Missed Posts, 2: Alan Cadbury reveals the secrets of April 15th, 2014

Back in early December I posted a piece about the missed blog posts of 2014. Anyhow, it���s now time to write-up another one and I have to admit that resurrecting abandoned pieces of writing is a strangely archaeological experience. Now true, I do have the photos to guide me. But having said that, I���m also aware that those pictures were taken with a common, a linking theme in mind. Put another way, I didn���t just wander out into the garden to take a series of random pictures that later I could stitch-together into a coherent story. The trouble is I���ve had to fall back on forensics to try and work out what on earth that theme might possibly have been. It has been a distinctly archaeological process and happily I have had Alan Cadbury alongside me to help. He���s a really nice chap, Alan, and although he isn���t the greatest with computers and technology, he does understand the forensic process, having taken part in that landmark Forensic Archaeology course organised, I have since discovered, by the Home Office, at Saltaire University back in 1997-8.

Alan had been staying with us recently, telling me about the final events of his second adventure, The Way, The Truth and The Dead (which is still just a third subscribed, so we need your name in it soon, please!). So it was Alan who helped me reconstruct that day last April when I took those pictures. And for what it���s worth, I get really irritated when people, doubtless well-meaning, suggest that Alan is fictional. Yes, he appears in works that are conventionally categorised as Fiction, but I can tell everyone that there is plenty of truth in them. And him. Indeed, Alan himself is far from fictional. Yes, his name has been changed, but I can assure you there is an individual behind the Twitter username @AlanCadbury ��� and if you doubt this, I suggest you check out his geotags, which are very, very rarely the same as mine. I���m still trying to persuade Alan (and yes, that is his real name) to ���come out��� and face the adulation of a rapidly increasing fan-base. But he won���t. In fact he gets quite grumpy whenever I raise the matter. But then, that���s Alan all over.

Now back to that day, April 15th, 2014. It was a Tuesday. As I look back on those pictures, I���m immediately impressed by the cloudless blue sky and the wonderfully bright air. It has to be spring: at no other time of the year would ��conditions be so crystal clear. Now you may suppose that I simply thought: ���What a gorgeous day. I think I���ll slip indoors, pick up my camera and take a few snaps.��� In fact, that���s what I���d have believed myself, if it wasn���t for Alan���s frowning face on the seat beside me.

���It won���t be as simple as that, Francis.��� He paused, rubbing the short beard on his chin reflectively, ���It never is. You, of all people should know that.���

Did I deserve that? I decided to let it pass.

���So what do you think was going-on?��� I asked.

���Well, look at the time and the timings.���

���Yes?���

He flashed them up on the screen. I couldn���t see anything odd about them.

���This picture here shows some sort of blossom, right?���

 

���Yes, it���s the crab apple, Malus�� ���Evereste��� . One of the best flowering crabs, I reckon.���

���But where is it?���

���At the bottom end of the garden, down by the summerhouse, or Tea Shed, as we prefer to call it.���

���Well, it was taken at 16.39.���

���Yes?��� I asked, more doubtfully even than before.

Again, I didn���t think this at all remarkable. Maybe Maisie and I had just been enjoying a cup of tea – who knows? Time has moved on.

But Alan had the bit between his teeth:

���Now look at this one. It���s labelled the Main Border and it���s taken just two minutes later, at 16.41.��� He paused, and was staring at me intently. ���Can���t have been a very relaxing cup of tea to get you whizzing about the garden like that, can it?���

���I suppose not.���

I was beginning to see his point.

���And look at the picture: the composition is good. Everything comes together at the same point. There���s lots of depth-of-field. That needs a very steady hand. So I think you���ve used a tripod.���

I nodded. Again, he could have been right. My reply was hesitant:

���Yes, I concede, to have got to the Main Border, fitted the tripod, levelled it and fixed focus, ISO and everything else normally takes at least five minutes ��� or sometimes rather longer.���

���Now look at the next one.���

I did. And if anything it was even better composed. In fact as pictures of the Small Border in springtime went, it wasn���t bad. That border only really comes into its own in the early summer when the grasses are up and the daylilies (Hemerocallis) are out. I thought the jardini��re by the Compton pottery, which I discussed in March of last year, formed an excellent end-stop. Pity we haven���t yet found anything to go at the other end (behind the camera) ��� but that���s another story.

I wandered through to the kitchen to make a pot of tea.

From my study I could hear Alan call out from the computer:

���So when do you think that was taken?���

���Which one?��� My mind was on tea and cake.

���The Small Border.���

I could hear gathering irritation in his voice. I couldn���t anticipate where this conversation was heading.

���I don���t know, Alan,��� I replied, almost absent-mindedly, while turning off the tap and putting the kettle on the Aga. ���I���d guess a good five to ten minutes later. Again it���s well-composed. Even better than the last one.���

Alan was now standing in the doorway. I turned round. He looked me straight in the eye. Suddenly I felt as if I���d committed some loathsome murder.

���Well it wasn���t.��� He said this slowly, stepping forward. ��He was starting to sound menacing:

���It wasn���t ten minutes…���

He paused, then continued:

���It wasn���t even five minutes…���

He paused again to let his words sink in. Then quieter:

���No, it wasn���t even five seconds later.���

At that, he drew breath and almost screamed in my face:

���It was at precisely the same time as the last one! Now how do you explain that, Mister Professor?���