The Dog That Didn’t Turn Up

When we plan things, we imagine how they will turn out.

I didn’t have much of a plan for this adventure beyond: set off from Land’s End, head east, then head north, and see what happens. But I did imagine how my story might pan out.

In the film version of my adventure, I’d be played by Helen McCrory (Aunt Poll in Peaky Blinders); I’d be climbing mountains so that the camera could fly round me on mountaintops as I sink to my knees and yell ‘Why?! Why am I doing this?!’

And on another mountain (probably in Scotland) I’d be like Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music, arms open, twirling , singing, because I was deliriously happy for some reason or other.

Helen McCrory as me would reach John O’Groats looking fit and fabulous, with my shoes almost falling apart, there would be a crowd of people waiting to greet me, cheering as I walk round the cliff and see them there, tears streaming down my face, people playing tunes, dancing singing, some incredible revelation happens, my life turns round, demons faced and conquered, sun shining, ruddy-faced fishermen waving at me…

…people leaving the cinema feeling that they have been on the journey with me, and determining to read the book. (Not that I’d spent much time thinking about the film version… Chris Prat or Tom Hardy would play The Lovely John..)

In another world, where I’d have got the funding to create a musical snapshot on my crazy pilgrimge, I might have booked more B&Bs, I might have been more certain about my route, and known exactly when and where I would be.

But I would have missed out on so much excitement, thrills, worries, and entering into the unknown.

In my imagined version of the journey, I would arrange to meet musicians en route, literally. They would walk to some pre-arranged crossroads, and we would spend an hour or two enjoying sharing tunes and a picnic, then we would both hug and go our separate ways.

In my imaginary journey, there was a little dog that started walking along beside me, and even though I tried my best to get rid of it, it just kept following me, and we ended up best of friends and almost inseparable. I was probably going to call the dog Groaty, or something like that. Boots maybe. But the dog would be well-behaved and devoted.

In my imaginary journey, I turn up at the John O’Groats hotel and spend the £50 note that I have kept in my hat (actual, not imaginary) on a drink, a meal or a room for the night. People cheer and pat me on the back.

In fairness, some people had said they would walk with me for a while, an hour, a day a weekend, but weather, commitments and time never quite coincided.

The dog didn’t turn up. But Naked Actionman did.

The hotel at John O’Groats has been turned into self-catering flats. So I saved my money.

I was looking forward to walking the entire length of the Pennine Way, the Great Glen Way and the West Highland Way.

Didn’t do any of them in their entirety.

I even decided to treat myself to the West Highland railway journey, and have a day climbing Ben Nevis.

Rain and fog put a stop to all that milarkey. Who wants to sit on a train for five hours and see nothing but fog? Not I. Who wants to climb uphill for five hours in thick rain clouds? Nah.

There were a lot of things I didn’t do, and it doesn’t matter in the slightest. I met the most amazing people, I have seen some incredible places, heard wonderful music, i have been constantly reassured that people are kind, friendly, good-natured, we smile, we laugh, we are interested and interesting. Everyone has a tale to tell, and everyone loves to hear a tale well told.

People aren’t obsessed with politics, they don’t talk about Brexit; there is much more to this world of ours, this tiny country of mine, than the media would ever admit to.

Life is full of magic, amazing co-incidences, places so delicious they make you want to cry.

These things can’t be imagined, they can’t be captured and recreated in a film. Helen McCrory, marvelous actress that she is, would never be able to show the gradual realisation that my knees aren’t hurting anymore.

Or how good it felt to climb my first long hill without thinking I was going to collapse. Or what it felt to be knocking on someone’s door who I’d never met before, because they had heard about my adventure and invited me to stay and hear them play music.

Or how, when I was travelling through Scotland, I didn’t feel like some Amazonian adventurer, I felt like Jimmy Crankie.

