Every Dog's Dream . . .

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Had just gotten into my car this afternoon after exploring the cemetery behind the wall here. Was about to drive off, when I glanced in the mirror. A flash of red drew my attention, like a bull goaded by a matador. I suddenly had a vision of every dog in the neighborhood stopping by here and lifting a back leg ! Every dog's dream.
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Yes, I admit, it's a bit banal as reflections go. But it will have to do (as in : doggy do !) for today. Now, if you have a dog, tell him or her to come take a look, let's get some tails wagging around the world ! Woof !!! For James' Weekend Reflections... And there is actually a double reflection here, can just see a small splash (that flowing water image again !) of red in the side of the car.
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Family Photographs . . .

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Hi everyone ! See, haven't disappeared from here entirely, but as mentioned earlier, my new mistress Facebook is rather demanding. She keeps requiring gifts of time, and pearls, diamonds, chateaux, sailboats, etc.  So I am struggling to keep her happy. If you want to see what I mean, just open your FB account, I know you all secretly have one, and "Like" my page named oddly enough : "Owen Phillips Photography France".  
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I had to add "France" on the name because there is another photographer who you can find on Google named Owen Phillips in the UK, who does some great work. By strange coincidence he even has the same middle name as me. And is an acoustic guitar folk musician, also like me, if I could go so far to claim the title of musician. That is a fairly large assumption.
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Was able these past days to get out and wander in a few cemeteries. The two photos here are very recent, the first from Gentilly Cemetery, on the south edge of Paris, the second from Pantin Cemetery, the largest cemetery in all of France, just outside Paris to the northeast. A father and his son killed in World War One. A mother and her daughter who died far too young. Why post such images during the holidays ? Well, for me, they contain strong messages about loving those who are close to you, while you can. For time on Earth is often far shorter for many people than it should be. One never knows when one will have to go.
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Happy Holidays to all !  And I'm very sorry to do so, but I finally turned on the word verification on comments, just far too much spam coming in. Am tired of having to delete it all every time I open blogger. I hate Google's bloody word verification, half the time I can't even read the numbers and some of the letters. But the spam senders can't either, so they lose.  Cheers !
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A Holiday Sampler . . .

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For James Reflections Weekend, these first two are from Cologne, Germany, across from the cathedral there. Famous faces. Call me a "reflections papparazzi".
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This next was high up in the tower of the cathedral. People just have to leave a trace of their presence, affirmation of existence. I guess a blog in cyberspace is the same sort of thing ?
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Finally, saw this fading photo on ceramic in a cemetery near Chantilly, France, this afternoon. Born in 1919, she died in 1940, her short life spanning the space between two World Wars. RIP Marie Lousie.
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As mentioned earlier, I admit to spending a bit of time these days on Facebook cultivating my new photography page there under Owen Phillips Photography France, and also looking around at the surprising number of excellent pages produced by people who have similar interests in cemeteries and abandoned buildings, or other artwork in various places.
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Some particularly good sites I've come across in my wandering on Facebook so far are (click the links here to go there, and these are not in any particular order) :
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Historic Cemeteries
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Staglieno Cemetery and More
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Maurizio Ghiggeri Photography
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Jeanne Trend-Hill Headstone Hunter
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Headstones and History
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Charnel Rose Photography
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Abandoned Love Photography
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Ms Misunderstoods Moments
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Dirty Angel Photography
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Abandoned Americana
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Martin Vegas
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And no doubt all that is just the tip of the iceberg. But am still checking in here too from time to time...
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A Small Black Dress . . . Petite Robe Noir . . .

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Very exceptionally, to participate in James Weekend Reflections this week, am posting a photo which I did not take myself ; the Grenouille (Mr Toad's other half) took it last week on her iPhone in Paris. Just across the street from Le Printemps department store. A quintessentially Parisian reflection. Great job, chère Grenouille !
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I must admit, if I'm posting her photo here, in the spotlight of international celebrity and fame to be forthcoming to her, it is partly to calm her tempestuous temper. For she has found out that I have another mistress. She has known about this blog for some time now, my late nights slaking the thirsts of the blogosphere had finally come to her attention. But now, for some weeks, I've been shacking up with Ms. Facebook (or Fesses de Bouc, as some French say), and la Grenouille somehow got wind of it. I suspect Ms. Blogspot must have sent her an anonymous letter. I even dressed Ms. Facebook up with a new public page which can be peeked at here. (though you will need to log in to Ms. Facebook to see it). Now, I've got to run, before la Grenouille catches up to me with her rolling pin and frying pan to do a drumbeat on my cranium.
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Rusty Old Cars . . .

