All things must pass...

Well, it's that time of year again. There is a nip in the air, and there is a haunting quality to the light which I know is there but which I find difficult to describe, a sort of mellow clarity unique to autumn.

This is my favourite time of year, and has been for as long as I can remember. Autumn at its best can deliver bright, crisp, sunny days, times when you feel a need to be outdoors, kicking up golden leaves, breathing in, and simply being. 

And in more recent years, autumn has sometimes brought with it another treat for me and my husband: a trip to Inversnaid, or, more specifically, the Inversnaid Photography Centre.

If you type 'Inversnaid' into Google Maps, you will see that this tiny hamlet is in the middle of nowhere, about half-way up the eastern shore of Loch Lomond. It is actually at the end of a 15-mile cul-de-sac, which begins in Aberfoyle and then travels along a narrow, winding, undulating road, along the banks of several lochs and through stunning areas of woodland. 

 View from the eastern end of Loch Arklet, looking west towards Inversnaid

For nearly 25 years, André Goulancourt and Linda Middleton, ably assisted by Ian King, ran residential photography workshops with some of the country's best photographers, from their home, Inversnaid Lodge, a beautifully-restored, 18th century hunting lodge. My husband participated in several of these workshops, before becoming a tutor there himself. And - luckily for me - non-participating partners were made very welcome...!

My memories of Inversnaid are pretty unusual, as they're from the perspective of someone who hasn't participated in the workshops themselves. But this gave me a wonderful opportunity to explore the area in depth, and to come to know and love it.

Whichever way you walk from the Lodge, you end up in beautiful walking country. Head down to Loch Lomond, and you can walk a section of the West Highland Way. My favourite stretch of this walk takes me south, into a dense area of woodland which allows for only limited, dappled light, and where many of the trees are covered in delicate lichens. There is a stillness and a quiet here which is absolutely magical.

 Looking west across Loch Lomond from Inversnaid

At my most energetic, I love the walk along Loch Arklet, up and around Loch Katrine, where the plaintive cry of the buzzard provides a haunting soundtrack. Whenever I've done this walk, I've always had to keep my eye on the time: I've covered as much as 14 miles in a day, pausing frequently to watch the birds or to enjoy my packed lunch. And my greatest fear has always been that I won't be back at the Lodge in time for dinner: ask anyone who has experienced Inversnaid, and they're bound to mention Linda's delicious home-cooking!

Loch Katrine at sunrise: not my favourite time of day, but very pretty.

And what of the Lodge itself? It is beautiful and cosy, and many of the rooms look straight over towards Loch Lomond. But I suppose the real measure of any home is the people living in it. For that reason, you couldn't hope for a warmer atmosphere than you find here. It really is one of those places where you arrive as a stranger and leave as a friend.

For so many reasons, the arrival of autumn always makes me yearn to be back in Inversnaid. And that feeling is given an increased intensity this year, because sadly it seems very likely that the days of photography workshops there are over now, after an impressive 24 years. (This, incidentally, gives my husband the rather melancholy distinction of having run the last one ever!)

All good things must come to an end, of course, and nobody who knows how much energy and effort has gone into the running of the Photography Centre will blame Linda or André for deciding to slow down a little. 

Of course, my beloved path through the woods on the edge of Loch Lomond will still be there, and the fieldfares will return, to strip the rowan bushes of their berries and to set the sky alive in their chack-chack-ing, silvered flocks. These things will remain. But the atmosphere and warmth of the Inversnaid experience itself, the laughter and the friendship we all shared, can never be recreated. That will have to live in memory alone. But what memories..!

If you've been a fairly regular reader of this blog, you'll realise that music is a fundamental part of my existence. And if there is one piece of music which is guaranteed to bring the sensation of Inversnaid flooding back in all its loveliness, it is 'Soltarlo' by Claudia Gomez. I can picture myself in front of the fire in the sitting room, with a book and a pre-dinner drink, refreshed and happy after a long walk along country lanes in glorious, chilly sunshine. This is where I was when I first heard this song, and it never fails to transport me straight back to that blissful moment.

 Silver birch at Inversnaid - handsome in its autumn livery!

I would like to dedicate this post, with much love, to Lin, André and Ian for the unfailing warmth of their welcome and their friendship over the years, for their tireless attention to detail, and for the magic they created for everyone privileged enough to have walked through the door of Inversnaid Lodge.




All photography copyright David Taylor Photography 

A viola lesson

Some of my best friends are viola players.