I felt like Jimmy Crankie because I was loving every minute, smiling at the rain, the mists, stealthcamping in harbours, beaches, lochs and lakesides, heading North, on my way to John O’Groats. I even went to visit Glenmorangie whiskey distillery, something I’ve always wanted to do.

Glenmorangie distillery

Naked Actionman posing like a pro

Could this be the best bar in the world?

If anyone is wondering what to buy me for Christmas – glenmorangie please x

I didn’t stop smiling when I got to John O’Groats, even though we’d driven all day in thick fog, and you couldn’t see a thing when we got there.

We did the obligatory photos, and were similarly underwhelmed by John O’Groats as we were by Land’s End.

The destination isn’t the adventure. It never was.

There is a phrase that often came into my head during the adventure: ‘The map isn’t the territory’. It was a phrase that was often trotted out during NLP training, and this summer, I totally understood it. It’s 874 miles to Land’s End, you can plot the route on a map, but the journey is so much more than a line on a map.

Somewhere behind Naked Actionman, there’s Orkney

It’s a bleak, bleak place is John O’Groats.

Pulling out all the stops for the tourists.

Here we are, Jimmy Crankie and the Lovely John at J O’G

Two Months earlier… equally bleak, but sunnier, 874 miles away….

Well Folks, it’s been a blast. But it’s not the end of the blast. No siree. I’ve got a hundred tunes and songs and stories to turn into something. Watch this space, give me a week or two to get used to being back in my homelands, then see what I start cooking.

In the meantime, I’ve got to get used to not being an adventurer, I’ve got to decide where I’m living and I’ve got to get me a job.

Eek.

Kendal Calling…

Sunday night, I’m staying with Ian and Carol Hatwell,They live in Kendal and offered to put me up if I was passing though which I am and they did.

We’re all too tired tonight to go out anywhere so they agree to play me some tunes. I first met Ian through dulcimers, he’s a dulcimer player, and Carol plays the harp.

Ian Hatwell:

‘How I came to be playing the dulcimer – I heard Jim Couza playing dulcimer in folk clubs; I loved his playing. My wife told me to stop going on about Jim Couza and learn to play a dulcimer.

‘I got a beaker at the 25th year anniversary of the Nonsuch Dulcimer Club (https://www.dulcimer.org.uk/index.html) for being a founder member. That’s how long I’ve been playing…

‘I’m going to play a Scandinavian tune called Lillpolska Paa Harpen. The first time I heard it my wife was playing it, she’d brought it back from a harp weekend, probably one of Charlotte Peterson’s tunes. Charlotte has a danish father and a Scottish mother. It’s her arrangement.

‘Lillpolska Paa Harpen‘

https://youtu.be/CPmh924SPEM

Carol Hatwell:

‘In Cumbria we have a harp society called ‘Harps Northwest’ which is a charity whose aim is to promote the playing and enjoyment of harp music. (http://www.harpsnorthwest.org.uk/

‘Over the last 20 or so years, it’s grown from 2 people able to play the harp to 90 members, all ages, from 8 – 80 and we’ve got 17 or 18 harps that we rent out cheaply to children and adults. We run beginners courses with harps provided throughout the year.

‘We have four professional teachers throughout the year and we organise a biannual weekend festival for the small harp with professional tutors. Every year in November we choose the tutors for a harp course which is held in Higham Hall near Keswick.

‘One of our teachers, Mary Dunsford, she places on YouTube what she calls the January challenge for harpists anywhere in the world. She films on you tube 2 or 3 tunes, teaching 4 bars a day til the end of January. There’s a teaching video and a play along video. You can find the link on harpsnorthwest.org.uk and the current challenge is still on YouTube.

‘This piece is written by Shetland fiddler Tom Anderson Da Slockit Light’ (the slaked light). He wrote it when he saw people moving away and the lights going out on the island. His wife had died and he knew grief was coming as well.’

‘Da Slockit Light’

Monday morning, Carol and Ian got in touch with their friends Peter and Fiona Rigg, who are musicians. Peter is an instrument maker, and they are both Nyckelharpa players. Nyckelharpas, it seems, are like buses. You never see one, ever, then you see three in a month.

