Angus O'Callaghan and his first wife set about creating a book of his photographs in the late 1960s. ''We found that not one publisher was interested.'' Credit:Eamon Donnelly After seeing O'Callaghan's work for sale at the Brighton Primary School art fundraiser, Albrecht – who has worked in the antiques and fine art industry for many years, beginning as a storeman at an auctioneering business – became dogged about bringing the work to a wider audience. The organiser of the fundraiser introduced them and O'Callaghan sent Albrecht two packets of photos a few days later, images that had been hidden away for almost 40 years. Albrecht says he found it an emotional experience. "For me growing up in the late '70s, early '80s – that was when nothing happened in Melbourne," he says. "It was barren and the biggest building was Nauru House and everything closed on a Saturday at one in the afternoon. That's what the images did for me: they brought all that back." Albrecht mounted an exhibition of O'Callaghan's work at Kozminsky gallery, which he then owned, though he was initially unsure whether his own responses to the images would be echoed by others. "But it was when a client came in, whom I am good friends with and whose purchasing I respect, who said he wanted so many of them – we nearly sold out of some editions – that I realised they were a hit." The images now sell for between $6000 and $14,000 He describes O'Callaghan as a very rare individual who is humble, likeable and talented, and whose tough working-class upbringing as one of 12 children is hard to discern in the upbeat, positive gentleman who has shared a great gift for capturing the city he loves.

Angus O'Callaghan and Benjamin Albrecht in 2014. Credit:Harry Rekus O'Callaghan has written about various episodes of his life in the book, describing how the onslaught of urban destruction in the 1960s, during which many heritage buildings were torn down, heralded a changing way of life. He decided to begin a long-term photo assignment as a historical record, to hold onto some of the city's memories for the benefit of later generations. "I never imagined what a task it would become," he writes of the dedicated project that took place between 1968 and 1971 and involved hundreds of photos. "How at times it possessed me as each sub-assignment unfolded, and the worry of my neglect of my new marriage to Annette." Milk Bar, corner of Roseberry Street and Nepean Highway, 1969. Credit:Angus O'Callaghan In 1968, the couple decided to do a coffee-table book of his photos and he set to work for the next three years on the images that are now, belatedly, in the book Angus O'Callaghan: Melbourne.

The couple then lived in a dwelling above a Brighton cake shop run by O'Callaghan's brother. They had children, developed the photos in a bathroom-cum-darkroom and planned for a successful future in photography, built on the book. O'Callaghan would wander the streets of Melbourne on Saturdays, often taking his family with him, and Annette did the writing for the book, captioned and dated all the photos – though some that she didn't attend to have posed mysteries ever since. Royal Arcade, circa 1968-1971 Credit:Angus O'Callaghan That was when nothing happened in Melbourne. Benjamin Albrecht But the book was not to be – not then, anyway. "Annette encouraged me to keep going until the project was finished," O'Callaghan says. "She wrote the narrative for a book that was never published. We found that not one publisher was interested. Saddened by the rejection, we packed the negatives and the slides into a shoebox, secured it with other photographic equipment in a tea chest and, disillusioned, got on with family life. Annette died in 1988."

O'Callaghan remarried in 1992, and his second wife, Lynette, eventually opened the tea chest in 1999. She was astonished at the treasure trove and told him the people of Melbourne should see the pictures. He eventually set up a darkroom and started printing, showing and selling them on a small scale. In 2008 he met Albrecht, who loves the fine line that O'Callaghan straddles between art and photo-journalism, producing images he says stay with the viewer. The first one he saw at the primary school auction was of a Japanese woman in full traditional costume looking into the window of a Collins Street shop. He found it intriguing. Titled East meets West and taken in 1968 or 1969, it shows the woman gazing at a rather dull display of clothes. But who was she and why was she dressed so? Neither man can say. Seven years later, the book shows a city that has largely disappeared. Much sleuthing has been done by Albrecht and photographer and collaborator Eamon Donnelly, including one fabulous image of a milk bar whose location they were determined to identify. Everyone who saw the image, Albrecht says, was certain they knew where it was. Definitely Newport, claimed one. Obviously Preston, said another. Surely Richmond, someone else insisted. It turned out to be in Brighton, just off the Nepean Highway, but had been knocked down during the highway's construction. Such nostalgia (for the real and the imagined) bewitches many who see O'Callaghan's work – even for those who didn't know Melbourne back then. Albrecht says some young people look at the images and think them "cool and so retro" but don't recognise it as the city where they live.

Another image that Albrecht loves was taken from the top of the South Melbourne high-rise public housing flats, looking across the suburb towards the city, with its crop of low-rise buildings, taken sometime in the period that O'Callaghan did so much work. "There is not one person walking the streets that I can see," Albrecht says. "Back then on Sundays everything was closed and everything was dead. This shows it really well. There is a certain calmness to it, a big country-town feel. You look towards the city skyline and there is basically nothing there." O'Callaghan also outlines the circumstances in which some of the photos were taken. One of these is among his most atmospheric and haunting images – of Princes Bridge at dusk in 1970, showing the spires of St Paul's Cathedral, the pinnacle on the Flinders Street Station dome, and the west tower of the since-demolished Gas and Fuel Buildings. Crossing the bridge that wintry July evening, the photographer slowed as he took in the deep transparent blue of the sky that was darkening quickly; the silhouettes of the buildings and the brilliant neon signage. Did he have time to capture this magical moment? He fumbled for his Yashica 635 – a camera whose viewfinder is on the top, so the user must look down instead of in the direction of the scene being shot – and waited, instinctively, for some other missing element to appear (the expense of film in those days precluded snapping away – he had to wait for the right moment). Then, "between the dusk and night" they came – several young women, impatient to reach the station, walking on the wet, reflective pathway. "The moment rushes in as the women sweep by," O'Callaghan recalls. "I press the shutter fast and I knew the greatness of this picture would be there forever." There it is, lush and atmospheric, steeped with the feel of a place that could only be Melbourne.

Angus O'Callaghan: Melbourne ($95) albrechtandocallaghan.myshopify.com