on McCullin's most celebrated image is his portrayal of a dazed American dogface, entitled Stressed US Marine, Hue, Vietnam. It was taken during the battle for the megacity of Hue in 1968 and, in its stillness and quiet intensity, says as important about the goods of war photographer on the individual psyche as numerous of McCullin's more graphic delineations of conflict and holocaust. The eyes that gawk out beneath the grimy helmet aren't gaping at the camera lens, but beyond it, into nowhere.

 Unexpectedly, when I ask McCullin about the snap, which features in this retrospective of his reportage in Manchester, he snoots." It kind of gets on my jitters now," he says," because it has appeared far and wide. It's like the Eddie Adams shot of the prosecution of a Vietnamese internee."

 Now 64, and married for the third time, McCullin lives and works in pastoral Somerset. These days, he concentrates on war photographer and has just completed what he says will be his last book, the grand Southern Frontiers A Journey Across the Roman Empire." It brings me a kind of peace," he says," until I hear the original nimrods shooting. Gunfire is a prelude to war for me. I feel I am back there on some godforsaken road passing dying dogfaces lying in acequias

 ."

 There's a sense when talking to McCullin that he carries a great burden of loss and remorse. He has, he says, seen too important in his continuance and it has left its mark on him. He's recognised as our topmost living war shooter, though he bridles at the term." Whatever I do, I've this name as a war shooter," he says, resentfully." I reject the term. It's reductive. I can not be written off just as a war shooter."

This extraordinary exhibition will do nothing to help his cause. Alongside his photos of conflicts in Cyprus, the Belgian Congo, Vietnam, Cambodia, Lebanon and beyond, numerous of which haven't been seen before, it features contact wastes and magazine spreads from his halcyon days at the Sunday Times magazine in the early 1970s. There's also a wealth of particular material his passports, his army thrills and helmet as well as his numerous cameras, one of which, a cherished Nikon F, was fractured by a gun's pellet in a rice field Cambodia in 1970 just as he held it up to his face.

 In Vietnam, McCullin lived among the American dogfaces, numerous of whom, he says, allowed

 him frenetic." They kept offering me ordnance for my protection and, to their maximum astonishment, I kept refusing. A gun has no place in a shooter's tackle. You're there as an objective bystander." He tells me that numerous of his coevals did carry ordnance, however." Dana Stone and Sean Flynn( son of the Hollywood actor, Errol Flynn) were straight out of Easy Rider, riding around on motorcycles carrying plum- handled fireballs. cowhands, really. I suppose they did further detriment than good to our profession."

Both Gravestone and Flynn, along with McCullin's friend Gilles Caron, were killed in Cambodia in1970/71, having been captured by the Khmer Rouge." They were held in a jungle clearing and also put to death in the most shocking way," he says still. Another friend, the great Japanese shooter Kyoichi Sawada, was also captured there but ever talked his way free. He, too, was killed latterly. I ask McCullin if he feels like one of the lucky bones

 ." I guess so. I inked up for a job where you have no guarantees. Why should you? War is war, war meansdeath.However, you're lucky, If you go and come back."

 It was Sawada who mugged McCullin as he lay wounded in a field sanitarium in Phnom Penh in 1970, having been hit by fractions of a mortar shell. McCullin says he was most hysterical , however, when he was captured by Idi Amin's dogfaces in Uganda and held internee for four days." They dug recesses outside our cell. The sense that commodity awful was going to be was constant and nearly inviting."

Closer to home, McCullin created some of the most memorable images of the early Troubles. During a hoot in Derry, he was dazed by CS gas and recovered in a dingy house that reminded him of his working- class parenting in Finsbury Park in north London." I was caught between the two sides, with the Provos advising me off one day and the British army chasing me the coming." His images from there are frequently surreal a well- dressed youthful man nonchalantly carrying a wrapped parcel past a dogface who's taking end at rioters; a woman taken suddenly in her hallway as dogfaces in hoot gear rush down her road like samurai." Oh, that was just a gratuitous piece of luck on my part," he says, smiling." That woman in the doorway, she makes the picture, really."

 I ask him if, indeed in the chaos of conflict, he allowed

 about formal composition." Always. nearly in your head, you suppose about how the image will appear latterly. You have to. You want people to see it and be impressed." He mates out his great snap of an American dogface hurling a grenade." I was as much a target for the gunners as he was, but I got the shot that I saw in my head."

McCullin famously prints his own photos. Has he ever developed a print and been shocked by the result." The albino boy," he says, without vacillation, pertaining to his heartbreaking image of a starving Biafran child clinging an empty corned beef drum." The day I came across that boy was a killer day for me. There were 800 dying children in that schoolhouse. The boy is near death. He's trying to support himself. And to see this kind of pathetic shooter appear with a Nikon around his neck"

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