In Shirley Toulson's poem "A Photograph," the camera appears to have captured a moment shared by three girl cousins at the beach. They are on a vacation at the seaside, evidently. The older girl in the middle of the two younger ones is the mother of the speaker, and she is about twelve years old in the picture. The girls all "smile through their hair" at their uncle, the person taking the picture, and it seems as though they have been swimming. The photograph has captured the speaker's mother's "sweet face" as well as the sea, along with the girls' "transient feet." The girls could not stay little girls because we all have to grow up, though the sea has remained relatively unchanged in appearance.

The camera has evidently captured the speaker's "suited and booted grandpa": his grandfather, dressed in his best. The sight of his grandfather makes him think of a heavy wooden door. He would be as difficult to push against as such a heavy door would be, figuratively at least. Apparently the speaker's grandfather was a tough nut to crack, so to speak; it was difficult to get to know him, to get him to open up (pun intended! You know: to open up emotionally or like a door opens up). Anyway, once the man does begin to share his life with another person, it is like being pulled "into an open room where history / reclines vacantly on an armchair." The speaker's grandfather has evidently been through a lot in his life, and when he eventually feels comfortable enough to share his experiences, one can learn so much about history and the world.