Sunday afternoons are an enchanted pocket of time.
It is a limited commodity, the last quartile of the weekend, that time before one has to prepare to return to work. The hours before Sunday teatime should be used wisely.
In the old days Sunday was the only proper day off. And Sunday afternoons were the time for putting on your glad rags and taking the air.
The custom of the Edwardian British Sunday promenade was all but lost to us, until they tried to knock down an old building in Blackburn, and made an astonishing discovery.
The Mercer’s shop in Northgate, Blackburn was due for demolition, back in 1994. But even demolition requires clearing. Two workmen were making the basement of the building ready when they stumbled upon three great canisters, very much like milk churns.
Upon closer examination they were found to be stuffed full of rolls of old film.
It might have ended there, with a trip to the scrap merchants to dispose of the rubbish: had not a very specialised shop lain on their route.
It was called Magic Moments Video, and it specialised in cine-to-video transfer.
The proprietor knew a man who might be able to help: a local businessman and historian, Peter Worden. He recognised this find for what it was; a treasure trove of early footage, the most extensive collection of early fly-on-the-wall film ever found.
“Local Films for Local People’ was the slogan of the Blackburn-based company run by Sagar Mitchell and James Kenyon. Their schtick, starting with a film in 1897, was to go out during the day and film people on the street, and then charge people to see the films in the evening.
Behind their camera they had a huge hoarding which declared: “See yourselves as other see you”, and people would stop and stare at the camera, memorising every detail so that when they sat in that dark magical lantern room later that same day, they would be able to see themselves staring back.
What it has left us, now stored at the British Film Institute, is utterly priceless.
People wear their tailored best, on their Sunday walks; in black and white on speckled celluloid, their clothes seem heavy and black, and their hats often elaborate. Because Sunday afternoon was a time where one might shine, and by chance meet friends.
An occasion.
These days we have a two-day weekend, and Sunday afternoon is its waning moon. Still, we were in the mood to do things the old-fashioned way, using just feet; although perhaps without the same sense of occasion.
Phil and I marshalled the kids, put a lead on the dog and set out across the road into the forest to take the air.
We knew that we would meet a few strangers in the manner of the old promenade, but few that we knew, and no-one we knew well.
We bowled along through the trees, past the puddles, kicking through fallen leaves and watching out for dogs of the opposition.
Macaulay met a rough crowd as he crossed the top of the iron age fort. Staffordshire bull terriers, fighting types, straining on their leads, glossy coated with jaws like toothy vices.
Macaulay’s tail went down. He hedged the heather marking the side of the path. He worked hard to make himself invisible. It makes one wonder whether the old-style promenades sometimes required such an attitude. Keep your head down, Charlie, they’re coming.
We headed up past cycling families with fastidiously fastened helmets and ladies striding remorselessly on, putting the world to rights whilst achieving their Sunday constitutional.
As we stood by the pond as Felix challenged Phil to a stone-skimming contest. Phil obliged in spectacular form, skimming a stone three-quarters of the way across the pond and then watching as it turned right.
Amid the uproarious cheer, someone said: “Lydia!”
And I turned round to see the last person I would have expected to see.
My friend Lydia was a stage lighting technician when I was a theatre duty manager. Our friendship was forged striding through the forest putting the dog through his paces. She moved away a while ago, and I seldom see her. I have missed my friend as our lives have demanded each of us be elsewhere.
She had come with her camera to take pictures of the forest. She knew the pond was on our traditional promenade route: and drifted towards it on the off-chance.
The simple pleasure of meeting a friend unexpectedly on a Sunday afternoon promenade: it endures.
In modern times we have dispensed with Sunday best, and often bring with us our motley four-legged friends; but we love to hob-nob and talk over the import of the other six-and-a-half days of the working week.
What a serendipitous pocket of time it is.
Kate Shrewsday 
What a British behaviour, that Sunday afternoon walk, promenad or trotting after the dog. Love it.
So do we, Sidey 🙂
sigh…you leave me wistful for another time, especially since I spent my Sunday keeping the library doors ajar. You paint a wonderful picture, but to behold the forest/pond would be lovely, post more pics, please?
Of course, Angela. I’ll put some together at the bottom of the post.
how lovely, a catch up with a friend on your afternoon constitutional
I caught up with mine in the morning. Cycloman out cycling, teenagers sleeping…. and the sun shining. We started with a short walk in mind and ended up waking for an hour and a half. What a lot to catch up upon 🙂
oh, and the film footage…. I have it running now and each time I go to have a look another clip is showing. What a great deal of social history captured in black and white
It is, quite amazing stuff, and so immediate as they all pass the camera looking at it. I love it.