We arranged a morning music session at their house in Kendal, so off we went for the most wonderful Monday morning in the company of Peter and Fiona Rigg. http://www.riggmusic.co.uk/

Pete heard about my Magic Fluke travel fiddle, and anted to compare it with a pochette fiddle that he had made. Here they are making friends with each other:

Pete’s Pochette and my Magic Fluke travel fiddle

Fiona:

‘We’re both session players in this area, we met through music, both involved in ceilidh bands.

‘Pete got into instrument making about five years ago, making harps, mandolins, five string fiddles, Hurdy Gurdy, dulcimer, and most recently Nyckelharpa.

‘We both fell in love with the sound of the Nyckelharpa, which took us into Swedish dance music which then led us into french music and dance.

‘Pete first heard the Nyckelharpa about thirty years ago

‘Every year in Settle – at the May bank holiday weekend there’s a Scandinavian music fest – Skandimoot.’

Pete:

‘I made the first Nyckelharpa and couldn’t make it play properly. We went to the Skandimoot and met Carol Turner who played it and made it play. She did something that we weren’t doing. So we arranged to meet up with her in Sheffield to find out what she was doing that we weren’t.

‘We realised that if you’re going to pay Nyckelharpa you need to play Swedish music. And if you’re playing those tunes, you need to learn the dances to get the rhythm right. This led us on to learning French dance music which also sits nicely on the Nyckelharpa.

‘Through learning styles and instruments like this we’ve got an invite to go to the Swedish Nyckelharpafestival in Tokyo where they will lend us Nyckelharpas because they are difficult to travel with. It’s amazing where music will take you, the doors it can open for you.’

Hambo enter Erik Hartvig

https://youtu.be/NutlpwLTNYo
‘The one and the three beats – that’s Swedish rhythm’

And just for fun, Pete and I jammed a tune on dulcimers.

https://youtu.be/5XZsBCZmE3o
Ian, Carol and I left Pete and Fiona to their packing – they were off to Canada on Wednesday. Just before we left we were talking about instruments and places, and Pete mentioned a gurdy player they had met called Quentin and asked if I knew of him, as he lived in my neck of the woods. ‘Know him?’ Says I, ‘I was married to him!’ Hahaha small world.

That afternoon, Ian, Carol and I went for a walk along Scout Scar, above Kendal, which has the most spectacular 360 degree views.

If only I knew how to use that panorama function on my phone camera…

Monday evening, and folks had mentioned about a folky session in the Ring O’ Bells in Kendal, so Ian, Carol and I set off for a wander into town to check out the session. To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t the sort of session that I normally enjoy, I’m a someone-starts-a-tune-and-everyone-joins-in-and-there’s-not-many-guitars kind of girl, and the Monday night at the Ring O’ Bells is more of what one might call a ‘singaround’ – you go round the room and everyone does a turn, and anyone can join in if they like. And though there were a lot of guitars, there was also a penny whistle, some bodrhans, someone reading poems, someone who sang pop songs as though they were old folk ballards – I don’t think it was done intentionally, it was just Acapella. And there was someone whistling tunes, not on a penny whistle, he just whistled them.

To be honest, the good humour and the jollity in the room was infectious, so we settled in and had a right good night.

Gravestone at the widest church in england in Kendal. Nice to think that people have always been kind to strangers

Yes of course I took Naked Actionman along with me. He loves a good castle, so he does.

Everyone I spoke to in the area mentioned Carolyn Francis, a fiddle player, collector and writer of tunes, teacher of fiddles and all-round extraordinary woman, so I arranged to meet up with her on tuesday night, and had a day to wander round Kendal being a tourist and say my farewells to Ian and Carol, who have been the most wonderful hosts. It’s always bittersweet saying goodbyes; people let me into their lives and houses make me feel comfortable, safe and secure, and look after me, share stories and food, and just as I feel as though I could get used to this, I’m on my way again. I couldn’t do this journey without you – thankyou everyone who has given me a bed for the night.

