We leased some land in Villierstown, Ireland, that had about a kilometre of daffodils and jonquils in the driveway, leading to the ruin of what would once have been a moderately grand house. It had a wing, meaner-proportioned than the rest of the house, for the servants to live and work in. But, it was most intact so I improvised some joinery and filled that with whitened old glass that had been weathering outside for 100 years, and there we graded and packed our free-range eggs. Our water source for the hens was water from a stone well, into which you walked down a spiral staircase in the dark. The stairs continued on down beneath the water. In an upstairs room of the main house, I found this picture. It was a print in quite good condition, one of a lot of negs and prints in a big scattered, jumbled layer. They’d been there getting rained on through the broken, empty windows, and accumulating grot for who knows how long.