Sunday afternoon is indeed a family time. I love walking with the family. We are very blessed in this area to have vast swathes of forest and military land that allows us to roam more or less at will. Lakes, hills, viewpoints. You’ll know what I mean
(Are you near Swinley Forest? It was good to see that parts are regenerating after those awful fires.)
I live right on the edge, Nuvofelt. Cross the road and we’re at Caesar’s Camp.
Coincidence: one of the boys asked me why we don’t have a traditional Sunday roast any more, so I made one yesterday.
My childhood Sunday memories are dominated by steaming washing on the radiators and Mum ironing while she listened to the Black & White Singers and Sing Something Simple. Traditions are great, but some are best forgotten (like the Black & White Singers).
I have very similar memories, tilly; my children will never have similar ones as I do not iron unless Lucifer himself is directing me to do so. So far he hasn’t. Those black and white singers….dismal 😀
I love unexpected encounters with old friends, somehow it is so much more memorable and special.
What I find strange about old black and white images is that there were always so many people on them. We have pictures in our local museum of people sitting in hoards on the hills where I live, and which these days, apart from walkers (& dog walkers) are virtually empty. I expect it is because they had no personal means of transport.
It must be, I think, Rosemary. People had to be where the jobs were and I supposed that included taking their leisure…I’d love to see a thesis on it, though….
The light may not have been right for photography but it was shining bright by the pond yesterday. It made my day…..
Ours too, Lydz. And the dog’s 🙂
Those unexpected encounters are the best, aren’t they? They give us a smile and a reminisce. I lived in a town where I knew many people, and even more knew me (I held a minor elected position). I would sometimes be annoyed when I was out for a walk or at the store and get caught up in conversation when I just needed a gallon of milk. I miss that now, where no one knows me – though I do love to able to go out for that milk and not have to put makeup on. tee hee
Anonymity has its charms, Penny 😉
Seeing that old footage would be such a treat. Almost as amazing as running into someone dear by chance on a Sunday afternoon. Lovely post. Next Sunday, I might have to just go for an afternoon ramble. 🙂
Check out the BFI link, Andrea: there are several films online. Just magical to watch. It’s here:http://www.bfi.org.uk/features/mk/
Black and white always seems to give the skin an unearthly pallour, reminiscent of the post WW2 concentration camp photographs. Even happy photo’s have this sad effect on me.
Funny, isn’t it: explains why Nosfiratu was quite so chilling. I agree. They make one feel uneasy.
so appreciated this tale of sunday rambling — had one myself. ah, sunday serendipity. truly worth celebrating! i especially like all that’s happening in the image — a pair of children quarreling about something, parents shepherding their little ones, someone coughs, others mind those around them while a few do not. fantastic footage!
It is, Sabonseine. The films are so busy and bustling, and yet with no sound at all…
Lovely! May the Sunday promenade reign forever! Sometimes, I miss the 19th century…
I know. They were the good ol’days 🙂
Waving madly as I scurry by (stupid day all round ) – what a priceless treasure those workmen found 🙂 Much like your blog my friend, a magnificent piece – evocative and full of life – so happy you had a good day and renewed a valuable friendship 🙂
Ah, Bandsmoke, splendid 🙂 I was hoping your hols were proving restful. It was a priceless treasure. I like to pour a glass of wine and just watch….
Already I am feeling nostalgia. Mind you, my final ramble was on a bicycle, through the copse and on through farmlands to a bridge over the Test where I stared at water and waterbirds and fish for a while.
The previous Saturday evening, though, we took a ramble with a friend into the New Forest and chatted to ponies.
The Test Valley is utterly breathtaking in places. I loved that post of your which included it, Col. Ponies: lovely creatures but they’ve grown bold; I remember one Sunday picnic where one made off with an entire baguette loaf from our bag!
Thanks for your thoughts, Kate. Sunday really is a treat but we have to remember to make it that way… !
You’re right, Mollie, especially with Monday so hot on its heels…
This post makes me glad. Also the word “seredipitous.” Time to simply walk and look and be is a blessing indeed.
It is 🙂 A lovely afternoon…
What a lovely post! Sunday afternoon, walking down the promenade, meeting friends by chance, it does seem like another age altogether.
And the films, what an archive! Priceless, indeed.
Thought you might appreciate the films, Banno. I wonder if anything like that exists in your neck of the woods?
The BFI is such a marvelous resource, Kate – this is the second mention of it I have heard today. Interesting to read of others’ Sunday afternoon rituals in different parts of the world
I love the BFI. And they have so much online: a fabulous resource….