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What is it about rusty old cars that appeals so strongly to many of us ? Is it a nostalgia thing ? Romantic echos of a bygone age ? Is it the unforgettable memories for those who lost their virginity in the back seats of behemoths like these ? Old cars, like old people, reach a point where they just aren't ever going to go any further. Not a mile more. Too many parts have failed. Rust too far gone to ever be cured by a quick treatment of rust remover and a fresh coat of paint to gloss things over. The end of the road. The end, period. And yet, their abandoned bodies call to us still, from the side yards of dilapidated old garages on backwater roads. Still something profoundly beautiful in their fading carcasses.
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Saw these aging beauties on a trip to Pennsylvania a couple of years ago. On automobile license plates in that state they used to print a slogan on the edges of the plates that said, in poor grammar, "You've got a friend in Pennsylvania". When I found these old darlings not far from the Susquehanna River, I couldn't have agreed with them more.
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Just an Ordinary Blog . . .

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To participate in James' always excellent Weekend Reflections page, I offer you these subtle reflections of late afternoon sun on an old church in Brittany, in thick leaded glass. This kind of light play off the surface of ancient glass just mesmerizes me. Yet another reason why I love living in France.
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This next is not a reflection, but rather an illumination of stained glass by a ray of light coming through a window on the far side of the church from this window, working a strange spell in each different piece of glass it touched here.
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After perusing that little litany of light this evening, it was time for dinner. On the menu was Dorade fresh from the fish market, with rice and broccoli, all washed down with one of my all-time wine favorites, which we drink rarely, but it was a celebration, so we uncorked a bottle of Chateau Grenouilles, a Chablis Grand Cru, which is about as good as it gets from the fabulous town of Chablis in Burgundy. "Grenouille" as you know, is French for "frog"... so this is frog wine, but a frog with a Chateau, like Mr Toad in the Wind in the Willows, from Toad Hall.
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What were we celebrating you ask ? Why, the acceptance and publication of ten of my photos on the Unesco World Heritage web page for an area in southern France, the Causses and Cevennes, which I love dearly. (oh, and James, if you look closely, there are a reflection or two on the bottle here :-)
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Don't Lose That Number...

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The last time I was back in Pennsylvania, the place where I was born, I came across this firewood dealer by the side of the road up in the north central part of that large state. In a rain storm. Something about that truck and the green paint on it just grabbed me. Wherever you may be, if winter is coming on fast, I hope you have a fireplace and a good store of wood laid in for the cold months ahead. I wish we had a fireplace, or even a wood burning stove, but we don't. Have to rely on natural gas from Russia. As long as they leave the lines open. Some of my best memories from childhood are from being around the fireplace in my grandparents' living room in New Jersey, which had a brick hearth that seemed big to me back then. Their house got sold years ago after they passed on, it's a dilapidated wreck of a place today. In any case, stay warm. And if you need any wood delivered, just call 923-0408.
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And if you'd like to sit down in the Sinnemahoning Tavern for a frosted mug of Peter Straub's Special Dark beer, by their fireplace, and shoot the breeze for a while, in the shadow of the forests where the bull elk roam, well, I'm game...
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Armistice Day . . . In Memory . . .

