Echo of a Song ~ Part 2

Back for the second half, hopefully you’ve enjoyed the choc ices or managed to find your order on the drinks table, visited the loo and are once again ready for the next cacophony of sound! 

The scene has now changed, still in the north of England, but now more central, Leeds, where at the time (1975) there was the most amazing folk scene that complimented my studies, in life if not at the university very well, at least that’s what I like to think!  During the next three years at venues too numerous to mention, (except two: The Grove Folk Club, a twice weekly haunt during this time and famous for being the world’s longest running single venue folk club still going strong now, but more of that later and The Student Union where I was recorded live on a Mike Harding Album and credited on the sleeve, and I quote “Hecklers by rent-a-prat Leeds,” I was one of many!) I managed to see just about anybody who was anybody on the scene then and huge numbers of people who either went on to great things or faded into obscurity.  This brings to mind a line from a Decameron song, “Breakdown of the song” about one who didn’t make it – “The greatest moment of his entire career, was when he turned his back and made it to the wings.”  How sad is that! 

But, the next song was written by one of the greats, Ewan MacColl, who once said “My function is not to reassure people.  I want to make them uncomfortable.  To send them out of the place arguing and talking,” and has been credited by many with being one of the founding fathers of the new folk revival that happened at that time.  He is best known perhaps for his “Radio Ballads” about the ordinary working people, the Grammy Award winning song of 1973, “The first time ever I saw your face” recorded by Roberta Flack and numerous hard hitting protest songs such as ...   

Manchester Rambler – Leeds:  This year saw the 80^th Anniversary of the Kinder Mass Trespass.  The 1932 Mass Trespass, after which five ramblers were imprisoned for exercising their right to walk on the moors, has been called the most significant event in the century-old battle for the Right to Roam.  It was an iconic event not only for freedom to roam legislation, finally achieved by the CROW Act of 2000, but for the creation of our National Parks, of which the Peak District was the first in 1951.

Manchester Rambler is a famous song about the trespass, written by none other than Ewan MacColl, and I heard him perform it live, with his then partner Peggy Seeger, most probably at The Grove, if not also elsewhere.  Then, having recently been looking up old songs and searching for folk stars of the past via various websites, I find that Ewan’s son, Hamish from his second wife lives, not 5 miles down the road and is a good friend of good friends of ours!  They have promised to introduce us, but I need warning so as not to be introduced and blurt out totally inappropriately “I knew your father!” like some teen fan!!

There now follows something of a gap, possibly due to the vast majority of folk clubs being in pubs with deep cellars, but despite falling madly in love with Miriam Backhouse, and particularly her giggle on “I can see a nasty spider creeping up on you!”, then being devastated to find that she and her boyfriend (later husband) were emigrating to Australian.  I walked five or six miles to her farewell concert, and back although I don’t remember much of that trip, the whole evening being something of an emotional blur!!  With the music ringing in my ear I graduated, went to do my PGCE, the teacher bit, taught briefly in York before moving south to Croydon, where for a while I was one of several “resident” singers at “The Ship Folk Club” in Croydon high street, which actually sounds rather grander than it was!!!

Then, the demands of the job, getting married, having a family and the commitments that brings, pushed folk clubs at least, rather to one side, although I continued to sing in the bath and have occasional forays to the odd folk club when I could escape!!!  From Croydon, I had moved north to Cambridgeshire, formerly and now once again Huntingdonshire (can anyone explain the financial sense in regularly changing boundaries and administrative areas?), where the family arrived, before making the move west to Gloucestershire, and a school where I came out fully, from my shy and retiring former self* in case you have jumped to the wrong conclusion!, and is responsible for the next three or four selections.  *Most people laugh when I say this, but this is a piece of non-fiction and absolutely true – ask ‘er indoors!!  I can also tell you the start of this process, the change and coming out came about because I was once told, at interview, that I didn’t get the job as I “wasn’t blonde and vivacious!” but that’s another story, although at this stage I’ll suffice to say I didn’t go blonde, just bald instead, but certainly tried to be vivacious!

This Night the Stars – Stroud, Gloucestershire:  I have always had a fascination with the moon, some might say a lunatic obsession, but everyone is entitled to their own opinion!!  Only a night or two ago, when walking back from putting to bed our friend’s two ducks and a chicken, and having run the gauntlet of their neighbour’s two very vicious geese, fortunately they seem less worried by walkers than cars – drive by and they charge at the car, pecking at its side or the wheels!!, I gazed wistfully at the full moon rising over the nearby field, silhouetting the hedgerow trees along the side of the road and said to Linda you can understand why early man was mystified by the moon and worshipped it.  Her response was simply, “I suppose!,”  But she’s not as blown away by the wonders of the world as I am!!  Some of you may also remember that my daughter and I commune through the moon, when she is far away!

