I hate walking! Well, that's not strictly true, I hate doing a lot of walking because it hurts my legs, but on Wednesday August 11 1999, I walked from my friends flat in Stoke, Plymouth, to Plymouth Hoe, by way of the main shopping area.
We all woke up about 7 a.m., that is the six of us who were there to see the Solar Eclipse from within the 100% zone. The sun was shining brightly, and there were only mares-tail strato-cumulus clouds that we could see.
In order to secure a position on the Hoe, Alan, our host, and my significant other, Fin, wandered off to the Hoe at 7.30, while the rest of us had breakfast and got together our equipment and food . For me that included three cameras, Praktika LTL and Vivitar E SLR's and a Zeiss-Icoflex Twin Lens Reflex. Along with the 400mm, the 300mm, the 80-250 zoom, the 50mm and the 28mm lenses that I figured might be useable and a 5 litre bottle of water.
Carole, a native of Plymouth and my best friend, tried, forlornly, to make us all realise that the bus network in Plymouth was just a tad provincial , when it said a twenty- thirty minute service, they meant it. In consequence, we missed both busses to take us to Royal Parade, our 'jump-off' point for the trip to the Hoe. This left walking as the only alternative.
Denis, Carole & I made our way to the town, Denis needed a camera, I needed a cable release and Carole needed a bank, so we had no choice. Chris, our remaining friend, had set off at a steady pace and disappeared off towards the Hoe long before we were halfway there, Carole and myself being much slower walkers.
Once our shopping was done, we headed up towards the Hoe, along with at least two thousand others, who filled the streets approaching the summit that was the Hoe. Once we reached the huge screen provided by Plymouth Council and a certain Lager firm, Carole used her mobile-phone to call Alan, and thus triangulate their position. It took about five or ten minutes to find them, but once we had settled down I began setting up the two tripods and started taking pictures.
The mood all around was festive, even jolly, and we munched on the sandwiches Carole had prepared that morning while we waited, and stared up at the clouds, which had been building up, and up and up all the while we were walking to the Hoe! The cloud cover appeared to go inland for quite a few miles, but out to sea, the clouds only stretched two-thirds of the way to the horizon.
And so the moment approached. It was 11:10, the
clouds seemed to darken. Over the tanoy the D.J. announced
that they would be receiving pictures of the eclipse from the
BBC, and showing them on the screen, once it got dark enough
to see it!
I'm not entirely sure how quickly it happened, but it had been getting progressively darker. I managed to get a couple of photos of the screen, I know I got at least one view of the eclipse, and then darkness fell.
I've read in books how you could FEEL the darkness, but I never believed it until then... There was silence, right across the Hoe. Tiny flickers of blue flashed from the shore opposite, over the other side of the estuary, as people, unaware perhaps that their flash sequence was automatic, tried to snap pictures of the darkness. Flashes happened all around us too, as people tried to capture, at least in part, this moment.
Perhaps it was just me, and Carole and Alan, but I doubt it. A few seconds after the darkness fell, there was an even deeper darkness, a shiver passed through me, the 'someone-on-your-grave' type shiver, only more so... I couldn't speak, couldn't lift the camera, I was just ... immobile, while the centre of the Moon-shadow passed over us. It was an awe-inspiring, spiritual moment that made all the hassles of the trip down, the walk, the annoyance at missing a picture of the horizon, red and gold against the black sky of the clouds, melted into nothing. For one moment, perhaps only a second, I felt at peace with everything and everyone.
The moment passed, and, as if released from a trance, I tried desperately to photograph the movement of the shadow. To no avail the film later revealed, but, in the words of the Welsh comedian and singer, Max Boyce: "I was there!" and that counted for all of us!
