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All papers, inks and mount-board materials are of conservation grade.
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The Old Town Hall in Prague has housed this
medieval 'astronomical' clock for six centuries, its
occult connotations and cosmological symbolism now
lost in time. When I first saw it, in 1967, it attracted
only one watcher - other than me - when it struck the
hour and the disciples revolved on their plinth. Now,
you can barely see it for the crowd. This is a very
early morning shot, illuminated by a shaft of gold
across the Prague rooftops.
In 1967, Al and I spent days trying to get the bike
repaired in Prague, having ridden up from Vienna
and suddenly being exposed - behind the Iron Curtain
- to very low-octane petrol. This was death to a side-valve BSA: we gradually lost all
compression in those few hundred miles in what was then Czechoslovakia. We limped into
Prague, making a terrible racket as each stroke of the piston reverberated around the city
walls. Stripped down and leaking oil, the bike was a target, not for thieves, but for locals
who left little notes on it saying 'Good Luck Anglish' and 'Bon Voyage'. This was a delightful
touch from a people under considerable threat from Russia at the time (the well-wishers
could have been arrested for 'contact with western imperialists'). After being followed
everywhere by the secret police and at one point picked up and interrogated individually in
a padded cell as to why our visas had run out, we eventually admitted defeat with the
repairs, left the bike in Prague and came home by train via Paris. The bike was repatriated
by the AA about two months later. A year later, the Russian tanks rolled in to crush the
Prague Spring.
The Old Town Hall in Prague has housed this medieval 'astronomical' clock for six centuries, its
occult connotations and cosmological symbolism now lost in time. When I first saw it, in
1967, it attracted only one watcher - other than me - when it struck the hour and the disciples
revolved on their plinth. Now, you can barely see it for the crowd. This is a very early morning
shot, illuminated by a shaft of gold across the Prague rooftops.
In 1967, Al and I spent days trying to get the bike repaired in Prague, having ridden up from
Vienna and suddenly being exposed - behind the Iron Curtain - to very low-octane petrol. This
was death to a side-valve BSA: we gradually lost all compression in those few hundred miles in
what was then Czechoslovakia. We limped into Prague, making a terrible racket as each
stroke of the piston reverberated around the city walls. Stripped down and leaking oil, the bike
was a target, not for thieves, but for locals who left little notes on it saying 'Good Luck Anglish'
and 'Bon Voyage'. This was a delightful touch from a people under considerable threat from
Russia at the time (the well-wishers could have been arrested for 'contact with western
imperialists'). After being followed everywhere by the secret police and at one point picked up
and interrogated individually in a padded cell as to why our visas had run out, we eventually
admitted defeat with the repairs, left the bike in Prague and came home by train via Paris. The
bike was repatriated by the AA about two months later. A year later, the Russian tanks rolled
in to crush the Prague Spring.
The Old Town Hall in Prague has housed this
medieval 'astronomical' clock for six centuries, its
occult connotations and cosmological symbolism
now lost in time. When I first saw it, in 1967, it
attracted only one watcher - other than me - when it
struck the hour and the disciples revolved on their
plinth. Now, you can barely see it for the crowd. This
is a very early morning shot, illuminated by a shaft
of gold across the Prague rooftops.
In 1967, Al and I spent days trying to get the bike
repaired in Prague, having ridden up from Vienna
and suddenly being exposed - behind the Iron
Curtain - to very low-octane petrol. This was death to a side-valve BSA: we gradually lost
all compression in those few hundred miles in what was then Czechoslovakia. We limped
into Prague, making a terrible racket as each stroke of the piston reverberated around the
city walls. Stripped down and leaking oil, the bike was a target, not for thieves, but for
locals who left little notes on it saying 'Good Luck Anglish' and 'Bon Voyage'. This was a
delightful touch from a people under considerable threat from Russia at the time (the
well-wishers could have been arrested for 'contact with western imperialists'). After being
followed everywhere by the secret police and at one point picked up and interrogated
individually in a padded cell as to why our visas had run out, we eventually admitted
defeat with the repairs, left the bike in Prague and came home by train via Paris. The bike
was repatriated by the AA about two months later. A year later, the Russian tanks rolled in
to crush the Prague Spring.

Time standing, still

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For your own fine-art print of this picture:
The Old Town Hall in Prague has housed this medieval 'astronomical' clock for six centuries, its occult connotations and cosmological symbolism now lost in time.  When I first saw it, in 1967, it attracted only one watcher - other than me - when it struck the hour and the disciples revolved on their plinth. Now, you can barely see it for the crowd. This is a very early morning shot, illuminated by a shaft of gold across the Prague rooftops.  

In 1967, Al and I spent days trying to get the bike repaired in Prague, having ridden up from Vienna and suddenly being exposed - behind the Iron Curtain - to very low-octane petrol. This was death to a side-valve BSA: we gradually lost all compression in those few hundred miles in what was then Czechoslovakia.  We limped into Prague, making a terrible racket as each stroke of the piston reverberated around the city walls. Stripped down and leaking oil, the bike was a target, not for thieves, but for locals who left little notes on it saying 'Good Luck Anglish' and 'Bon Voyage'. This was a delightful touch from a people under considerable threat from Russia at the time (the well-wishers could have been arrested for 'contact with western imperialists').  After being followed everywhere by the secret police and at one point picked up and interrogated individually in a padded cell as to why our visas had run out, we eventually admitted defeat with the repairs, left the bike in Prague and came home by train via Paris. The bike was repatriated by the AA about two months later. A year later, the Russian tanks rolled in to crush the Prague Spring.

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