Review: Ian McMillan and Ian Beesley, Magic Lantern Tales, Rural Arts tour, Gilling East Village Hall

WHEN was the last time you were asked to remove your hat at a show?

In the days when hats were tifters, it would have been the norm, mainly to stop you blocking the view of those around you but also for the risk of a stray spark from a magic lantern projector's exploding bulb damaging your headwear.

Ian Beesley issued the warning that his temperamental magic lantern could jam or indeed explode, but it was "all part of the experience", as it would have been when such picture shows were all the rage in the late 19th and early 20th century. The kind of shows that would have been watched and imparted information in The Great War.

Documentary photographer Beesley recorded interviews, accompanied by photographic sessions in the 1980s, with those who had survived the war, both men on the Front and the women at home, several past their century by then, and in turn Barnsley bard Ian McMillan set those words in the stone of moving poetry (if that is not a contradiction).

"Magic Lantern Tales uses real memories to bring to life the humanity, rather than the brutality of war," said McMillan. One survivor had become the Manchester City groundsman, later befriending the legendary German prisoner of war-turned-City goalkeeper, Bert Trautmann; one had buried hundreds of fallen men on the Front, always turning them over so that no mud would fall on the face.

There were moments of humour too, not least Beesley's recollections of one centenarian woman telling him to come back in a tie and jacket because she had bought a new outfit and borrowed pearls for the photo, so he should make an effort too.

McMillan is often associated for gigs with gags – and there was plenty of laughter in a contrasting second half that focused on absurd signs and notices that he and Beesley had found – but he can stop you in his tracks with his imagery. The "Somme" sounded like a muffled explosion or a half-finished word. A sombre thought indeed.