s taken on a vast continent between 1932 and 1948 crystellinely capture the coloured season. All, while fascism crept its terrible fingers into everyday lives and made the improbable seem plausible. Even while terrible things were perpetrated in the name of peace in Europe, these sublime photographs emerged sans colour; they belie the cruelty of the age, the nature of pre-deterimism and the exhaltation of the other. But isn't that always the case? While terrible things are happening, nature seems oblivious, plying its unstoppable force across the planet.Andrew Motion read The Death of Harry Patch this morn
ing in which there was a lovely line about the mangled battlefield (ex-Poet Laureate said it better and I need to listen again to get it). The imagery remained, except that the mangled mud has been softened, repaired, covered, coloured. The place where boys' last cried for their m
others, are fields now. All over. Let's hope the ascendance of science, the discovery of genes that determine this, that and the other don't overtake us again, eh?Happy Birthday Steph, you know this is your song...
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