Photographing Children

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A recent trip to TESCO found this man in the foyer. He was offering photos in period costumes for children and families. I thought it was a great idea and asked him if he'd mind me photographing him and his stand for a blog post. No problem.

So I took the photo above. I was immediately approached by a security man who told me photos were not allowed in the foyer. I explained that the man was quite happy having his photo taken. Made no difference. Photos were not allowed in the foyer. People might not want their photo taken.

This gave rise to a maelstrom of speculation in my head. Might I have incidentally included a couple who were having a clandestine affair. Might someone have pulled a sickie and gone on a shopping expedition. Might some proud Southsider fear being seen on the Northside. The possibilities were endless.

Anyway, I put away the camera (with its precious photo) and took a shot of the other side of the stand, with the rack of period clothes, on my way out. Where was the security man then? Just between ourselves, he's half way down the foyer behind the dresses. As obscured from me as I from him.

I am not against data protection, but really, when it's carried this far it's just plain nuts.

I was in my local village one day a good while ago when I spotted a procession of kids passing through. On closer inspection they had horror masks and painted faces and a variety of spooky costumes. It was apparently a school spookwalk for charity. I thought it would be nice to blog a photo of such an interesting happening and took out my camera. This was immediately spotted by the kids who started playing up to it. All good humoured. I even gave my card to one of teachers and said I was thinking of blogging a photo.

Imagine my surprise and horror when I subsequently got a phone call from the school principal, who turned out to be as embarrassed as I was, but "would I please not use the photos". Apparently the Principal would have had to get releases signed by all the parents and that would be another big task on top of the already overloaded day job. I had no problem laying off the blog post and sent copies of the photos to the Principal for use in the school.

But I really thought it was all going a bit far and that it was such a pity that the great sense of fun, innocence, enthusiasm and happiness of these kids was being overshadowed by such an all-pervasive sense of fear on the part of the adults. Anyway, not my call.

It is a bit unnerving though to think that I and all those around me are walking around inside a cocoon of copyright. Maybe I should stop saying hello to people in the street in case I inadvertently burst their cocoon.

Then I read in today's paper about new RC Church rules on parents taking photos of their children on church property during Confirmation. Worth your while to read the piece. Not only do the restrictions appear unnecessary, they are positively cruel in this digital day and age. It is one thing to ask people not to disrupt or distract from the ceremony when taking photos, but another to prohibit them altogether.

Anyway, I'm making my personal protest below in visual form. This is my first holy communion day in 1951. So there.

Seek and ye shall find

The Roman Catholic Church today is the pits. It is sinking in a quagmire of child abuse; it is denying the spectrum of sexuality originating in the Creation itself; it is promoting a rigid top-down hierarchical structure; and, it is stubbornly clinging to a pre-atomic scientific view of matter. The daily news from this quarter must be depressing for all but the most enthusiastic aficionados.

By way of contrast, I would like to bring a small ray of family history sunshine to bear on this apocalyptic corner of existence. I have to declare at the outset that, while brought up a Roman Catholic, and, having been an enthusiastic advocate of the views of Pius XII in my day, I am completely disillusioned with the whole package. My interest is now simply in observing how the RC Church attempts to extricate itself from its own internal contradictions.

So, to my quest. I was trying to find the baptism records of my grandfather who was born in 1870. They were not available in the microfilm records of the National Library of Ireland and the genealogical service of that worthy institution advised as to the relevant parish church of the day for that area. So I rang the PP, lovely man. “Give Joan a ring and she'll sort you out. Don't ring on Thursday, she'll be busy with a funeral.”

I have to admit I am not a great one for making appointments, so I took my courage in my hands and turned up unannounced at the parish office some days later.

I was very apprehensive. Guilt and baggage I suppose. I was expecting an elderly lady in a knitted cardigan, complete with rosary beads, and I was mulling over my possible defences as to why was I, who had rejected the church, now knocking on their door, and looking for favours, no less? And, by the way, when was I last at confession?

I rang the bell anyway. The door was opened by this gorgeous creature who nearly made me forget why I was there in the first place. “Come in, by all means.” I managed to stammer out my request and was immediately presented with the registers and invited to take photos of the relevant entries and the plush cover of the baptismal registry. Miraculously I didn't muck up the camera settings and eventually went about my way in a daze of divine something or other.

This was an experience totally at odds with what I assume to have been the attitude of the PP of former times who wouldn't let even the National Library of Ireland photograph his precious “confidential” records when that institution was doing its photographic rounds.

Full marks to, and fond memories of, my great-grandfather's parish from 1870.

From my perspective, this beats the apparition at Knock, which also figures in my family history, but which is another story entirely.