My favorite weather is bird-chirping weather.
"Hear! hear!" screamed the jay from a neighboring tree, where I had heard a tittering for some time, "winter has a concentrated and nutty kernel, if you know where to look for it."
The demise of summer: the descent into winter
"Then summer fades and passes and October comes. We'll smell smoke then, and feel an unexpected sharpness, a thrill of nervousness, swift elation, a sense of sadness and departure."
I like these cold, gray winter days. Days like these let you savor a bad mood.
When the bold branches
Bid farewell to rainbow leaves -
Welcome wool sweaters.
So, yes, winter's coming. But when we are overwhelmed with snow and whipping, ice-cold winds, I'll look back at these fall photos and remember -- it's only for a season. Spring is coming soon!
Butlin's camps were famous for their 'redcoats' as seen in the photo above. Redcoats were hosts or hostesses, smartly dressed in red and white, who were to act towards the guests at the camp as if they were guests in their own home. They were to be good mannered, know exactly where everything in the camp was, so that they could direct those who did not know, and they were to mix and mingle with the guests, not staying too long with any one person. They ate with the guests and even slept in the same accommodation as the guests.
Some redcoats were also photographers and they would wander through the camp offering to take photos of the guests in any and all kinds of activities and situations. The guests could then purchase the photos later. My father organized the building of the 3000 square foot photo factory at the Filey camp, gave oversight to 45 staff members and opened a full photo service available to 5000 people a week!
Life in Filey was fun, as I remember it. We spent much time on the beach in Filey Bay, where the brig reaches a mile out into the North Sea.My father was also producing photos for postcards, at that time, and the above is one of his.
By the end of 1946, my dad was in a position to purchase a house and we moved to Woodcock Road in Flamborough -- a tiny, idyllic fishing village on the North-east coast of Yorkshire. Thus began some of the happiest years for my sister and me.