Amateur Photographer & Cinematographer (1937)

December 22nd, 1937 The AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHER p 6 CINEMATOGRAPHER a he Photographic Present • A CHRISTMAS STORY I HAVE a rich uncle. Childless, too, but not so old. Still, in the ordinary course of events it seems likely that he will predecease me and I am his possible heir. Well, you all know what that means — it practically compels one to simulate reasonable intelligence, and also to display some seeming interest in the hobby or life work of the prospective bequeather of riches. Uncle Edwin has a passion for photography, also real talent for this most difficult art, and one week-end I spent with him I was stupid enough to profess interest in his hobby. The rest of the time was spent in listening to an acknowledged expert in his work endeavouring to give help and assistance to a supposedly keen be¬ ginner. Frantically I withdrew from the position I had assumed — I confessed that my camera experience was very limited — that I only had a cheap old model which nevertheless “ took lovely pictures.” This was my undoing. Uncle Ed¬ win is nothing if not generous. His yearly birthday and Christmas cheques are like oases in a desert of poverty. I have learned to rely on them as on some safe and certain bi-annual sop to throw to hungry creditors. Tailors’ bills, car licence, holiday money, all become possible with the help of Uncle Edwin. About a week ago I got a jolt. A heavy and beautifully packed parcel arrived for me, together with a letter from Uncle stating that as he had observed with pleasure my interest in photography, and realised the difficulties of a keen student handi¬ capped by poor equipment, he had on this occasion decided to change the usual cheque for a really good photo¬ graphic outfit. I was aghast. I had counted on the money and was in the deuce of a hole without it. My birthday was nine months distant, and my bank would look with disfavour on any suggestion to increase my overdraft. Money¬ lenders ? Selling things ? Pawning things ? Borrowing ? I unpacked my parcel thoroughly. The largest box contained what even my untutored eye recognised as an obviously expensive miniature camera of a famous make. Further research discovered a multitude of gadgets. Light filters (mysterious coloured glass things) ; a funny little clock thing called an exposure meter ; an extra¬ ordinarily light and compact tripod of some sort ; a huge book on photo¬ graphy, and numerous leaflets of instructions. The makers’ prices were on the instruction books. Whew ! Uncle had spread himself to the total of about fifty-six pounds ! What a wicked waste, I thought. I thought feverishly of re¬ sale — surely a dealer would give me half-price for the lot. Impossible. The letter went on to say how much my Uncle looked forward to seeing my work with this new model. I began to examine the things more carefully. The camera alone seemed more complicated than any piece of mechanism I had ever handled. Fairly bristling with engraved figures and little wheels and knobs and windows. I skimmed through the instructions : “ Coupled range-finder ” — where was it? ‘‘ Film counter,” “depth of focus,” “ slow instantaneous exposure,” “ in¬ teriors.” Me, with my five-shilling box camera, accustomed to wind and “click” ! A couple of hours and I grasped how to fire the thing and had some glim¬ merings as to the use of the range¬ finder. The “ stops ” — a new one to me — and the infinite choice of shutter speeds were beyond me. I put on my hat and went down to the local chemist. Poor chap, he had never seen anything like my outfit, and directed me to an expensive-looking camera shop. I put my cards on the table — or rather all the doings on the counter — and explained the position. They were very helpful and filled the thing for me. Thirty-six shots on one spool instead of eight 1 They said that it was a most magnificent outfit, and that I could take anything with it — no need to worry about sun. I asked them to put everything at an average setting suitable for most conditions and this rather stumped them, but they did what they could and I wandered away. That afternoon I took a nice horse in a field, and nasty child with a dirty face. Also a cloud, as that seemed to be the main use of such a camera, judging by the illustrations in the book. I met George. He is a fairly keen photographer in a small way, and was visibly impressed. He played about with everything for a bit and then left, obviously envious. His parting words were : “ Mind, it’s a devilish ex¬ pensive job, photography ; you’d better give up smoking anyway for a start.” Cheery. I fiddled about with my gear that night and began to get interested. Some of the photographs in the book were really beautiful. Surely I could learn to do that too— everybody had to start some time. Next morning an enormous parcel arrived, from the same firm as the camera. I began to feel deranged — this was getting beyond a joke. It contained a huge and awkward thing called the “ Blank ” Enlarger, and was lavishly finished and obviously of great cost. Then a letter from Uncle Edwin : “. . . regret the enlarger is a day late, but the firm could not obtain it sooner. It has occurred to me that photography on the scale I hope you will follow is a somewhat expensive hobby if the best results are to be obtained. I therefore enclose a small cheque which may help you to enjoy the best professional assistance until you are capable of producing and finishing your own pictures.” The cheque was double the usual Christmas one. God bless Uncle Edwin. I’ll be a photographer if it kills me ! 692 1 1