
I remember photographing the Albert Memorial on a clear spring day, fascinated and horrified by that assemblage of confidently imperial Victorian kitsch with the gilded presence of the universal ‘Renaissance Prince’ seated at its centre. If the monument is an ode to expense and excess, it reflected the fawning deference with which Albert was viewed.

In the last blog post, I mentioned that one of the kids at the home would go on to make remarkable photographs. What follows is Steve Phillip’s account of that time and the difference it made to his life, and some of his photographs.

Looking back on some of the colour slides I was taking at this time, now they seem to me to be inching towards an awareness of a simultaneous aging and binding, the slow solidification of social fetters, in a play of growth and entropy.

Normally, I would do all I could to efface my presence from images, seeing it as an unwonted and egotistical distraction from the subject. Here, though, for reasons that are now obscure to me, I let my shadow fall, a negative projection across water and ground.

On my various wanderings around and about Aberdare that winter, I came across the town’s brick factory, which had recently closed down. Its tall and slender tower announced it: ABC. Unlike many other industrial remains, it was easy to get in and out off. Kids went there to play.

Since, before moving there, I knew little about Wales, beyond certain clichés of which I was suspicious, I was taken aback to be woken from my first night’s sleep in the children’s home by the bleating of a flock of sheep being driven down the road under my window.

My new environment, the town of Aberdare and the Cynon Valley, was very different to anything that I had previously known: the constant presence of the low mountains on either side, the black and greening slag heaps; the urban landscape of non-conformist chapels and working men’s clubs, and the terraced houses built by the mining…

After university, I worked as a volunteer in a children’s home and special school in South Wales (of which, more later). One of the first things I was asked to do was to take some teenage boys to a military air show at RAF St Athan.
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