Ian and Carol Hatwell. Lovely people and top hosts x

In tomorrow’s blog I’ll tell you all about when I finally met the legend that is Carolyn Francis…

It all Happens in West Yorkshire

So I gets to Wakefield, and I meet up with a woman who is making podcasts about artists and how home relates to their work.

It was strange describing how even though I still consider East Yorkshire to be my home, I had burnt all my bridges – given up the rent on my house, got rid of all my furniture and everything I own is stored in Scunthorpe in twenty small boxes, plus my musical instruments, and some demijohns of home brew wine stored in my mother’s garage. (The wine, incidentally will be ready for drinking in September. Party round at momma’s house).

Had I not burned my bridges, I’d have been back home by now, cos it’s easy to come up with reasons to be back home when there’s a back home to return to. When there’s not a back home to go to, it’s easier to find reasons to keep on going.

What was also strange about being in Wakefield was that I was a student at Bretton Hall, and Wakefield featured strongly in my student days, so it was peculiar being there, with snippets and hints of the place I once knew so well, and whole swathes of it new and unfamiliar. I had a look around the Hepworth Gallery, which wasn’t there before. It was very arty, minimalistic, modern, and situated by the canal, which I never knew existed, but the canal must have been there long before I last visited. I was an art student, so felt obliged to visit the gallery, but, maybe sculpture just isn’t my bag.

Naked Actionman in the Hepworth Gallery, explaining to me about sculpture

Apart from meeting Lesley and her podcast interview, I had also arranged to meet up with an old mate from my student days, Tony Wade, and his partner, Helen. Tony and Helen are both artists, proper ones, real ones. They are talented, creative and active with their art. They don’t talk and moan about lack of opportunities, they crack on and do it. There is a strong artist community in Wakefield, the council are very supportive, and there are art studios and art spaces, and more planned. Art hub of the North, Wakefield.

Tony and Helen had put word out among the Wakey Folkies that I was heading into town and if anyone wanted to meet up Wednesday night, I’d be there at the Polka Hop pub.

I’d never been to the Polka Hop pub before and if you love your beer and are ever in Wakey I’d urge you to go. They have great beer, and it’s a fab pub. I walked in, and a local Rapper Morris troupe (the Leeding Edge Rappers) were practicing their steps. I thought it was for my benefit, but no – that’s what they do on a weds night.

Here they are going over one part of a dance. I’d never considered how much practice goes into learning a dance like this, but watch this and consider away…

People wandered in during the evening and we played tunes together, they played tunes for me, we drank fine beer, and we all had a magical evening.

Here’s a few tunes I collected:

Carole Sherwell: ‘what i like about the Northumbrian waltzes is the intervals they are are so strange and haunting…

First one is called Swindon – nothing to do with Wiltshire there’s a visage in Northumberland of that name..the second one – Elsey’s waltz – both written by Archie Dagg.’

https://youtu.be/rai69WJwbX0

Veronica Keszthelyi and Matt Cook from the Leeding Edge Rapper (officially from Leeds, but practice in Wakefield) playing Drowsy Maggie:

These next two guys sneaked into the pub and surreptitiously got out a bodrhan and a piccolo flute, joined in with a few tunes then played this storming set:

Bob Thomas / Mick Doonan – Lord Mayo /?

The Polka Hop pub is named after a Morris step – Sarah and John Earnshaw who own the pub are both Morris dancers and musicians.

Sarah and John Earnshaw – Landlords of The Polka Hop

Here’s a picture of myself with Tony Wade and Mikal Ball, we were best of mates when we were students, and Mikal did us the favour of working out how many years ago it was when we were first students. I’m not going to tell you. It was that long ago.

Mikal, me, and Tony. Many many years ago we indulged in hedonistic pursuits and drank a lot. How times have changed.