Moving to Stroud I discovered a local celebrated singer / songwriter who was in the process of carrying out a number of projects involving putting some famous Gloucestershire poets, or more exactly their poems to music, blending neatly my love of folk music with a love of poetry, particularly when performed live.  The poems of people like: F.W. Harvey, Ivor Gurney, Leonard Clark, John Drinkwater, Frank Mansell, Eva Dobell and not forgetting Laurie Lee, of Cider with Rosie fame, with whom he collaborating on what turned out to be a splendid album of Laurie reading his poetry and Johnny singing some he had put to music, the album named after one of Laurie’s poems “The Edge of Day.”   When I moved to Stroud, Laurie and his wife, Cathy, still lived in the small village of Slad along the valley from Stroud, made famous by Cider with Rosie.  I became quite friendly with Cathy, Laurie’s wife, but sadly “I never got to shake the great man’s hand” which is the title of a poem I have been writing since Laurie’s death in 1997.  I’d like to say it’s going to be an epic, but probably not, it’s just a poem about so great a poet and author, I have to get the words right!

But, back to Johnny, who by an amazing coincidence was no other than the lead singer of the 1970’s folk rock group Decameron, right back at the beginning in St Mary’s Church, Sandwich.  However, his fantastic new material which he regularly performed with a smattering of older stuff, was great for assembly music and often I would put on a topical piece for the children to come and go to.  Having been doing this for some months at the end of one assembly a young boy in my class, Alexander, came up to me and said “You know Johnny Coppin who’s singing this song?  My Dad used to be in a group with him called Decameron!”  It was one of those moments, when fanfares sound and small boys standing in front of you wonder why you’ve gone weak at the knees and all peculiar!!  The end of the day I couldn’t wait to get home and pull the records of the shelf and find Alex’s Dad, Geoff March, there somewhat younger and with more hair but unmistakably in the line-up, another amazing coincidence. 

One of my favourite Johnny Coppin songs is “This Night the Stars” a poem by Leonard Clark that he put to music, I suppose another amazing coincidence is that Leonard Clark became a lecturer in education and taught at the teacher training college my aunt went to!!  The next Christmas, Alex made me a card which I still have somewhere, on the front was a picture he had drawn of a starry night and inside one of the verses of the poem, perhaps after all he had understood my reaction!        

Before leaving Johnny Coppin and slightly out of sequence, the obvious choice for my first assembly when I moved from my first headship in Stroud to the big smoke of Gloucester, just had to be: “The Roads Go Down” a poem by Frank Mansell, set to music by Johnny with the first verse that goes “The roads go down to Gloucester town And Severn seeks the sea; But what road leads where I’d be gone, What river flows to thee?”  Kind of apt – I also played it at my final rather tearful assembly but again that’s another story, as well as water under the bridge, as it were!!

Moving On (Gastrells School, Stroud) But, as I said, I’ve got a little out of sequence and before I moved on from Gastrells School in Stroud, where I was Deputy Headteacher and down the road to be Headteacher the other side of town and several years before I went down the hill to Gloucester Town, someone very dear to me, Heulwen, a mentor for later Headships needs mention.  Gastrells School was at this time very special, a group of teachers who collectively hit it off and many remaining in close contact – it just works seemingly effortlessly, despite the onset of the National Curriculum and all that involved!!  Having announced her retirement the school came together as only Gastrells could to arrange a final sent off for Heulwen, that included a final “Party Pieces Evening” for adults in the evening.  We had done this on a couple of previous occasions as amongst the staff at the school, including Heulwen herself and the childrens’ parents was an amazing pool of musical talent.  The final party pieces was a surprise and involved many of Heulwen’s family and friends and I sang the title song of this section, Moving On as well as Something in Welsh at the end of the highly emotionally charged evening.  As I sang the last note I collapsed into a gibbering heap beside the stage, and although the something in Welsh has been long forgotten, it took me many years before I could bring myself to sing Moving On again, even in the shower.  Now, steeped in memories, I’m singing it again as it seems kind of fitting having moved well and truly on!! 

Some years passed before Delilah, Abbeydale, Gloucester.  I have only done karaoke twice in my life, the first time at a school disco during my first Headship, when perhaps feeling my age the only thing I recognised on “The List” was Frank Sinatra’s My Way and I’m sure many thought it was my way not his!!  But, several years later we were invited to one of Linda’s colleague’s 50^th birthday.  It was a fancy dress karaoke party, come as the person whose song you were going to sing, and from “The List” jumped out Tom Jones and all his bling!!  This time I did my homework, practised long and hard, even as far as looking at the actions and how the great man holds the microphone. 

