'They call me Lucky Jim'

Photographer James Barnor documented Ghana's move to independence, but was only recognised in his 80s. Now 94, he has been reflecting on a body of work spanning eight decades

- Michael Segalov

THERE ARE PILES OF PHOTOGRAPHS dotted all around James Barnor's modest west London retirement flat: on bookshelves, in drawers, behind his radio, too. Negatives and contact sheets are laid out on the window sill; bigger prints are stored somewhere beyond his front door, in a cupboard into which he keeps disappearing. "If we're going to do this," he'd said after greeting me, followed by a long, deep laugh, "we have to do it properly. Get comfortable - I don't want us to miss anything." And we don't, not that I've got any complaints: I've barely noticed the light outside fading.

It's now late afternoon on a grey October Monday - the 94-year-old firmly into leading his fourth hour of free-flowing, life-spanning conversation. Sitting squarely opposite me, barefoot in his bright green patterned shirt and copper three-quarter lengths, Barnor is holding court in a way that few can: with charm, charisma, some cheekiness, and a never-ending reserve of fascinating stories. For what must be the 20th time this afternoon, he's jumping up from where we're sitting with boundless energy to grab another print from somewhere behind me. Being a photographer whose work covers almost eight decades, he has quite the back catalogue to pick from. "I did mean it," he says, beaming, while settling back down, "when I said I had a photograph for everything. I need you to look at this picture I took of Muhammad Ali in the 1960s..."