Instead of pondering upon this career choice, and perhaps joining a local newspaper as a trainee, Patrick (in his own words) lied about his age, invented the name of a newspaper, and managed to arrive in South East Asia into the middle of the Vietnam War. In order to gain credibility and a seat on the helicopters taking the press to the heart of the action, he made up fantastic stories about his coverage of the Indo-China War, when in reality, at the time of that conflict, he had been thirteen years old and going to school in France.
Looking back, forty three years later, Patrick said that he believes he survived because he felt that overwhelming sense that one has at that age of the invincibility of youth.
He engaged with the US troops because they too were just out of college and anxious to talk of women and cars.
There was, early on in his Vietnamese experience, a sad and pivotal moment that, he reflected, led him to a very clear understanding that war is less an adventure and more a horror story for all of those involved in it.
Escorting a captured Vietcong soldier back to camp, Chauvel stumbled over the root of a tree and exclaimed “Merde” as he did so. “You’re French?” asked the young Vietnamese soldier. Telling Patrick his story he revealed that he had studied at the Sorbonne, before returning to his home country and fighting the American forces. Using the French he had learned during his time in the Latin Quarter of Paris, he told Patrick that he feared he would soon be shot. Patrick assured him that the coalition of American and South Vietnamese would never do such a thing.
Seconds later, a bunch of soldiers took the young Vietcong prisoner to one side and shot him in the head.
Something (and he couldn’t be sure what it was) hooked Patrick Chauvel into a life of war photography and since that day in 1967, he has covered nearly thirty conflicts all over the world, still with that sense of survival, and still with a rakish air and dry sense of humour.
Yesterday, I spent an hour in the company of Aamir, a twenty-eight year old single man, who lives with his parents in Boreham Wood. Aamir has a digital camera that he bought from eBay, and we met on the street in Wembley opposite the studios from where The X Factor is broadcast.
Aamir became a full time photographer nearly a year ago now, when he was trained ‘on the job’ by his cousin. Spending four days each week outside Fountain Studios (rehearsals on Thursday and Friday, live broadcasts on Saturday and Sunday), he fills the rest of his time hanging around outside nightclubs in Central London (Pangaea and Boujis mainly) hoping to take a snatched photo of a young royal or a bedraggled celebrity.
The best shots, Aamir told me, are the ones that show the target (a common word used by street snappers) in a moment of anger or confusion. He doesn’t deal directly with newspapers, magazines or other media, but has a network of agencies that act as middle men and secure him a payment of anything from twenty pounds for a standard but ‘exclusive’ shot of (for example) Cheryl Cole, to several hundred pounds if he can catch a celebrity falling over or punching someone.
In the hour we waited along Fulton Road, I counted fourteen cars, each of which contained at least two young-ish men. They work in pairs so that as one takes a bathroom break at the McDonalds next door, their partner ensures that a photo opportunity is never missed. The studios have covered (with tarpaulin and chipboard) the area where the X Factor acts and judges arrive, but the snappers overcome this by the judicious use of stepladders that enable them to peer over the fence at the slightest possibility of a clandestine shot of Simon Cowell or Dannii Minogue.
Aamir’s ambition is to get married and set up his own small agency, so that he can leave others to hang around in ancient Volvos, waiting for Katie Waissel or Matt Cardle to offer the five second window of opportunity as they are hustled from the people carrier and into Fountain Studios.
As I left Aamir, I thought of Patrick Chauvel. Two men carrying cameras. Two different worlds.
Terence Dackombe, November 2010
This week I have:
Wondered why I’m subscribing to The Times paywall when I only visit the site about once each month.
Been listening to Mozart’s Requiem on Spotify, and WKTU “The Beat Of New York” via the excellent ooTunes app. for the iPhone.
Read a superb piece, by Paul Du Noyer in the new issue of The Word magazine, on the life and influence of Brian Epstein.