Does that sound like the beginning of a joke to you?

It isn't supposed to be, but by the time you've read this post, you might want to come back and see what you can do with it...

I play the cello. In my time as a 'cellist', I have had the pleasure of meeting lots of lovely musicians, and even some viola players.

Did you see what I did there? I fell into the common trap of making fun of viola players, when in fact, I'm here to defend the viola and viola players a bit. If I can. Partly.

To define the viola, briefly:

• In size terms, it is the big brother of the violin, but very much the baby cousin of the cello, with a body length of between 15 and 18 inches.

• Its four strings are tuned an octave higher than the cello, its lowest string being the C below Middle C, which is the lowest note you will have played if you experienced the delights of the descant recorder at school.

• Its music is written in the alto clef, which is inherently scary. As a cellist I'm already invited to practise the mental acrobatics of the three other clefs - bass, tenor and treble - on a regular basis, and I'm not learning another one. I'm not.

• It is the subject of scores of jokes - many of them screamingly funny - as are the people brave enough to take it on.

I had always imagined that part of the perceived problem with the viola is that - dare I say it? - it is neither one thing nor the other. It doesn't have the sparkle of the violin, nor the rich, sonorous depth of the cello. It kind of... well, rumbles along somewhere between the two.

When I decided to write this post, I googled 'Viola jokes why?'. I genuinely wanted to get to the bottom of why the viola, and violists, are so often maligned.

My search led me to Dr Carl Rahkonen's fascinating paper No Laughing Matter: The Viola Joke as Musician's Folklore*. This informative and informed article makes a lot of serious points about the reasons behind the notoriety of the viola and the violist.

The viola usually takes an easier orchestral part than the violin. The instrument is far less powerful than its smaller sibling: it is tuned a fifth lower but is only 10% larger, so will never stand out in the orchestra.

The fact that its orchestral parts tend to be easier means that when these parts are more challenging, players sometimes struggle with them. This could account for jokes about viola players having more limited musical and intellectual capacities than their colleagues.

There is also, apparently, a tradition that viola desks are filled by people who just didn't make the grade as violinists. Historically, the viola didn't actually have a part written for it: it doubled up the bass parts and was often played by inferior violin players.

This is a tradition which continues: according to Dr Rahkonen, school orchestra directors routinely 'switch the poor violinists over to viola, where they will do less harm, and perhaps even contribute...'

Even Richard Wagner - yes, the Richard Wagner - put his oar in. He is reported to have said:

The viola is commonly (with rare exceptions) played by infirm violinists, or by decrepit players of wind instruments who happen to have been acquainted with a string instrument once upon a time.

With friends like that...

I would add that Dr Rahkonen's article is made all the more appealing by the appending of three whole pages of viola jokes... (He is, of course, entitled to tell them, being himself a violist.)

According to Dr Rahkonen, the telling of viola jokes was at its height in 1993, and has since greatly diminished.

That doesn't make them any less funny, though. So, here are a few of my favourites:

Q:  How do you know when a violist is playing out of tune?
A:  The bow is moving.

Q:  What is the difference between a viola and an onion?
A:  Nobody cries when you cut up a viola.

Q:  What is the difference between a viola and a trampoline?
A:  You take your shoes off before you jump on the trampoline.

Q:  Why do so many people take an instant dislike to the viola?
A:  It saves time.

Q:  What is the longest viola joke ever devised?
A:  Berlioz's Harold in Italy.

Oh dear. Reading this back, I don't seem to have made a very good job of sticking up for the viola or his noble player, do I? I have simply reinforced a well-established stereotype. Tut tut.

So let me end by saying that there are some beautiful pieces for the viola, and here is a selection of clips you might like to listen to. They will break you in gently...

Far from being a joke, Berlioz's Harold in Italy is a wonderful tour de force for the instrument. He wrote it at the request of Paganini, who was apparently disappointed with it; it seems that it wasn't enough of a showcase for his virtuosity.

Elgar's Enigma Variations feature a beautiful solo for viola. 'Ysobel' (Variation VI - roughly 2'15" into this clip) depicts Isabel Fitton, one of the composer's viola students.

William Walton wrote one of the most famous concertos for viola. This short clip of Maxim Vengerov is a really good introduction to the appearance and earthy timbre of the instrument. (Unfortunately, the world was deprived of the much-anticipated (?) viola concerti of Elgar, Glazunov and Ravel - all three died before doing any substantial work on them.)