Next day – Thursday, Tony and I had tentatively arranged to do a Bretton tour and play Hunt The Hare in our old haunts, but he had to oversee rework going up in a train station and go to a meeting about a saint’s finger, so Mikal was off work with ganglions and gallantly offered himself as my guide.

A miserichord in Wakefield cathedral – thanks Mikal for finding it for me.

Wakefield town centre at 9am is not a pretty sight. And Mikal loves to moan. So we grumbled all the way to Yorkshire Sculpture Park, where Bretton hall, our college used to be. The college shut some years ago, but the grounds are still there and the YSP is quite magnificent. We moaned about the demise of the college, we moaned about the heat, we moaned about the school parties and their boundless enthusiasm. We moaned about getting old, we moaned about pretty much everything, it was brilliant.

We did find great amusement in the artistic descriptions of the sculptures and installations. This, we decided is why we would never make it as artists. We didn’t have the essential bullshit factor. I wish I’d taken some notes, but you really have to see it to believe it. Have a go on this and it will give you some idea https://www.artybollocks.com/generator.html

By early afternoon, we were knackered, so caught the bus back to wakefield, said our farewells and I went back to Tony and Helen’s to catch up on my blogs.

Next morning (Friday) Tony took me to the canal so I could walk to Leeds

Just keep walking that way, you can’t go wrong

Got halfway there then got lost when I met two women who were also walking somewhere, but not to Leeds. We decided if we all went the same way, we couldn’t possibly be wrong. We were.

Ended up doing the second half of the way to Leeds on the roads which is a horrible walk.

City of Leeds taunting me in the distance… come and find me

On the way I got in touch with three of my Leeds Muso friends who were all away or about to head off to festivals or stuff, but one kindly suggested somewhere to meet up with The Lovely John who was joining me for the weekend.

Golden Acres Park, (thanks Chill for the suggestion) is north of Leeds and is a beautiful park with benches and lakes and woods and things. I arrived there, sent the Lovely John a location marker and waited for him to turn up. It was a beautiful warm evening and I fancied treating myself to an hour playing the fiddle – found a bench away from it all, and started playing. You know when you get into the zone, you close your eyes and remember tunes you’ve heard and tunes you love to play and you’re away with it? That was me, until I stopped playing cos I got stuck on a tune, opened my eyes and there was people clapping on the other side of the lake and people clapping behind me in the woods. It just suited the evening, apparently.

Young man came up with his family and was asking about my fiddle in such a way as I could tell he was a musician, so naturally I got him to play me a tune or two for my blog.

Golden acre park Rob Bromley – Hog the lass til I run at her:

The road to cartmel

The Lovely John rang and said ‘I’m in the carpark, where are you?’

Come through the underpass and find me. I’m playing the fiddle.

He found me. Asked everyone he saw: ‘have you seen a red-haired woman playing a fiddle?’

Next blog: wild camping – Ilkley moor with hats, malham moor, north and further north to a places bursting with musicians and music.

Nyckelharpas, Dulcimers and a fiddle

I’ve been in Sheffield since Wednesday afternoon, and I’m heading off today, Friday. I’ve had a busy old time meeting musicians, eating Chinese takeaway and drinking beer. I persuaded my son to play me a tune on his dulcimer, and he had persuaded his friend to come over and play something on his Nyckelharpa.

So I am quite excited for several reasons, one being I have never seen a nyckelharpa played live in the flesh so to speak, my son is going to play a piece on the dulcimer, and The Lovely John has taken Friday off work, and has come over to sheffield to spend the weekend with me.

Let me tell you a little bit about me, my son, and his dulcimer:

I bought the hammer Dulcimer that my son is playing when I worked in Japan in 1988. My son was conceived in Japan, and when he turned 21, I gave him that dulcimer for his birthday. He’s nearly 30 now, and is a good dulcimer player in his own right; he’s standing in for me at some gigs this summer, playing a dulcimer I bought before he was born.

