Vest Pocket Kodak

An empty house today, just me and the cats. Couldn't find the energy to go out so it's been a quiet, contemplative day. After listening to Melvyn Bragg and guests on "In our time" discussing Kipling I ended up (predictably) rereading some of my favourite Kipling verses and taking another look at one or two referenced in the program. One of the academics claimed Gethsemane as "the greatest of First World War poems"....no, sorry, it's good but it doesn't compare with Wilfred Owen (but then what does?). I have to confess to being a great fan of Kipling, a guilty confession as he was undeniably the great cheerleader of imperialism, a believer in the "racial theory" that was used in governing the empire, and a major force for recruitment and demonising of Germany during the Great War ...but he was also one of our greatest story tellers and his poetry can still surprise one. I fell in love with his writing as a youngster and its a love that has lasted. Reading his war poetry I couldn't help thinking about the horrific death of his son, John Kipling, at Loos in 1915 (aged 18 years and two weeks). He was undersize, sickly and woefully short sighted and he'd been turned down by Navy and Army three times...until Kipling, who was desperately keen to get him enlisted, pulled strings and got him a 2nd lieutenancy. He lasted somewhat less than an hour into his first action, his death was horrific and despite years of searching by Kipling and his wife his body was never found. With that in mind I had to read some of the poems that Kipling wrote afterwards, the jingoism gone and the grief and guilt raw and public, Mesopotamia and My Boy Jack amongst others. Consistently when votes are taken on the nation's favourite poem If comes in first, there's a particular poignancy to it when one realises that the boy it was written for died so young in no small part because of the ideals his father wanted him to live up to.

With my head full of the Great War I dug out the prize members of my old camera collection, my Vest Pocket Kodaks, one of which became my blip for today. These tiny folding cameras were produced from 1912 onwards, one of them is still being searched for on Mount Everest - the one last seen in the possession of George Mallory and which may finally solve the question of whether he made it to the summit. In the Great War these cameras became the most popular camera of the era on both sides of the Atlantic, they took reliable pictures and folded they fit in the breast pocket of battle dress. If you've ever looked at "candid" pictures of that war chances are it was taken on one of these. British soldiers faced court martial if caught with a camera but thousands took the risk and this was nicely concealable. I've got three of them, all dating from the war years, they are the stars of my little collection.