Working life

Photo essay.

                  The first incarnation of the stoke-on-Trent municipal waste incinerator was built in 1976 to help reduce the strain on the landfills surrounding the local area, however the principle was a flawed one being cheaper to send the rubbish directly to landfill with the expenses of gas the heavy air pollution it created. In 1997 the site was given a massive overhaul harvesting the heat energy and turning into steam which in turn creates power by forcing it into a turbine which spins the generator. Creating up to 15 megawatts the plant feeds directly into the national grid turning what is common household and some industrial waste into power that feeds back into the homes and businesses that created it.  Practically fully automated there are very few tasks within the complex that require human engagement, only maintenance and monitoring need a human touch, this is what my photo essay will illustrate the “human touches” in a automated world important things that keep things running. The project is to follow a single working day to explore the world of the workers whilst there.

To me Christmas has lost its meaning, the values you are taught as a child soon are seen as a hypocarcy one generation telling another how Christmas should be but in reality they themselves don’t even follow through. Well this is what I once thought but having seen through the general mass of people rushing about their business seeing nothing beyond their own nose their children’s Christmas list you occasionally see the decent people who are obscured by all the others those who go out of their way to ensure others suffer less, a prime example of this and one close to my own heart is the Douglass McMillan having cared for a dying relative over the Christmas period I have nothing but respect for those who volunteer their time in order to ease another’s suffering. Having not enough time to set up a meeting with the nurses and volunteers at the hospitals and care homes i looked at those who are equally important but usually overlooked charity shop workers.

This is Jane Brough in her own words she was worked with the charity as a Volunteer for a “few months” she really enjoys working with the charity and it gives her great satisfaction.

Much of the charities income comes from donations of clothes and other items which are then sold off asking Jonathan Harris (pictured above) how the “credit crunch” has affected donations he says that rather than hinder the amount of goods coming in he has noticed a significant increase in goods although actually monetary donations have dwindled.

Mrs Shirley Myatt a volunteer for 3 years showed me around the stock room downstairs and pointed out the huge piles of donations that coverer the undersized room and explained to me the process of sorting out the good from the bad, how that those things deemed in to bad a condition to sell is recycled and the quality stock is the cleaned and sent upstairs.

The City At Night.....

The city at night....



The time has arrived. The night is here, the sun has fallen below the horizon and all our world grows dark. The street lights begin to flicker adding artificial aids to our journeys from works, schools and universities a mass of people are on the move. A Humming throng jams up our roads and streets as everyone rushes to their homes and families.

Rooms, fall quiet work places empty laundrettes without a soul haunting and silent.

A heavy fog lingers close to the trees clings to the buildings and dropping visibility down to metres it creates an eerie glow as it obscures the light from the street lamps, very few people roam the night, put off by the dark cold chill that hangs in the air why risk the night when they have a warm sofa and x factor to entertain them?

Even though it isn’t late the winter weather, fog and cold add up and with the lost hour here lonely shopper hurries about his business before the remaining stores close for the night.

The traffic rolls past those forced to brave the night, headlights cut like knives into the gloom illuminating the fragments left hidden between street lights.

“Robbie!” shouts a boisterous and energy filled voice across a crowded room, filled with mothers and young children that have gathered for the weekly rainbows group. All eyes fall on me as I walk through the doors looking bemused and slightly scared. Reverent jean Warham or “just call me jean” there is an incredible casualness resting heavily in the air considering we have just met. “So!” She proclaims “you wanted to know what we do here?” a simple yes leads to a tangle of expressive words that detail the 22 years this particular group has been running, how for her 10 years she has helped to re-establish the links not so much between “god and the community but between young and old” supposedly compensating for “the nuclear family syndrome” by which she explains the lack of family cohesion that occurs as we move further away from our families. At this point “Jean” waves at the group of local volunteers that help out with the group and then to the large crowd of children busily running about oblivious to the stranger within their midst.

 After receiving the “customary” cup of tea and toast we head off for a chat around the grounds where the revenant tells me of her introduction into the church of England, in 2000 she was ordained a Diaconate after being a reader for Six years prior and in 2001 she became an official priest able to give communion fighting past the objections of some of her peers. The new millennium was she reflects “both a happy and sad time” she lost her husband and as we walk through the small grounds she points towards a young yew tree and explains in a low melancholy tone that was his tree where his ashes now rest.

Reverent Jean Warhams parish is ST Georges & ST Giles in Newcastle-under-Lyme.