‘Light, lads, is of the utmost importance when capturing an image via photography,’ Fenton explained to the gathered men. ‘And I do believe that we’ll have an ideal lighting situation in around fifteen minutes, when these clouds move across the sun, as they seem likely to do. As you’re a cavalry regiment, could one of you get a horse to pose on?’
‘I’ll go get my boy River King right now!’ William cried, his eyes bright and his grin toothy as he dashed off to fetch his horse.
‘Excellent,’ Fenton said. ‘The rest of you, please get your weapons and dust your uniforms off. This image of you four may be seen by tens, if not hundreds of thousands of good Britons back home, and I’m sure you want to look your best.’
‘Aye sir!’ the men said, all fired up with enthusiasm and excitement. All three hurried back to the tent to prepare themselves for the taking of the photograph. Paul, Andrew and Michael returned a few minutes later, grinning with expectant glee and kitted out in their full dress uniforms: gleaming, flat-fopped black czapkas featuring the Death’s Head logo in bronze, rich navy blue jackets, fronted by a diagonal band of white, with a thick gold and red belt across the waist, and long dark grey trousers with a white vertical stripe on the outsides. Their black shoes had been polished to a brilliant gloss, and they held their swords and lances proudly in their hands, which were covered with long white gloves that reached almost up to their elbows.
While Fenton arranged the three soldiers into a pose, William approached, riding River King and looking just as resplendent as his friends. Fenton’s assistant, meanwhile, was setting up the camera, which was a bulky box constructed of brass and wood, with a large, thick black cloth covering the back. To take the photograph, he had prepared a large glass plate that had been wet coated with the necessary chemical concoction.
‘Ah, and here’s the lad on the horse to complete the picture,’ Fenton said, grinning. ‘Come William, was it? Stay on your horse, yes, that’s right, and stand right here, behind your companions. That’s it, that’s it. Right there, just like that.’ Fenton had seated Paul and Andrew on a large rock, while he had had Michael stand to the right of it. Filling up the background of the composition was William, atop River King. ‘Now lads, you’re going to have to remain absolutely motionless for a good minute while the light and chemicals interact and work their magic,’ Fenton continued, his ever-present smile smoothing out into a more serious expression now. ‘And please, this is no time for mucking about! We cannot afford to waste this shot; these chemicals are expensive, and the process of creating a good, clear photograph is a complex and finicky one. Therefore, I must ask you all to pick a facial expression before we begin, and wear it on your face as unmovingly if it were a wood-carved mask, incapable of even the slightest hint of change. I cannot stress how important it is to remain completely motionless during the process of taking the photograph. Do you all understand?’
‘Aye!’ the men cried in unison.
Their enthusiasm seemed to satisfy Fenton.
‘Good, good. Are you ready to begin, then, lads? My assistant has almost finished his preparations.’
‘Pardon me sir,’ Michael asked with a cheeky grin, ‘but what expressions should we be wearing, as if they were “wood-carved masks”? Could I stick my finger in Pauly’s ear, and pinch Andy’s nose?’
All of the men chuckled, but Fenton frowned and huffed.
‘Trooper, this is not the time for japes and jokes! Please! Wear an expression upon your face that displays the pride you have for your regiment, and the solemnity and gravitas of your commitment to serving Her Majesty Queen Victoria and the glorious British Empire! Remember, hundreds of thousands of people in Britain will see your faces. Do you not wish to represent your regiment with pride?’
‘Aye, aye,’ Michael murmured, a little crestfallen. ‘We’ll do tha’, sir.’
He and the others took a moment to compose themselves, and then all four men donned expressions of calm, almost severe focus and dignity, which they held unwaveringly in place.
‘Excellent, excellent,’ Fenton grunted, rushing over to the camera. ‘Hold that pose!’ he ordered as he ducked under the black cloth. ‘Do not move a muscle, not until I tell you to!’
The men waited in sombre silence as the photograph was taken, the seconds inching by with painful slowness. William soon felt a maddening itch developing just inside his collar, and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed to avoid jerking his arm around and scratching vigorously at it, but he managed to hold his pose, as motionless as any marble statue, for the minute or so it took Fenton to complete the procedure.
‘Gentlemen!’ he eventually called out, ‘it is done! You may move now.’
He emerged from behind the camera and hurried over to hastily shake each man’s hand.
‘Thank you, thank you good soldiers of the 17th,’ he said. ‘My assistant and I need to process the photograph right now, as time is of the essence, so I must bid you farewell.’
‘Will we get tae see this photograph?’ William asked as he dismounted River King.
‘Oh yes, if you come and seek me out in a few days,’ Fenton answered cheerfully. ‘But I will certainly be too busy to seek you out, so if you wish to see it you must come to me.’
‘We’ll dae that sir,’ Paul said, his tone a curious mix of awe, gratitude and excitement. ‘We’ll no’ miss the chance tae seeing ourselves in one ay those wondrous photographs ay’ yours, no!’
They bade Fenton farewell, chatted amongst themselves for a while, and then headed back to William’s tent to sit down for a while. Andrew resumed playing guitar, while Paul and William sprawled themselves out on their