I hope you've enjoyed this short tour of the viola as much as I have. Oh, I must go. My violist lodger is outside the house again, standing on the doorstep. I'd better go and open the door for him: he can't find the key and he never knows when to come in...



*Presented at the National Meeting of the American Folklore Society and the Society for Ethnomusicology, October 21, 1994, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Copyright (c) 1994.

Dulce domum: the joys (and perils) of working from home

My husband and I run our own business from home. He is a photographer, specialising in landscapes and architecture, and together we work on ideas for ways of making a living - organising exhibitions, running workshops, and selling prints and greetings cards. This is his website.

We like the life we have and wouldn't swap it, even though it can sometimes be a struggle.

So, what are its advantages? Well, personally, I don't miss the stresses and strains of office politics or aggressive, power-hungry bosses, even if I do get misty-eyed when I remember the monthly payslip...

And I don't envy our neighbours when I see them drive off to work at 8 am. Given the cost of fuel at present, I do wonder how many hours a week they have to work just to be able to afford to get there in the first place.

And there are the little things. We can beat the crowds, by going out to places during the week, when there are fewer people around. We get to decide our own hours and can, if we wish, saunter into town for a coffee occasionally, when we feel like it. That's the theory.

But this lifestyle is also fraught with hazards, some of them almost serious.

Cash-flow for one. The work may be flowing in, but that doesn't mean the money necessarily follows in a hurry. This can put serious pressure on the bank account: will we be able to pay the mortgage on time? Happily, the answer is usually 'yes', but there have been times...

And there are more creeping dangers. We gave up the idea of weekends long ago, because we could opt for days off during the week instead. But it can be very easy to let work seep into that designated time off when you are responsible for generating every penny of your own income yourself.

But there is a lighter side to the perils of this kind of self-employment.  

Some of our neighbours*, on the somewhat flimsy evidence that we might eat breakfast at 8.30 on a week day, seem convinced we're living in a state of semi-retirement! This has occasionally led to perfectly innocent comments, such as 'But of course, you have much more free time than we do.' Well, actually, no. No.

The high point, in a comic sense, of our work-related encounters with our neighbours came when my husband's first book was launched by our wonderful local independent bookshop, Cogito Books.

A lovely man from along the street came over and asked me: 'So, do you do any work?' (Italics his, not mine). I explained politely my own role in the photography business, but resisted the urge to tell him that we were both working ten hours a day, seven days a week.

I thought it was very funny. I did, honestly, or I wouldn't be telling you the story. The fact is that this man is a retired farmer - most probably used to getting up in the dark and doing very physical work for long hours - and therefore probably wasn't persuaded that what I do for a living is actually honest work. Perhaps it isn't.

We enjoy the life we have. True, it has its drawbacks, but we don't complain. This is the life we have chosen and we wouldn't change it for the world. True, it will never make us rich. In fact, another photographer friend once joked that the surest way of making a small fortune from this sort of thing... is to start off with a large one!

Boom-Boom, as Basil Brush would say.



* I would stress that we get on really well with all our neighbours. The whole street has a lovely feeling of community about it, and everyone knows everyone else's name. We're very lucky to have that.

As if by magic... In celebration of 'Mr Benn'

I had so much fun writing about 'Bod' on this blog a while ago, that I thought I'd also re-visit Mr Benn, one of my other childhood heroes.

Mr Benn was created by David McKee and first appeared on television in 1970. Each episode of the series, beautifully narrated by Ray Brooks, sees Mr Benn visiting a little costume shop.

As if by magic, the shopkeeper appeared...

Assisted by a shopkeeper who appears out of nowhere, he chooses an outfit to try on (it always fits), and walks through 'the door which could lead to an adventure'. It invariably does, and that adventure always relates to the costume he has chosen (which is lucky, really: I'm not sure what good a wet-suit and diving gear would have been in befriending an unhappy dragon...).

In re-watching the entire series on DVD - strictly for research purposes, of course - I've realised with a touch of sadness how cynical we can become in today's society. At the opening of the series, Mr Benn has been invited to a fancy dress party, hence his visit to the costume shop. We are told:

'Mr Benn wasn't really very fond of parties, but he did like fancy dress...'

Hmm. An asocial loner, then, with a penchant for dressing up. He also spends time watching the children in his street playing and queueing at the ice cream van. So, through today's eyes, perhaps not the sort of man you'd want hanging around your children...

But of course he is! That's just it. This series sparkles with a touching, innocent magic. One of the delicious things about watching these episodes now is that they remind us about the eyes through which we used to see as children, which is enormously refreshing for the soul.

