Do we need to redefine what we call the past?

I ask the question because I’m finally writing about an event I attended last year but the whole emphasis has changed. Things aren’t what they used to be. Here’s a definition to help put things in context:

Nostalgia. A sentimental longing or wistful affection for a period in the past.

A few decades ago, if you saw someone dressed in 40’s garb, they’d have seemed almost punk. Was it to shock, a statement or maybe just a choice? Not so today, in recent years the proliferation of 40’s and similar events have heralded a new acceptance of many things nostalgic.

I’m not an aficionado as such but I did attend a few events last year and get a feel for what really worked. Like anything in life, it’s not enough to just do it. Much better if you put your heart and soul into it. I subscribed to the notion that if I got dressed up, like so many of the participants, I’d be better able to immerse myself in the event and better feel the atmosphere. So it was that I bought myself a 1940’s Home Guard outfit. It wasn’t cheap. Not only that, I felt awkward. Roles were reversed for this Street Photographer, as he made his way from overnight lodgings to major open air museum. Awkward doesn’t really describe it well enough. I was uncomfortable, being scrutinised and uncomfortable physically. This outfit, worn in July, was comprised of thick woollen garments. Hey, there aren’t any guarantees but we do sometimes get a summer in Britain. It was hot and sweaty!

Anyway, the dressing up worked. I must have done a decent job. I almost gained entry through a side entrance to the Black Country Living Museum, until they asked me what re-enactment group I belonged to. Too honest to try and steal my way in without paying, I held my hands up and told the guy on the gate that I was not a part of any; just dressed in character. So, I headed to the main entrance, got pointed to the back of a long snake-like queue and waited my turn. Hmmmm, my honesty was costing time as well as money. Oh well.

I have to say, when I did finally gain entry, I was more than pleasantly surprised. You see, many such events are poorly organised and unconvincing; just people trying to make money out of others’ needs. This, however, was remarkable. I found myself wanting more than just shots of people similarly dressed or re-enacting. I wanted to try and get ‘scenes’ that told stories. Shots cinematic. It’s not that easy to do. Despite there being so many people dressed in 40’s gear there were plenty of others who weren’t. I’ve a few shots ruined by people in contemporary gear walking into the frame or, worse still, semi hidden until I got back and edited. Oh, never mind. It was about grabbing the right moment, looking for luck.

Anyway, cooking in my woollen threads, I walked around for hours; visiting and revisiting locations for something that passed as authentic. Of course, those real aficionados would tell you that this button on the lapel or the way that cigarette was held, weren’t authentic; they were ultra picky about details. I viewed it differently. If it wasn’t absolutely true to the period, so what; if it was convincing, it worked. I was looking for soul and story, not perfection. Hopefully, that’s what I achieved in some cases.

I thoroughly enjoyed this day and the subsequent meets that I attended but unfortunately and understandably, they have been cancelled this year; owing to the blight of this pandemic we call Covid19. Will we ever get back to what we thought of as normal? A time when you’d associate face masks with dentists, surgeons and the like. I can’t imagine things will feel the same if we have to watch them act them out with protective face coverings, disinfecting hand gels stashed behind seats, protruding from handbags and pockets.

Nostalgia now is far more than historical events, looking back decades or centuries. It’s about what most of us took for granted at the time; without the glorious benefit of hindsight. A longing for times not necessarily better in every respect but certainly simpler.

2019: the last year of normality, for now at least. We live in hope.