant feedback. No safety net. Just light, time, and a few rolls of HP5.

Eejit number 1 on the right and his sister who would be putting up with us for the weekend… Nikon FE 50mm Ilford HP+ at box speed.

Coming Soon

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Yes, we went back to the UK on holiday, but before that, I had a trip with the children to Lourdes, and with film cameras, and the X100F just in case. the articles are written and all I have to do now is to develop some film and scan it. Damn you procrastination. I just have to start one and the rest will follow.

The Great Shutter Disaster of 2025

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Ah, family lunches in France. As a rule what can go wrong, will go wrong, and what would go right, generally doesn’t. But why let that get in the way of a family reunion. Fortunately we all love eachother and woe the person that tries to say someting from outisde!

A Calm Before the Storm

Marina and Vincent (sister-in-law and her husband) had arrived that night. Virginie was already downstairs having her shower, and I sat outside waiting my turn, talking to Marina. Lunch preparations were already underway. Marina was cleaning the tables, and I was hoping that Virginie would soon vacate the bathroom and let me get on with my ablutions. Marina is a lovely girl; we get on well, and it’s a joy to talk to her.

Dapper Daywear

Saved by the Virginie. Time to get clean and get dressed in my killer outfit. Well, maybe not a killer — but certainly looking almost smart and dressed for the warm weather. I had gone for beige linen trousers, a darker beige Cuban collar shirt, brown desert boots, and had my Panama to protect me from the sun. I was looking quite dapper, if I say so myself.

When I came back from my shower, the tables were laid out and people were being very well behaved. It was almost civilized. I can hardly believe it myself.

Tables Set, Guests Arrive

People started arriving: Marina, Vincent, Sylvie and Raymond, Marien, my wife’s brother, his wife Nathalie, Marie Lou their daughter, and Raphaël, Marie Lou’s little boy; Jessica and Xavier with two of their little people, Enora and Gabriel, who are slightly less little now. I don’t think I’ve missed anyone. Bugger. I forgot Bali, Raymond’s labrador, who was almost as sweet as Molly. But no dog is as sweet as my Molly, of course!

Drinks, Dishes, and a Dog House

I was sat next to Xavier, keeping the two black sheep together in the proverbial dog house. Marina was next to me, so a lovely lunch in prospect. My mother-in-law had made her tabouleh, which she always gets spot on. Marien started the apéro with whiskey, which — as any Caledonian will remind you — is always drunk at the end of a meal. But since Marien lives in New Caledonia, they must have changed everything. The other choices were kir, a family favourite, or martini and tonic water, a beverage that didn’t have a huge amount of water despite the name. I settled on Coke Zero. Meaning I could drive away and “do some photography” if ever the proverbial were to hit the fan.

The Shutter Strikes

I knew things were going far too well. The inevitable happened. Virginie had wound up the shutter too high, and the bloody thing had disappeared. Gisèle was setting off, blaming the whole thing on her bloody ex, who was nothing more than a leecher and was now some other poor woman’s problem. Virginie was going mad at the idea of the great shutter disaster being her fault.

Shutter Savior

I actually work in a factory that makes these kinds of shutters, and therefore, for once in my life, I was able to shine. This was going to be my finest hour, my time to shine. I was going to be like Lin-Manuel Miranda in Hamilton , and not miss my shot. I was starting to feel all warm inside, as I actually knew what the hell I was talking about.

I looked at the offending shutter, secretly celebrating on the inside that it wasn’t my fault, and tried to guide Virginie through how to fix the problem — which, for clarification, was not my fault. We eventually got the bloody thing back into place and blocked it. Problem solved. And I had earned points from my wife.

Seating Charts and Sun Hats

During this débacle, Gisèle was now seated next to Vincent, and Virginie was now seated next to Marien. I did warn you about the names of everyone. You really must keep up! Xavier and I were relishing not being in the dog house for once, and I loaned him the Chapeau de Bonheur — the happy hat; you wear it and you’re happy — to protect him from the sun. I was allowed my two sausages, some tabouleh, which Marien had decreed was dégeulasse , though I thought it was quite tasty.

A Siesta and a Fireworks Forecast

This was turning out to be a very enjoyable lunch, for once. I removed myself from the gathering and headed up to bed for my sieste. I would be seeing everyone later anyway for the firework display…

Drama Avoided

I have chosen to forget the inevitable shouty shouty between Virginie, Marina, and Gisèle, because, firstly, it wasn’t my place to intervene. I may be the black sheep, but I’m not suicidal. Things seemed to calm down, and Marina declared that the three women couldn’t rule the family. And how wise it was of me to keep out of the way of this formidable feminine force. As Ronnie Corbett so famously said, I know my place…

Lourdes 2025

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There are places in the world where time feels different — where the air is thick with memory, hope, and something quieter than silence. Lourdes is one of those places. This is the story of my pilgrimage there with my son Killian — and of the moment that changed us both.

Lourdes 2025

I look back on our trip to Lourdes with great affection and know that I will be going back with Killian one day. Lourdes is one of the most significant sites when it comes to Marian apparitions — and was where the dogma of the Immaculate Conception was confirmed. Our Lady made several apparitions to Bernadette Soubirous, and the grotto remains exactly as it was, as does the spring she once dug by hand, along with the sacred alcove where Mother Mary actually appeared.

This time we didn’t manage to go to the baths, but I did attend Mass and go to confession.

Was it a pilgrimage for both of us? In some way, yes. Killian’s faith path and my own may be at different places, but we couldn’t help but feel changed.

Little did I know that while I was waiting inside to go to confession, an African nun had come up to Killian and had started talking to him.

When I was confessing my many sins, the priest guided me, taught me, and reminded me of some of the key elements of the faith — and the importance of looking after myself. He was completely right about everything. It was a moving experience — I left that confessional a new man, newly reconciled with God. I said my penance and went to find the boy.

For those of us who went to Catholic schools, we know all about the power of nuns — and you listen to them. She spoke to him not only with authority, but with profound wisdom, deep kindness, and the kind of love only an African mother can carry in her voice. He later told me how much she had marked him. When I came out of confession, she was still talking to him — and boy, was he listening.

Was it just a nun — or was it Our Lady speaking to him the way Jesus speaks through the words of the priest during Mass? I don’t know. But what I do know is that what that nun said to him had moved him more than any lecture from his father ever could. She was such a happy woman, and her laugh was infectious. She truly had the joy of serving Christ.

Lourdes is a place of hope, healing, and searching — a place where we often find God through Mary.

Killian had not only been a constant companion to me, helping me and laughing with me, but I believe God had spoken to that boy through that nun and set something in motion. Is he still fighting his demons? Yes. But there was a glimmer of hope in the darkness — one that won’t leave him untouched.

I didn’t question him further. Some moments are too sacred to dissect. And every soul walks its own path to God.

We had spontaneously gone to Mass the day Pope Leo was elected, and there was a joyful energy in the sanctuary. Habemus Papam. It was a special day.

Not because of the ceremony, or the news, or even the setting — but because, in that moment, I knew: God had not stopped speaking.

Sometimes, He speaks through a stranger. Sometimes, through a mother’s voice. And sometimes, through a son who learns to listen again.