So. Who is Mr Benn, and what are the features which make this little series so captivating?

Mr Benn lives at 52 Festive Road, a charming (Edwardian?) terrace, where everyone seems to be happy. We know little about Mr Benn's life. He wears a dark suit, smart tie and bowler hat, and has a handkerchief in his breast pocket - even on a Saturday. He looks as though he works in the City. But he never goes to work. Ever.

Festive Road - the Postman brings Mr Benn's invitation to the party.

That doesn't mean he isn't useful to his community, though. Far from it. Mr Benn's adventures generally lead to his helping people, righting wrongs or offering suggestions for ways to make things better. He helps to reconcile the King with his exiled pet dragon; he cheers up a princess who is so lonely that she refuses to eat; and he encourages the townspeople to build bigger cages for the unhappy animals in the zoo.

In short, Mr Benn is gentle, compassionate, practical and diplomatic. He helps to make a difference. 

One of the joys of the series is the beauty of its illustration. Each scene is vividly set in colourful watercolours, whether it be a castle, a jungle, a park or an underwater seascape. And the people are lovely too: they have gentle, rounded features and rosy cheeks.

The animation is executed simply but effectively. When characters are walking or running, we often see them only from the waist up, their legs concealed behind hedges, rocks or jungle scenery, depending on the story. This would have saved the animator a great deal of time and effort - having to produce all those legs moving would be very time-consuming.

The elephants walk through the jungle, legs concealed by foliage.

I'm not sure I felt like this when I was a five-year-old, but now I find there is something unbearably poignant about the moment the shop-keeper reappears, signalling that Mr Benn's latest adventure is over. Without argument, Mr Benn steps through the door which takes him away from his adventure forever, and back to the fitting room. He changes back into his suit and tie. He goes home.

This bit reminds me of a scene in the film 'Field of Dreams', where Dr Graham walks over the threshold of the baseball field to save Ray's daughter, knowing that he can never rejoin his team-mates and continue to live his baseball dream. I find it heart-breaking.

Still, Mr Benn never seems to mind - he is always smiling when he's changed out of his costume and into his own clothes - so perhaps I should stop taking it so seriously and not worry too much.

At the end of each episode, Mr Benn is always left with some small memento of his adventure - a parrot's feather, a seashell, a box of matches with a picture of a dragon on it... and we feel all's right with the world.

'How nice... I'll keep them carefully, just to remind me.'

There is an informative Wikipedia page, which includes a brief synopsis of each episode, and a website devoted to the series - As If By Magic - which has some lovely images. And the DVD contains the whole series, a true nostalgia-fest if ever there was one.

In Mr Benn's own words, to the shopkeeper at the end of an adventure, 'I look forward to seeing you again. Goodbye!'

Mr Benn is copyright 1970 David McKee.

The Seven Links Project

I was really touched this week when 'the fly in the web', proprietor of the lovely Costa Rica Calling blog contacted me to let me know that she had nominated Sophie's Words for the blogging Seven Links Project.

The idea of the project is that one blogger is nominated by another to take part. That blogger then looks back over their archive of posts and chooses one that fits into each of seven categories.

Finally, the blogger nominates five other blogs, although there is absolutely no pressure on anyone - that would be unpleasant, wouldn't it, and if it was going to be like that, I wouldn't have agreed to come out to play!

Now, this blog is still quite young, only a few months old, so I don't actually have that many posts to choose from, but I thought it would be fun to look back on what I've got so far. Here goes...

My Most Beautiful Post

I feel a bit squeamish about this one. While I would hope there is sometimes beauty in what write, I'm not sure it's for me to decide whether there is or not - I think that sort of thing is for other people to judge.

So, I'm going to cheat a bit, and nominate this one:  Seeing the smaller picture because its subject is an object of beauty. I just hope my writing does it justice.

My Most Popular Post

The post which seems to have moved people most, and to have elicited some very personal and heartfelt comments, was How Dave Lee Travis helped make the world complete. I was really touched by the response I got with this one. It seemed to have moved something very deeply in people.

My Most Controversial Post

Ooh, tricky. Perhaps the closest I have got to controversy so far is  Magic moments: Your table awaits which touches briefly on the nature of socialism in Cuba! Believe or not, I was nervous about that one and not sure how much to say. I was relieved once I'd got the politics out of the way and could concentrate on the magic!

