Ken Ross - Showbusiness Photographer

To take your photograph you had to hold the box camera tight into your chest and stare downwards into the small square prism at the top which reflected the image to the front of you. Satisfied and everything ready, you put a little more pressure onto your thumb to push downwards the crude trigger mechanism which protruded from the side of the box click photo taken.

To ready your camera for the next photograph you had to go through the complex and careful procedure of physically winding the roll of film forward. To line this up you had a very small round clear red plastic window on the back of the camera in which you could see the number of the photo you had just taken, you would now slowly wind the big round knob on the other side of the camera, whilst watching the plastic window so as to see the number slowly disappearing and the next subsequent number starting to come into vision. Carefully you wound the film, to centre the number of your next photograph in the round window you were now ready to take your photograph

And these are my first recollections of photography, treasuring my old battered hand-me-down Kodak Box Brownie camera. A square seven-inch black box with a short leather strap handle attached to the top, which enabled me to nonchalantly swing it with pride as I walked through the streets and alleyways of Middlesbrough. Laughable by todays standards, yet at the time this camera was a somewhat formidable piece of kit not many kids my age could swagger around carrying a camera.

These were the days of my first obsession into photography, which from then never left me. Considering my parents were hard-working people who fought all their lives to ensure there was enough food on the table, my allowed hobby (unrealised by myself at the young age of fourteen) was somewhat of an extravagance. My father, a former war time decorated Naval Frogman (Fredrick William Ross, DSM) had spent several years after the war continuing his career as a deep-sea diver. This initially enabling our family to have a very brief taste of living in colonial luxury with a chauffeur and servants as we enjoyed life in Ghana, Africa. This unfortunately was short lived, age eventually forcing my father out of the water and back home into the Middlesbrough steel works. My mother (Joan Ross), a true northern professional mum, always managed to juggle a constant stream of jobs, all adding to the family coffers, working in the local fish and chip shop, the local corner shop and later in the Co-operative store in the town centre.

So, the monetary indulgence of my hobby, a constant stream of rolls of film to be purchased and then developed, I only realised many, many years later, must have been a financial burden she shielded from me.

At fourteen I joined in the family spirit and had several weekend jobs, my favourite was working for the local corner shop, my company mode of transport being the shops huge heavy old-fashioned bicycle with the giant metal framed basket on the front (think television series Open All Hours or the Hovis bread advertisement). The financial side of these jobs enabling me to pursue my hobby further, this enabling me to purchase a (second-hand) modern plastic moulded shape, Brownie camera totally hi-tech back in those days. From then on, most of my weekend job earnings and pocket money went into my hobby, I became the family photographer. I photographed my friends, girlfriends (called sweethearts in those days) and family, in fact anyone I could arrange to stay motionless long enough to rewind the camera and aim at.

In the meantime, I achieved moderate standards at school, I was in what was then termed as B Class, (A, B & C) and most years I was top in the annual exams. Unfortunately, no matter what grades I achieved, I was never promoted into the A class, this the normal school procedure for the pupil with the top results (think football leagues). For some reason, I was never a favourite of the headmaster, this never more than evident when nearing the leaving age of fifteen when I put in a formal request to stay on at the school for another year, hopefully to gain newly introduced further educational qualifications. Unfortunately proving further our ever-failing relationship he advised me that he didnt think it to be worthwhile. All a much-remembered brief meeting in his office in which he seemed to give the opinion that he felt it was a total waste of his time that I should even consider requesting such a thing!

On my last day at school I was even singled out by him in his goodbye speech to us leavers, the whole school contingent standing to attention for assembly. He stated how he had been a little disappointed generally in all our efforts for the year and said how (looking down from his podium directly at me), he felt only a very few from his own A Class leaving this year had deserved any rewards in the way of a decent career! This was rather shocking as I had in fact worked hard and had been successful in receiving offers of employment from several of the schools own specially sponsored corporate interviews.

Also, on my own initiative, over the previous months, copying from a library book on How to apply for a job, I had approached nearly every electrical contractor in Middlesbrough, requesting an interview. Finally, by my own efforts, I was granted several appointments and subsequently offered an apprenticeship, of which I advised the school. Everyone knew of this, I was the only pupil leaving that term with such a prestigious apprenticeship, so the headmasters comments directed towards myself were met by gasps from the rest of my fellow pupils, the faces of every young fifteen-year-old leaver turning in my direction with shock, a few smirks, but mostly sympathy!

Goodbye school I thought and later walked out, trying to look macho and hide the tsunami of tears about to come forth.

All through my life I had a very close and loving relationship with my mother and father, both being hugely supportive on anything I did I knew my father was at first disappointed at me turning down my first offer of an apprenticeship from the giant ICI Company, which had been offered to me after one of the school sponsored interviews. Although shortly afterwards he was very much relieved later when I told him of my better offer. You must remember that these were the days when a job, especially an apprenticeship, was considered for life. It was something you were groomed into by the system and even by your family, thats how we had all grown up. I just felt there had to be an alternative to setting off to work every day in the very early dark mornings (as my father did) with a tin lunchbox (sandwich lunch box) under his arm, wearing overalls and a flat cap.