So Here, for your delectation and delight, is my son Zebedee Budworth, playing a couple of tunes he learnt from a fiddler in a waistcoat in a London pub session.

Robert Bentall is a nyckelharpa player who lives in Sheffield. He told me about the instrument he plays:

‘The Nyckelharpa is a Swedish traditional key fiddle – it has an idiosyncratic short bow and 16 strings. I play it in Swedish tuning c – g – c- a

‘There are 4 bowing strings and 12 sympathetic, tuned chromatically; 3 rows of keys, top row for the A string, another row for the higher C string, and other for the G – low C has no sympathetic strings.

‘It’s built on a Traditional Swedish layout – based on when they were first build, at least 800 years ago.

‘I was a string player and defected into music technology, resonances and reverbs – this instrument, the Nyckelharpa, the more strings you play, the more they ring out.

‘I discovered the Nyckelharpa when I was working in Sweden, I saw someone playing it, and became obsessed about having one. I Googled uk nyckelharpa society, borrowed an instrument, had lessons and started improvising and mucking around on the instrument.

A lot of the trad Swedish tunes are based around the polka rhythm

Batsman deck – this is a typical Scandinavia tune.’

https://youtu.be/JQHEnlKLqks

‘The Swedish tunes often crossover with Finnish tunes, this tune is called: ‘Emma fram Finland’ (or Emma’s) it’s a famous tune/song in Scandinavia.’

Xxxxx

I absolutely love the sound of the Nyckelharpa- eerie and ethereal, sends shivers down your spine, so it does. Zeb and Robert are developing working together, the dulcimer and the Nyckelharpa compliment each other beautifully, and they agreed to play an unrehearsed improvisation so I could film it and share it. It’s a long piece, ten minutes, but well worth a listen in its entirety – grab a cup of tea, put your feet up and enjoy:

And finally, of course I wanted a piece of the action, so they humoured zeb’s poor old mam and let me join in with my travel fiddle – here’s the three of us playing ‘Emma Fram Finland’:

Xxxxxx

the xxxx’s are where the videos may or may not upload – one thing I didn’t count on is the unreliability of internet connections. If they con’t upload, I’ll upload them whenever I get to somewhere with many internetty options, otherwise you will just have to imagine. And If I’m waiting for things to upload, then I don’t get the blog out.

And watch out for tomorrow’s blog – it’s going to be a good one – it features Naked Action Man…

Dulcimer Heaven and The Unicorn

Tim Manning, maker of Hammer Dulcimers, has his workshop in Frome. (pronounced ‘froom’). He was the reason I traveled to Frome, because the Hammer Dulcimer is my main musical instrument. It has paid the rent for many years, and the dulcimer fraternity in the UK is interwoven and we all sort of know each other, or know of each other.

Me being a dulcimer player long before the walk

I knew of Tim for a while, and met him at The Great Dulcimer Gathering of 2015, where dulcimer players came from all over the world to Malvern to play and watch and talk Dulcimers. Tim was happy to meet up with me on Tuesday and offered to let me stay the night at his home in Bath.

Tim Manning putting the final touches to a dulcimer

When I arrived at his workshop, Tim was putting the final touches to a dulcimer, setting up the bridges and settling the strings in. If you’re not into Dulcimers, this was a man in a woodworking studio, but to me it was dulcimer heaven, seeing and watching a dulcimer being born.

Later in the afternoon we headed over to Bath where Tim and his wife Sue and their daughter Ruby have recently moved. There aren’t many of us around, so when you get two dulcimer players together, we talk dulcimers, we gossip about the dulcimer fraternity, and we play music. And that was pretty much how we spent the evening. And a splendid evening it was too. Tim contributed two pieces for my blog; the first he wrote on guitar, the second, on dulcimer. Here he is saying about the music:

TIM MANNING

1: COUNTRY WALK

I went for a walk with my previous partner to an area called Snuff Mills in Bristol. We found this teeny tiny bird that had fallen out of its nest. We took it home, put it in a box and fed it egg through a syringe. It survived and started growing and as it got a bit older, it started tweeting, and I was recording and multi-tracking the song it made and adding tracks.

