Pig Killers (Stroud, 1890)   A photographer squeezed a sovereign from a Baptist farmer rarely given to whim or pride. They were pig killing and the photograph a century on shows them pausing at their work.   One looks like a man who had confirmed his face in a pool, shattered it to drink, and hurried on. Now he’d glimpse timelessness contrived by a conjuring lens.   He sensed no contradiction with the meek and mild. Baptists might disdain to dance, yet slaughter flocks; salt bacon and plump winter ham.   With nonchalance of a disbeliever, a younger man stands…