My Most Helpful Post

Ah. No doubt about this one. No doubt at all (she said, tongue planted firmly in cheek). This one contained vital information for writers everywhere: Displacement activity, revolving cats... and WWWhen the internet comes good This post also holds the record for longest title. And I had fun writing it.

A Post Whose Success Surprises Me

I'm not sure this counts as success, but the following post caused lots of good-natured banter on Twitter about the interpretation of fairy-tales and their sinister undertones.

Admittedly, the debate wasn't directly related to the blog post, whose purpose was to celebrate the beautiful art work in the old Ladybird books, but it was gratifying to watch it spark something in other people: The Elves, the Shoemaker, and a pile of old... Ladybirds.

A Post Which I Feel Didn't Get the Attention It Deserved

I am of the belief that life doesn't owe me anything. And I don't write the blog expecting anyone to pay attention! But there is a post which is close to my heart, because I so enjoyed writing it, but which seems to have passed by pretty much unnoticed. It did get some very lovely, thoughtful comments when I posted it at RedBubble, though, and seems to have moved people. Here is The Happy Meal.

The Post I'm Most Proud Of

One of the ideas I like to explore on my blog is the similarities which different art forms bear to each other, and how an artist in one field might draw inspiration from another in a completely different field. I'm quietly pleased with Elliott Erwitt - the writer's photographer? because it explores how the visual arts might act as a trigger or an inspiration for a writer looking for character, situation and plot.

So, there we are.

And now for my own five nominated bloggers. As I stressed before, there is no obligation on anyone to take part - we're all busy, and this should be a bit of fun rather than a burden. As much as anything else, I see nominating these five beautiful blogs as a way of sharing them with you. Here they are:

Deborah Parkin Photography  Deborah makes some breath-taking photographs, featured on the blog, but also writes thoughtfully and philosophically. You don't need to be a photographer to appreciate the content here.

Hadriana's Treasures  This is a lovely, varied blog by an ex-city banker and scuba diver, who now runs a B&B near Hadrian's Wall, as well as guiding at local Roman sites, and running Latin courses!

The Way Things Comes Clear  Betsy is a recent history graduate and a keen wet plate photographer. She is obviously a great thinker, too, as will be evident when you read her blog.

In The Write Mind  Quirina's blog is home to her beautiful, hypnotic poetry, which has much to say on the nature of being human. If you read German, you're in for twice the pleasure.

English Epochs 101 Debra is a newly-published author (and therefore very exotic to this aspiring one!). An American, living in Oregon, she has a fascination for British social history, and writes informatively on it, as well as on the nature of writing itself. I would like to take this opportunity of wishing her every success with The Companion of Lady Holmeshire.

Do explore these blogs if you have the chance - each of them sparkles with its own unique riches!

Call me Ishmael... In defence of 'Moby Dick'

I'm quite a slow reader, and life is short. For this reason, long novels often put me off. I find them intimidating, and will more often than not go for a shorter option instead.

But if, given a truly bizarre set of circumstances, I was invited onto 'Desert Island Discs', Herman Melville's Moby Dick (600 pages) would be my book of choice. I would happily while away the hours with it, in my homemade hammock, enjoying some coconut juice and a cooling sea breeze.

Moby Dick is much-maligned: I've more often heard it criticised and described as 'unreadable' than I've heard it praised and celebrated. And the mission of this post is to stick up for this lovely book.

To summarise... Ishmael, our narrator, and his new friend Queequeg, sign on with the whaling ship Pequod, whose captain is the imposing and haunted Ahab. He has one leg missing below the knee, courtesy of a huge white sperm whale - Moby Dick. Ahab's quest for revenge on the whale becomes more and more fevered, until the great climax of the book - a three-day battle of wills between the whale and the crew of the ship.

But Moby Dick is so much more than a book about whaling. My first reaction on reading it, was that it was a sort of 'encyclopaedia of the sea', such is the detail with which it treats it subject. There are chapters dedicated to pen portraits of the crew-members, Nantucket and its inhabitants, the joys of chowder, and a comprehensive classification and description of different types of whale, all in beautiful, engaging detail.

And as with any great novel, all human life is here. The characters are richly portrayed and their relationships with each other are often humorous and touching. My favourite passage has nothing to do with whaling: it speaks of the friendship between Ishmael and Queequeg, who first meet when they are required to share a bed in their temporary lodgings:

... I had felt a strong repugnance to his smoking in the bed the night before, yet see how elastic our stiff prejudices grow when once love comes to bend them. For now I liked nothing better than to have Queequeg smoking by me, even in bed, because he seemed to be full of such serene household joy then. I was alive to the condensed confidential comfortableness of sharing a pipe and a blanket with a real friend. 