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Armistice Day on November 11th in France marks the end of the First World War, and for the USA it is Veterans Day, and Remembrance Day for the UK. The other day I was a little over an hour early for a train leaving from la Gare Montparnasse to go out to Brittany, so I took a stroll through parts of Montparnasse Cemetery to see what I could see. Following my feet where they might lead me, by chance I stumbled on some interesting bits of history related to la Grande Guerre, pertinent for posting on Armistice Day.
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This first photo shows the tomb of Marie Joseph Eugene Bridoux, who was the first French General killed in the war in September 1914. His son and a grandson were also officers in the French Army, both of them stayed loyal to the Petain government in Vichy during the Second World War, collaborating with the Germans. The son fled to Spain after the war, and was sentenced to death in absentia by France in 1948. The grandson who served with a unit under the Germans in WWII known as the LVF, or Legion of French Volunteers, died in 1945 in Germany. One can only imagine how General Bridoux, buried in Montparnasse after his heroic death in battle, killed by a German bullet, might have felt about his son and grandson collaborating with the Nazis.
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Not far from General Bridoux is the tomb of Armand Cahen, a second lieutenant in an artillery regiment, who died in 1920 at the age of 22, after being awarded the War Cross (Croix de Guerre) for bravery during a heavy shelling attack in June 1918 where toxic gas shells were used. His memorial was quite elaborate, between the large marble sculpture of him and the stone and stained glass enclosure it stands in. I stayed there for a long moment in reverence, and was pondering his fate when the sun came out from behind some clouds, sending bright rays through the stained glass to bathe the white stone bust in red and green light, transforming him.
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Nearby stands a large structure built over the grave of another artillery officer, Marcel Suss, killed in the very early days of the war.
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I had gotten up fairly close to the glass doors of the monument to see the reflected clouds in the glass, when I realized there was a stained glass portrait of Lieutenant Suss in the back wall of the tomb. In all my years of exploring cemeteries, keeping my eyes open for the unusual, I've never seen anything quite like this colorful work on glass with a fine portrait of the deceased.
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A bit further on was one tomb for two brothers killed in the war, the first at Verdun in 1916, and the younger brother in Belgium in October 1918; just a few weeks before the end of the war.
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This camouflaged, chameleon like crucifixion figure was spotted on a gravestone the day previous to the photos from Montparnasse above, in a village near Amiens. I've never seen a Christ figure like this blending in so perfectly with the background. The spot of lichen on his chest seems to form an inverted heart. A minor miracle there ?
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On another grave in the same cemetery a piece of cast iron which fell from an ornate but deteriorating cross above seemed to form a question mark against the cold wet stone it was lying on. Indeed, so many unanswered questions about war and death, rusting iron and lichen on stone, passing time and passing lives. May your Armistice/Remembrance/Veterans Day be rich in reflections.
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As one of the photos above has a reflection of blue sky, cloud, and tree in a glass door, am linking this to James' Weekend Reflections, where I've been too long absent.
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Armistice Day Arriving

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The 94th anniversary of the end of World War One is coming up on November 11th, a national holiday here in France. A fitting time to post a few photos from a couple of sites I had the good fortune to visit recently, thanks to a chance meeting at a stone quarry in the middle of nowhere with two gentlemen also interested the history of what was called "la Grande Guerre"... the Great War. Near the town of Noyon the ruins of a chapel destroyed during the war still remain, with a cast iron Christ within which fell during the shelling. As he suffered some 2000 years ago, so too did his replica suffer nearly 100 years ago in this chapel which stood immediately adjacent to the trenches of the front lines. It is surprising the sculpture was not more heavily damaged, as artillery shells fell like rain in that area.
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More cast iron work in the chapel, with autumn colors, and the iron Crucifixion figure at upper left.
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In the cemetery at Thiescourt, also near the front lines, a memorial to those dreadful years... 1914 to 1918.
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The gate to the German cemetery at Thiescourt.
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During the first world war the German army allowed soldiers of Jewish faith to serve. Things would change not long thereafter.
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"To the memory of Henri Bruge. Born the 1st of February 1882 at Ergues in the Pas de Calais, Adjutant Chef in the 4th Regiment of Cuirassiers, died for France, reported missing in action at Plémont on 9 June1918, awarded the War Cross with silver star and the Military Medal posthumously"
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At the entrance to the old stone quarries near Dreslincourt, occupied by the Germans for three years during the war. They left Gothic inscriptions carved on the outside stone walls, later shattered when they tried to blow up a nearby entrance to the quarry. The words carved here were part of a poem, saying :
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"The world might be torn apart
Every oath like straw
I know a word like iron
It's called soldiers loyalty"
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In German "soldiers loyalty" was one word : Soldatentreu
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Another German sign carved above an entrance to the stone quarries, a labyrinthine series of tunnels that go on for kilometers underground... it would be very easy to get lost in there. I was lucky to have a good guide who knew the place well.
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Graffiti from the war years... they didn't have spray paint cans back then, so they carved instead.
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In the woods outside unexploded artillery shells can still be found lying about. Chilling reminders of the not so distant past here.
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An imperial eagle carved on an exterior quarry wall.
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More German, to the effect that the German soldiers feared only God.
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Inside the miles of tunnels there were signposts, here indicating the way to the Command Post Calypso.
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Boots from the war still remain undisturbed deep in the tunnels.
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A wonderful French rooster carved on a wall to honor the 324th Infantry Regiment.
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Near one of the entrances to the quarry tunnels.
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German barbed wire from the war, rusting but still ready to unroll and use apparently. Maybe a bit fragile now, but still looking nasty.
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More artillery shells found in farm fields nearby, waiting to be collected by the munitions disposal service which still remains busy nearly 100 years later.
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