The Magic Box

Dismantling old radios, torches, and the occasional broken camera, was my favourite past time when I was a boy around nine or ten years of age. I particularly enjoyed stripping down old clocks in a vain attempt to repair them.  Being inquisitive by nature I had to find out just what did make them tick.

I recall one bright summer's morning all the lads from my street were playing football on the green outside our house, but I was much more interested in searching for something to tinker with.  And it was whilst rummaging through the sideboard cupboard that I discovered an intriguing old box.  Unfortunately, my dad was out, and I suppose that I should have waited for him to return, but curiosity got the better of me and I hastily removed the lid to reveal a strange looking black tube, various canisters, and an assortment of packets containing strange papers and powders. To me this wondrous find appeared to be a magician's conjuring outfit.

It was late afternoon before my dad eventually returned home, and I was able to ask him to reveal the contents of the old box.  It was in actual fact an Envoy developing and printing set. Evidently he had bought the kit some time before but had never found the time to use it. I was therefore delighted when my dad said that I could have the outfit, and over the moon when he lent me the family Kodak Box Brownie complete with a roll of 620 black and white film, which had eight frames on the roll. My dad removed the loading cradle which fitted snugly inside the camera body, (just like a magician's prop I thought) then threaded the yellow film leader around the spools and gently inserted it back into the camera. I watched eagerly as an endless procession of lines and arrows appeared in a tiny red window. One last turn of the winding on knob displayed the number (1). He handed over the funny old black box, and I was at last ready to take my first snap.

I decided that our pet, a pretty tabby cat called Whiskey, would make an ideal subject for my first ever photo shoot. He didn't agree however, and ran away whenever I had him lined up in the fuzzy little viewing lens. I continued on this photographic safari until I had taken all eight shots of my very photogenic (albeit a little camera shy) model.

I hastily wound on the endless length of yellow backing paper attached to the film, gathered up all the apparatus necessary, and galloped up the stairs to the bathroom which I had commandeered for my temporary dark room. Once the makeshift blackout was in place - probably mum's best blankets - I was in total darkness, and ready to load the film into the tank, I carefully unrolled the backing paper until I could feel the film that started to curl as it separated from paper roll, which was twisting and curling around my legs. I recall that it felt humid in this alien chamber and my hands were very clammy as I tried to wind the springy film around an equally resistant length of clear plastic - used to separate the emulsion during processing - this was not an easy task to perform, especially in the dark and with sweaty palms. I fumbled with this tricky operation and almost succeeded in wrapping the two twisting rolls together, when suddenly, there was loud bang on the door; which made me jump, and they both sprung out of my hands. It was my sister at the door demanding to use the bathroom. My eyes by now had become accustomed to the dark - which wasn't all that dark after all, due to chinks of daylight breaching my black out - and I could see with horror the unfurled film lying next to its protective covering on the floor. After a few more frustrating minutes I'd successfully managed to secure the film into the light tight tank. I had to halt proceedings whilst my sister inconvenienced me. After I was able to evict her from my dark room, I was able to get on with the next stage. Working in the light now, I prepared the various chemicals by mixing tubs of crystal chemicals - which had solidified with age - with water at a temperature of 68% f. Unperturbed by the noxious odour that they gave off I proceeded with the developing of my film. The chemicals were poured into the developing tank, agitated and given their allotted times strictly in the order of: developer, stop bath and fixing agent. After a thorough wash (the film, not me of course) I pulled it from the tank dripping wet and held it up to light and examined my efforts. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the process had actually worked. There were quite a few stains and smudgy fingerprints on the strip of negatives, but amazingly they had come out. And what a bizarre transformation I saw in those negative images of Whiskey, our beloved black and white cat.

I waited impatiently for the film to dry before I could make a print from the negatives. The very moment that they were, I hastily cut the roll into individual negatives and was fired up with excitement to get started. This second stage of the process was performed under the dim glow of a red safe light. Three small white trays containing chemicals were placed side-by-side on a piece of board over the bath. The lid of the loo seat made a very useful working surface for all the other implements. As with the film developing, the print process was done the same order, developer, stop bath, fixer (known as hypo crystals) and finally a water bath, timed and agitated as before. The negative had to be sandwiched in between a sheet of glass and a piece of printing paper - glossy side up - and then slipped into a printing frame. Assembling this device in the dingy gloom was proving a little tricky. Once I mastered the technique the frame was exposed to the ordinary light bulb in the bathroom for a few seconds.

I carefully removed the shiny piece of paper from the printing frame and immersed it into the murky brown developing liquid. Poised in eager anticipation of a photograph that I hoped would appear before me as if by magic, I stared long and hard through the eerie red light. But I was bitterly disappointed that the white postcard size paper remained blank. It just lay there, at the bottom of the tray, wilfully refusing to reveal its secrets. I tried coaxing them out of it by gently rocking the tray to and fro. The solution washed over the inert paper like an ebb tide in a rock pool. I continued with this action and glared at the inert object, willing an image to appear. By now my vision had become blurred, probably from straining my eyes in the shadowy crimson dusk. Suddenly; I could see faint patches appearing on the paper. I blinked my tired eyes rapidly, and watched with growing excitement as various shades of grey, formed shapes, that rapidly became the ears, eyes and stripes of the cat, little white whiskers completed the picture puzzle. When all the photographs were printed, rinsed and pegged up over the bath to dry, I spent a long while just gazing at them.I felt quite proud of my achievements, and in conclusion, I decided that what I found in the cupboard had been a magic box after all, for this had been the finest illusion that I had ever seen. It has now been over forty years since I first had that wonderful experience of seeing a print develop for the first time, and I have never forgotten it.  I still have the Brownie to this day, old and tatty it maybe, but it will always be a magic box to me.


© Mike Barton 1996 (Revised 2006)