Yes, this is a long book. But in its favour, the chapters are very short - many of them just a few pages - making it more manageable. And it really does reward our attention. It is full of humanity and tiny, fascinating details, and makes for really compelling reading.

I do like to include pictures on the blog whenever I can. But I don't have a picture of a whale. So here is another view of John Kindness's 'Big Fish':

 

A big fish! Not as tenuous a link as you might imagine:

Ishmael refers to Moby Dick as a fish, rather than a mammal.  

If I've whetted your appetite and you think you might give the book the benefit of the doubt, I won't spoil the ending for you. I remember standing at a Metro station in Newcastle, half-way through the book, and an elderly lady saw what I was reading. 'I've seen the film,' she said. 'Gregory Peck. He gets him in the end, you know.'

Ah yes, but who gets whom...?

The jewel that is The Crown

It's sad to see that Belfast has been in the news again for all the wrong reasons, after a period of apparent peace and growing prosperity. And I want to help redress the balance. I see this blog as a place to celebrate, and reflect on, the good things in life. And Belfast is one of them.

A while ago, my husband and I took two 3-week photography trips around Northern Ireland, including ten days in Belfast. My husband needed to produce photographs for several books he had been commissioned to illustrate. Every minute of every day was taken up with photography. We found ourselves hoping it would rain, just so that we could have a day off! It didn't. We didn't. For six weeks (although we did once wake up to snow).

As with any city which has enjoyed a resurgence in its fortunes, Belfast is a heady mix of the old and new, alive with history but buzzing with new developments: the beautiful architecture of City Hall sits happily amongst smart new office and housing developments...

The beautiful interior of City Hall, from the dome

 
... the harbour is home to the Harland and Wolff shipyard, where the ill-fated Titanic was built and fitted-out; and the arts are thriving in all their forms. Down by the River Lagan, John Kindness's 'Big Fish' sculpture brings old and new together: created in 1999, it is clad in ceramic tiles decorated with texts and images chronicling the history of Belfast as far back as mediaeval times:

The Big Fish, which also contains a time capsule

But to me, the real jewel in the crown of this fine city is The Crown itself.

The Crown Liquor Saloon is a Grade A Listed building, standing on Great Victoria Street. Dating from 1826, it was extensively refurbished in 1885. In 1978, after a campaign by, amongst others, Sir John Betjeman, the National Trust acquired The Crown and restored it to its full Victorian glory.

And glorious it is too. A real gem. The exterior offers an enticing hint at what awaits you inside, with its elaborate tiles and delicate stained glass (designed to give the customers within a greater degree of privacy):

Stained glass window and elaborate ceramic tiling

And stepping inside really is like stepping back in time.

The Crown owes the beauty of its interior to Italian craftsmen. During the late 1800s, there was a resurgence in Catholic church-building in Northern Ireland, and many Italian craftsmen were employed on these projects. Some of these men were persuaded to work after hours on the refurbishment of The Crown, and their skills and attention to detail can be seen everywhere you look.

The bar is a feast of coloured ceramic tiles, beautifully-carved wood columns with Corinthian capitals, etched glass, decorated mirrors, and mosaics. There is a long 'alter' bar in red granite and a heated foot rail.

 The sumptuous bar: ceramics, mosaics, carved wood...

Customers wishing to have a little privacy can enjoy one of the ten individual booths, or 'snugs', which still have a bell for attracting the attention of the bar staff. Each snug is enclosed with carved wood panels and etched glass, and guarded by carved wooden lions and griffins:

'Fortune favours the brave'

And to add to the atmosphere even further, The Crown is lit by its original gas lamps, which occasionally putter, and which welcome the thirsty visitor with their homely, muggy odour.

Gas lamp, pounded tin ceiling and colourful mosaics

The Crown Liquor Saloon has seen, lived through and survived a lot of history. During 'the Troubles', it frequently suffered collateral damage owing to its proximity to the Europa Hotel, a favourite of visiting dignitaries, which had the dubious honour of being the most bombed hotel in the world.

It is so sad to think that a few people are intent on reversing the peace process in Northern Ireland. I do hope peace will prevail, and I hope that will be soon. Belfast, and indeed the whole of Northern Ireland, is full of gems like The Crown, and they deserve to be discovered, enjoyed and celebrated.

All photography © David Taylor Photography