Ron Blundell - Some favourite black and white images

"Margate"

"Dog walker"

Burnham-on-sea "Two lights"

"Winters night on Bancks Street"

"Castles in the air"

"The train arriving at?"

"Lazy -Hazy"

"Going out"

Minehead beach looking towards South Wales

Ebbing tide

"Dylan Thomas's writing shed - Laugharne Wales

Extract from under milk wood by Dylan Thomas:

"To begin at the beginning:

It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless
and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent and the hunched,
courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisible down to the
sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboatbobbing sea"

(Continues)

"A thin white line"

"Lightbeam"

Dark sky over Butlins

"Sea and sky"

"A long wait"

"Steadfast and sure"

"We have an anchor that keeps the soul
Steadfast and sure while the billows roll"

"Four square - no walls"

Just another day.

The first grey streak of dawn touched the eastern horizon and the faint outline of the cranes of the biggest construction site in Europe were just visible. The chill wind off the sea penetrated all sides of the wooden shelter and the hard slats of the seat cut through the cardboard and sleeping bag that had offered the only protection through the night. The wind rolled the empty beer cans from side to side along the length of the shelter and the trees and bushes emerged from the gloom as the dawn brightened around him. His brain was still fogged from the contents of the cans that rolled from side to side in the corner as if mocking their 6-pack mate. His joints ached from the cold and awkward resting place not to mention the effect of the passing years. His reserve blanket had slipped off during the night and now lay on the concrete floor slowly soaking up the contents of a small puddle hopefully from an overnight shower. His woollen hat felt damp from dew or sea spray and the sounds of the high tide grinding the grey beach stones were merging with the sound of the wind in the fir trees.

He lay there not sure if to change position for the umpteenth time or just bear the pain in his hip and slip into and out of a fit-full doze. Memories played like a slide show and merged and played tricks with his mind, his mistakes loomed large, and regret and anger competed for his attention. The dab of something wet and cold on his nose rose him from sleep and as his eyes focused, he saw it was a large black dog standing in front of him. At the same time the owner appeared round the corner of the shelter and started at his presence. An older woman well dressed in country clothes and green wellingtons looked surprised to see him and after a slight hesitation said, “Good morning and Happy Christmas”. He grunted a response almost inaudible against the resistance of his scarf and strength of the wind. He felt vulnerable and embarrassed in his prone position and wished she would go away. Which after a slow and lingering look she did and continued her walk calling the dog to follow. The dog also gave a long lingering look with expressive brown eyes that seemed to burn into his soul and trigger boyhood memories of his own dog many years before, it then turned and was gone.

Happy Christmas -yes, he had forgotten that this was for some at least a special day. Memories of past Christmases jostled for attention and a small tear pooled between his eye and nose and then soaked into the edge of his grimy sleeping bag.

After a few seconds he rose stiffly to a sitting position and then eased himself out of his bag. Movement eased the joints a little and warmed his blood sufficient to start the walk to the road.

Ron Blundell