They lurk at the back of cupboards. Some are hidden under beds; others are tucked between books. I have been collecting them from a young age, but I still don’t know what I’m meant to do with them. What do you do with school photos?
I suppose I could take pictures of my own school photos and bin the originals. But I just can’t do it
Whenever I come across one, I enjoy the moment of reminiscence. I cast my mind back to my time in the netball team and choir. Then there are the series of house photos. My friends and I have braces in the early years and orange perma-tans by the end. I’m fond of the May Ball ‘survivors’ photos’ taken as the sun rose. Everyone looks half-cut and happy. I’m less attached to the ironic ones from university days. In one, we all seem to have forgotten our clothes.
But they are a record, nonetheless, and I know I would never allow myself to get rid of them during some Marie Kondo-esque frenzy. They do spark joy. I just don’t want to look at them every day.
Some people must, though, because it has become a well-worn trope in English society that these photos tend to be displayed in the downstairs lavatory or elsewhere around the house. One friend refers to this as the ‘wall of chin’. It’s not to say I don’t appreciate this approach. It’s fun spotting people in them, Where’s Wally-style. Who isn’t a little nosy when given the chance? More to the point, your host would like you to know they (or their children) went to Eton.
Ysenda Maxtone Graham agrees. ‘Those photos are definitely the Great Quiet English Boast,’ she says. ‘But I absolutely love going to the downstairs loo in people’s houses and gazing at the school photographs, especially the old sporty ones where all the 1950s boys have their arms crossed and their white knees pointing forward. I love squinting at the calligraphy in search of the name of the husband of the house. And I am always impressed that they were in the First XI or whatever.’ This sort of display is easier to carry off with panache in a large country pile or at least a substantial townhouse lavatory, rather than a pokey under-the-stairs situation like ours. Ysenda faces the same problem. She explains that she keeps her family photos ‘rolled up in the oblong cardboard boxes they came in when you ticked “boxed” rather than “mounted” or “framed”. When we open them up, they’re coiled up so tightly around each other that you must weigh each end down with a dictionary or recipe book.’
The school photo conundrum is only going to become more complicated as the photos keep rolling in, which they are bound to once my two children start school. I’ll encourage them to order them (‘Let’s go for “boxed”, darling’), but where on earth will we keep them?
My husband’s own collection is not insignificant. We have already had a chat about how many should be on display. I made the case for none, but I suspect we will eventually put a few more up. There is a sweet one from his school days which features lots of his good pals.
The children’s photos should probably take priority. ‘I know people with enormous downstairs loos who are able to accommodate every college, prep school and sporting photo they have,’ says the writer Arabella Byrne. ‘I look at them with envy and wish we could do the same. In the end, our children’s photos will overtake the downstairs loo entirely and my husband and I, and our once independent existences, will be consigned entirely to the cupboard where we keep the broken hoover.’
My children are photographed far more than I ever was. They groan whenever a phone emerges. ‘Put it away Mummy,’ they bleat. Out of the mouths of babes. But I wonder if they may end up treasuring their school photos because of their permanence and distinctly analogue, un-airbrushed nature.
I will keep them safe, either on the wall or hidden in the bookshelves. They can eventually grapple with the same conundrum. To make space for their photos, I suppose I could take pictures of my own school photos and bin the originals. But I just can’t do it.
What this boils down to is how much of an archive of our life we wish to keep and who it might be for. I doubt anyone would be interested in my collection of school photos, aside from perhaps my own children. That said, my cousin in New Zealand recently discovered a sports team photograph of my paternal grandfather. His arms are folded, and he stares earnestly at the camera, as was the fashion. His fellow teammates all have the same expression. I am grateful that this photo was kept for posterity. Whether I’d want my ancestors to discover those university pictures is another matter.
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