Photographic Practice

Each of the photographers from those four groups had different but similar practice. Scarborough like most seaside towns was busier in the summer and practice differed ‘in the season’ from the winter. There is a good article in Photographic News from 12 November 1880 which explains this seasonal differences and very nicely sums up the experience of having your photograph taken in Scarborough.

At one spot there are six cameras; at another, three more. Evidently, to be photographed is fashionable…

The Sands, Scarborough - “Children’s Corner” by the Aberdeen photographer George Washington Wilson. If you look closely you can see several cameras on the beach.

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Transcription of article from Photographic News 12 November 1880

ON SCARBOROUGH SANDS

When there is no east wind, and the piano-organs are out of hearing, few watering-places are so pleasant as Scarborough. There are none, indeed, to equal it for beauty of situation, and gaiety. ON one side the white terraces of the south cliff - lofty, handsome buildings, following the bend of the bay below; on the other at the, at the foot of the castle, the quaint old town of red tiled houses, nestling beside the busy harbour, always crowded with fishing-boats from every port on the coast. From Yarmouth, from Whitby, from Lowestoft - nay, even from far-off Penzance - brown-sailed luggers come to gather in rich harvests that abound off Scarborough and Filey, and at night the placid bay is dotted with twinkling lights that betoken their presence. No other seaside resort affords such a spectacle to the visitor.

In Scarborough, too, there is plenty of pleasant occupation for him. In the first place, he can do nothing, and that is very agreeable. Here in the trim Spa Gardens, directly underneath the cliff, you can lounge to and fro along the broad terrace, listening to the bands that play in little temples at either end; or, leaning over parapet, you may gaze at the yellow sands below, and the white-reinged waves as they come up in semicircles, washing one over the other. Under the colonnade of the spa building, with its massive columns of chocolate and gold, are rows of chairs for the gay company that come here to drink waters, breathe the sea-air, and enjoy themselves; while in the pavilion itself are to be found a concert-room and theatre for further amusement. There is, besides, an aquarium, a circus, two minor theatres, and other entertainments, to say nothing of two springs of natural waters that you may sip al day long, if you like, and happen to be bilious or affected with weak nerves.

On the sands there is more more to be seen. There is the smart pony-chaise, with its boy postilion, in red jacket and shining boots, indigenous to Scarborough. A favourite occupation is to hire one of these little conveyances, and to get your jockey to ride his steed along the margin of the waves, the pony’s legs splashing in the water as he goes. The toilets of the ladies are another sight. Look at that group of damsels for instance; they are three in number - tall, lithe, handsome forms. They wear tightfitting jersey-like jackets, and their trim skirts are equally closefitting. Of their neat boots and high heels they are particularly proud, for the dresses are all brief enough to show these to advantage. One has a garment of dove-coloured silk, with a broad sash of cardinal red; that of the second is dark brown velvet, with silver lace and silver ornaments, capped with a Scotch bonnet of the same material; the third is robed in a pinafore dress of dainty chintz, and a coquettish beaver hat. All are furnished with high-crutch sticks, of black ebony, employed for the most part in prodding the soft sand, and these sticks, taken in conjunction with the “Old Mother Hubbard” heels, impart a delightful quaintness to the costumes. But here comes papa, and we had best leave off staring.

What else is there to do on Scarborough sands? Well, you can have your portrait taken. At one spot there are six cameras; at another, three more. Evidently, to be photographed is fashionable, and we decide upon being fashionable. We go round and look at the specimens, which are hung round moveable dark cupboards. Here are some nice little group pictures taken on beach and lawn, and several good portraits well detailed and cleverly posed. They are collodion positives - all of them - and, as we examine the photographs one after another, we think what a pity it is that such a beautiful process should be so little practiced. In the end we fix upon “ E. Taylor, Scarborough,” and we ask if he takes pictures by the new rapid process. He says: “Yes”; and so he does, it turns out, but not in the way that we meant. In fact, his process is so rapid, that, within five minutes and a-half of giving the order, a very good picture of the sea wall, with ourselves in front of it, is put into our hands.

The fee is one shilling, and we can tell our friend to make all the haste he can. We time him. Of course it is a collodion positive he sets about making. The plate is quickly polished, and put into a bath; then we are led towards the sea-wall aforesaid, to be fixed up and focussed.

To give pleasure to others is said to be the greatest pleasure in life, but, in paying attention to this maxim, we rather hindered our friend the photographer. Three young urchins had clambered to a high point of vantage upon a bit of rock, whence the whole process of photographing might be comfortably watched, but selfishly, would not permit a fourth comrade to share the entertainment. Every time the latter tried to get a footing on the slippery stone, he was pushed down again amid a good deal of scrambling and shouting. Thus it became necessary on our part to interfere with a rebuke, and to point out that one had as much right to enjoy the treat before them as the other. We insisted, too for less noise on their part, since being photographed was a serious event in one’s life, and not to be regarded with levity. This brief harangue, after we had been posed and focussed, rather interfered, as we have said, with our friend’s work, and before we gave the “go,” fully three minutes of the time had elapsed.

There was lots of light - due east, if you will look at the map, for we are facing the North Sea - and an exposure of two seconds sufficed. “Spectacles off, if you please",” was the warning given; to our regret, we did not comply, and the portrait turned out defective in this respect. The photographer carefully shields the lens with his hat, and uncaps. In another instant he has withdrawn the slide, and buried himself in the dark-tent; and before the urchins on the stone above, and we ourselves, are well aware, the ordeal is over. Time - three minutes, twenty seconds.

Some of us might very well take a practical lesson from Mr. E. Taylor, of North Cliff, Scarborough, in rapid working. There is a place for everything, and everything is in it’s place. The focussing screen is immediately returned as soon as the slide has been withdrawn; the cap is attached to the lens by a short string, so that it is never missing, and always handy. at four minutes, twenty seconds, the plate is developed and washed, and we are treated with a passing glance at the result. A match is struck, and a spirit lamp lighted, over which a tiny picture is deftly moved to dry. The glass soon gets hot, and then some of “Bates’ black varnis” is rapidly applied at the back by means of a camel’s hair brush. Finally, the picture is fitted into a gilt frame. Time - Five minutes, forty seconds.

Our friend tells us he employs Mawson’s collodion, and rarely makes up a fresh bath once a year. He does not albumenize his glass, and has an idea that the albumen is apt to put the bath out occasionally; at any rate, the bath never gives him any difficulty as he works now, and he has not made up a fresh one for eighteen months. How many of us, we wonder could say the same?

There is plenty to do on Scarborough Sands in the season; but unfortunately, there is very much competition. Twenty to thirty sitters a day is considered good work, but these are red letter days. We congratulate our friend on his rapid orderly working, and certainly, an out-door photographer can scarcely depend on making it pay. A bad plate, from whatever cause it may arise, not only means the loss of material, but loss of time and customers.

Our friend naturally enough, only works on the sands in the season. He has a studio on the North Cliff, where he is to be found for the rest of the year. In the spring he usually travels, taking views as he goes from place to place. It is chance work; sometimes at a gentleman’s seat he gets into luck’s way, and there is a whole series of pictures to be taken of the grounds, cottages, &c, in the neighbourhood. On other occasions there are blank days, in which nothing is done. Much, of course, depends upon weather; but in the spring time, just as summer is reviving, is evidently a favourable opportunity for persuading householders to have pictures taken of their dwellings. But to be successful as peripatetic photographer, it is necessary, as we have shown, to have no little knowledge of photography, and to unite with it consider able tact and skill in rapid working.