CORSET ROCK. In 1898 Henry Tilbrook photographed himself on a rock which he called Corset Rock. In this half of his stereo pair the rock and its reflection have the appearance of the ‘wasp waist’ made by the corsets women wore in the 19th century. To take this photograph of himself on the rock Henry used his usual long thread technique which he has described in the text above this picture.  (Corset Rock text below)

Henry photographed a number natural features along the coast. One of these, he wrote, was ‘that peculiar formation which I named Corset Rock in honour of the ladies. When Marianne saw the photo, she wished to know how I climbed the rock. It certainly was a difficult object to photograph. I went to it on four different occasions and found the conditions unfavourable.

‘The last time, I fixed the camera in about two feet deep of sea water and having adjusted everything, flung the reel of thread on top of the rock and climbed up myself. I had no boots on of course, being in the sea. But when I got to the top I found the rocky spikes so sharp that I could not move. Accordingly I had to descend and put my boots on. Then I climbed up again, wound up the thread and took the view. That occurred in 1898. Afterwards, in 1920, I saw that photograph in railway carriages wherever I travelled. (Note -- In 1901 Henry Tilbrook supplied the Railways Department with enlarged copies of photographs taken on this trip which were use to decorate railway carriages.)

‘One lady of our acquaintance,’ Henry wrote, ‘was going up north in the train and got out at the Burra. Going home to her people she said, "I came up in a carriage with Mr Henry Tilbrook."

"Did you? Where was he going?" she was asked.

"I don’t know," was the reply. ‘I left him in the train. He was sitting on a rock – in a picture." ’

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‘I was out every day and all day taking photographs of this romantic coast. I made use of the isochromatic process in which colored screens are interposed between the lens and the plate. There were three different screens - two Burchett’s and one Ilford. The former consists of two glass planes -- one yellow, the other green -- mounted together in optical contact; the Ilford of a single yellow plane. The extra exposure required ranged from four times extra to fifteen times extra. These screens eliminated the blue light rays; thus preventing halation and rendered distant objects such as mountain ranges as clearly as near ones. In addition to these modern scientific appliances to obtain clear photographs I had both high-power and low-power Dallmeyer telephotographic lenses with dark and light Burchett color screens. These represented lenses with foci from seven and a half inches up to sixty-six inches. The latter focus brought distant objects very, very close, but required an enormous exposure - as much as four and a half minutes with a dark Burchett screen when stopped down to clearness; and double that if late in the afternoon. Thus it was almost impossible to use these important lenses in windy weather. And when is it not windy when you go out to take views! Many a time I have had my camera rise into the air like a bird when I took my hand off it for a second - and it was a whole-plate camera, too, and no light weight.’

Henry took several photographs of the Cape Banks lighthouse, and was well-received by the people working there. ‘They all assisted me in every way in taking views and gave me all the information about the locality that I desired. The ladies at the head keeper’s house kindly took in their washing from the clotheslines at my request while I photographed the two cottages.’ When Henry returned to Adelaide he sent each of the families at the lighthouse a full set of photographs he had taken there.

Below: "A Hatter's Camp near Cape Banks." From Henry Tilbrook's postcard.

Henry broke his umbrella while at Cape Banks but managed to mend it. ‘I had always to carry an umbrella to protect the camera from the wild, wild winds that are ever blowing when you are out taking photos. I did not take my rifle with me on this expedition as I found I could not hunt and take photos too.’

After returning to Mount Gambier Henry and Fred Lester prepared for a trip to the Glenelg River, over the border in Victoria. After they reached the river Henry discovered that he had left a dozen whole plate negatives at Mount Gambier, which meant he could take no more large views. ‘Fortunately I had some whole plates (8½ x 6½ inches) which I had cut into halves longwise making 8½ x 3¼ inch size and they made lovely panoramic views. These I afterwards enlarged into very interesting bromide pictures of the river showing many reaches, the waterway, cliffs, trees and shrubs.’

Below: Henry Tilbrook also used the halves of his whole plate glass plates to photograph tall thin subjects such as trees. Here, at the right of this photograph of the wall of his home at East Adelaide, can be seen a tall slim pine tree photographed in this way with his camera on its side. A number of these narrow negatives have survived. Below this picture on the wall is a two-piece panorama of the Blue Lake, Mount Gambier.

While Henry’s mates were doing some ‘strenuous fishing’ he spent his time taking photos and exploring alone or, as he usually wrote, he went ‘solus’.

14 March 1898 ‘On this day I shouldered my thirty-eight pounds’ weight of photographic apparatus and marching two and a half miles onward and to and through the town took six more views of Mount Gambier and the volcanic lakes. The wind blew almost a hurricane. I wanted a calm, still day, but did not get it! I had an umbrella to protect the camera. The wind, however, had a bad habit of getting around that and shaking up the camera. Some telephotographic views require an exposure of over five minutes. A still atmosphere would have made things easy. While taking a telephotographic view of that extinct cone named Mount Schank from across the Valley Lake the wind blew my camera, lens and heavy stand clean over… I succeeded eventually in taking the view; but the picture was not as sharp as it would have been under more favourable conditions. In fact it was of the fuzzy order of photography - a thing to be avoided and shunned, even banned.’

This last sentence, in italics, probably explains why Henry Tilbrook’s name is not seen on the membership list of the South Australian Photographic Society, which at that time had members who were prominent in the field of ‘pictorial’ photography, or as the ‘f.64’ people who liked sharp, distinct photographs called it, the ‘fuzzy’ photography.

Henry Tilbrook returned to Adelaide by train, where ‘a pair of soft, loving arms were flung around my neck, and I was a happy man once more. My dear one told me how nervous she had been all the time I was absent.

‘Now began the development of negatives, the spotting and touching up of the same, the printing of prints, and the making of bromide enlargements. All the stereoscopic photos, too, had to be printed on silver prints, and toned with gold, mounted on card, and burnished. I always got dear Marianne to help me in fixing the prints in the hyposulphite of soda - a messy job! But she never complained. Fifty prints a day she would fix for me without a murmur. And whenever I went to town she would change the washing water for me every ten minutes. I always sent the partners of my trips copies of each photo that I took on every expedition. On this occasion I had taken no less than seventy-six views - a certain number of them being stereoscopic. My friend, Mr Fred Lester, always got his share, which he much appreciated. Needless to say, printing, enlarging, mounting, filling of albums, and printing of postcards took many months to complete.’

Left: Henry Tilbrook called this picture "Spoils of the Ocean, nr. the Cottage-by-the Sea." One frame of a stereo pair. In the picture, as usual, his right hand is winding up the reel of long thread which triggers the shutter on his camera.

 END.