The night arrived and the bling went on where it could be hidden under the plain dinner suit I wore, or was concealed in the pockets after all I needed to make an entrance, not when I arrived at the party, but arriving at the microphone.  As the evening wore on and my spot loomed the bow tie was undone, the shirt buttons undone down to the waist and the extra bling added to the fingers, so as the microphone was passed to me the DJ did a double take as he hadn’t realised Tom Jones was in the room!!  The women screamed, and as the final note faded and I adopted the correct pose, I was nearly knocked off my feet by the birthday girl who had chosen not to throw her knickers at me, instead threw her whole self at me!  However, shortly afterwards one of the other nurses draped herself around me and announced loudly to all around, “I’d have thrown my knickers at you, but I’m not wearing any!”  Oh, the hardships of fame!!    

Now we go back nearly to the beginning; Five o’clock on a Sunday nite, or Watercress O! to give it its other name and my return to The Grove Folk Club.  It was the month we had made the decision to move to France, and we had headed north to tell Linda’s family and other friends.  It was also near my birthday and I happened to see that Jez Lowe was appearing at The Grove, so decided to make a return visit after thirty years or more, hoping to get a chance to sing a floor spot before sitting back and enjoying Jez.  However, we arrived a little late as although The Grove is still there and as we finally discovered totally unchanged outside, the surrounding area was totally changed, the old factory buildings replaced by shiny glass and steel office blocks towering over the small pub.  Finally arriving, we walked in and I stepped back in time, not only the outside was unchanged but so was the inside, not even appearing to have had a coat of paint, and going through to the club room at the back I even discovered that after all this time one of the organisers from “my time” was still there and possibly one of the others, but they weren’t there that particular week.  I got a floor spot, but ended up having to wait until the second half, and when my time came I got up on the small platform, hardly big enough to call a stage, noticed the bit of wallpaper I had pulled off when taking down a poster all those years ago as truly no decoration had been done, except I was reliably informed in the lady’s loo!!   

I had originally sung, back in the circle of chairs in Marske and beyond, with my eyes closed, as not only did it seem the way to do it but, also it seemed to help calm the nerves, not being able to see the audience grimace!!   But, after several years I decided I was confident enough to open my eyes and face the music as it were, and surprise surprise, it opened up a complete new dimension.  I had one Victorian melodramatic song I had always sung seriously, until I opened my eyes and saw the comic potential which ended up with a handkerchief over the shoulder ready to mop up the tears from this suddenly soppy weepy number!!  This time round Five O’clock was sung with my eyes wide open to take in all the nostalgia, and I travelled home that night sitting in the car rather like Toad sat in the middle of the road repeating “Poop Poop” when he discovered the wonders of the internal combustion engine.  My repeated mantra was “There is such a thing as time travel!!”  It had certainly been another emotionally charged evening!    

Having now moved to France, with at times time on my hands, I have rediscovered my song book and often shatter the peace of our tranquil hamlet.  This led to a return to the stage for a rendition of Leezie Lindsey during the midsummer music festival down the road in Marsais St Radegonde, but that story is well documented in another earlier blog post, June 2012; “When was the last time,” on the other blog – It happened one Thursday in February.

So that’s my selection for the island, all that remains are the Book and Luxury Item.  I’m assuming that as you are selecting a number of musical pieces to be marooned with you must get a hi-fi system on which to play them, but I would like the luxury of it having recordable CD player, some blank discs and a selection of my own records and CD’s, so I could set about creating my very own CD, it’s one of those things on the “to do list!”   As for the book, as this is really all about me, I’d have to have one of my most treasured possessions with me a book of poems written by my colleagues at Gastrells, when I moved on.  The poems are all about me, and the book was presented to me after the poets had all read out their offering on another highly emotionally charged evening, but it would be a great way of feeling that I was not alone, but surrounded by many very dear friends!

Oh gosh, it’s sort of the end of the show, but as they say in the business “the show must go on” and it certainly could as the more I write the more the musical memories flood back, but don’t despair, there’ll have to be an encore, but just one short item!!: Many years ago, in my Mum and Dad’s local, at a time when it was largely a music free zone, at Christmas time the then Landlord and others would occasionally do their “Party Pieces,” the landlord’s often straight from the rugby club after the match!  But on this particular evening just after I arrived in the top bar, there came a haunting and halting melody from the bar below.  The song was a beautiful rendition of The Old Rustic Bridge by the Mill, an old Irish song and the surprise singer was the quiet very old farmer Fred, who was in the pub most nights for a couple of pints, but kept himself to himself and this was the one and only time I heard him sing anything and it was sung with such feeling that it was one of those hairs on the back of your neck moments and was for Fred, as well as everyone else, obviously one of his “Magical Musical Moments”

Thanks for listening, but as I turn my back and make it to the wings, I’m hoping it will be one of many more times to come!!