Finding Stillness in the Heart of the Gala – Durham, Saturday 13 July
Saturday’s Durham Miners’ Gala was, as ever, a spectacle of sound, colour and solidarity. I was there to photograph the vibrant heart of the event—the marches, the brass bands, the banners billowing high above the crowd. It’s one of the most powerful and atmospheric days in the North East calendar, and a real privilege to document.
But what struck me this year, perhaps more than any other, were the quieter moments I stumbled across—moments of stillness and simplicity that unfolded right along the Gala route. In between the energy and movement, there were pockets of calm that felt just as meaningful, and just as worth capturing.
The first was a narrow alleyway, tucked between buildings just off the main road. It was one of those places you could easily walk past if you weren’t looking—but it stopped me in my tracks. The flagstones were worn smooth by centuries of footfall, and a shaft of sunlight cut across the stone at just the right angle. It felt like a hidden passageway, rich with stories, cool and quiet amidst the bustle. Places like that are a gift for the camera—full of texture, shadow, and mood. The kind of scene where you don’t need to add anything; you just frame what’s already there and let the history do the rest.
A little further along, I came across a row of wooden rowing boats tied up on the banks of the River Wear. Perfectly arranged, like they were waiting their turn on a stage. One had already pushed off into the water with a small group aboard, drifting slowly past as brass band music echoed faintly in the distance. The whole scene had a quiet rhythm to it—the gentle bob of the boats, the soft dip of oars—it was such a contrast to the lively energy just streets away. That calmness, that still moment, felt like a breath drawn in the middle of the day.
Then there was the gull. It’s always the unexpected shots that stay with you. It was one of those instinctive moments—camera up, shutter clicked, all in the space of a second. The gull hung mid-air, wings outstretched, perfectly poised against a crisp blue sky. That wide, cloudless backdrop helped isolate the bird completely, letting its shape and movement carry the image. There’s something almost sculptural about the way they hang there—balanced, focused, utterly free.
Finally, just a little further along the river, I reached one of my favourite scenes of the day. A perfectly still reflection of the Mill House, nestled beside thick trees that leaned into the water. An old stone bridge completed the frame. The surface of the river was so calm it felt like glass. You’d never guess that just a few streets away thousands of people were gathered in celebration. It was as if time had paused for a moment, just to let me take it all in.
That’s one of the things I love most about photographing places like Durham. A single day can hold so many moods. From the fierce pride and collective memory of the Gala, to the hush of a back alley or the peace of a riverside scene. The contrasts are everywhere if you take the time to notice them.
So yes—the Miners’ Gala was the main event. But I’m just as grateful for the minutes in between. They’re a reminder that even in the busiest moments, there’s always space for stillness, if you’re willing to look for it.
If you ever find yourself in Durham with a camera, don’t just follow the crowds. Glance down side alleys, look up at the rooftops, and take that short detour by the river. You never know what you might find just a few steps off the path.