We took the bird back and put it on a tree, we returned the next day, and there was a bird hanging round, i put my hand out and t jumped on to it. I like to think it was saying thankyou.

https://youtu.be/DW9Z5bAsoKY

2: SPIRIT RAG

I wrote it pretty much like that and wondered what to call it. I was in my workshop in frome house – my previous workshop. It was when i was creating a bare bones dulcimer – working out how minimal i can go. I’d named it the skeleton dulcimer. I was paying the tune on the skeleton dulcimer. I looked up and and there was a jar in my workshop labelled ‘spirit rag’. I liked how it went with the skeleton dulcimer and the vamping style, so that’s what i called the tune.

https://youtu.be/AjTOy3xt-CQ

Wednesday – I had arranged to meet up with Hilary Davies, a dulcimer player, back in Frome, so I got a lift in with Tim on his was back to work. Hilary didn’t realise I was doing an epic walk, she just thought I was dropping in, and straightaway offered me a bed for the night, and food, and an afternoon of heavenly dulcimer playing, where we swapped tunes and taught each other tunes.

We thought it would be good to have a go at Billy’s Dad’s Polka, the tune I learnt right at the beginning. And also we both fell in love with Nine Brave Boys – a Cornish tune I’d learnt from Bagas Crowd in Cornwall.

Here’s some of the tunes we played over the perfectly wonderful afternoon of dulcimers:

Billy’s Dad’s Polka

Green Sleeves and Yellow Lace – a Playford tune.

Nine Brave Boys

Bonny at Morn – a favourite of Hilary’s.

Being on a musical roll, we had planned to check out a local choir who were having an open night, but that turned out to be on Thursday. We decided to be brave and check out a nearby folk session held at a pub called The Unicorn Inn at Bamford, Wincanton.

This was indeed a most splendid session. I tried to film bits and pieces, but really, it was fantastic to be in amongst it all, playing along. I got chance to play my little Magic Fluke fiddle, and a dulcimer as well.

I love a good music session where everyone joins in, or listens respectfully to the gentler tunes, and this was simply a great session. The clips I filmed in no way do it justice; when the room was rocking, I wasn’t filming, I was having too much fun joining in. If you’re ever round Bamford, near Wincanton, on the first Wednesday of the month, pop in to the Unicorn Inn, you’ll be made most welcome.

I was having such a good time, I never got the names of most of the tunes I filmed. Sorry ’bout that. But hey – have you noticed there’s two – yes TWO dulcimers in the room. Two dulcimers and three dulcimer players. Could life get any better?

Loved these women fiddlers: Mary and Jenny

these three guys kept sneaking some cracking Irish tunes in. This tune might have been called Hugs For Lucas.

I wish I’d got some film of the whole room when the music was flying. But here’s a popular local slow tune called January Waltz.

All in all, an absolutely marvelous couple of days. Thursday I’m off walking again, heading along the Cotswold Way

No we weren’t drunk at all coming out of the Unicorn Inn. High on music, dahlinks.

When in Glastonbury…

I’m too tired – I’ve just deleted this post – so I’ll have to write it again.

I was feeling a wee bit miserable yesterday, which was exacerbated by the BnB where I was staying – my room was half storeroom, and every cupboard in the kitchen contained masses of bottles of homeopathic medicines and tablets, and there was stuff everywhere.. and a strange smell.

‘You WILL give me a five star rating when you review’, I was told, not asked, ‘because there was a mean woman the other day only gave me three stars. Can you imagine what that did to my ratings?’ ‘Mnuhuh,’ says I, deciding to not write a review at all.

Walked the three miles back into town to catch a bus from Taunton to Glastonbury – I was heading there because it is halfway to Frome where I’m meeting some musicians tomorrow, and Glastonbury is too far to walk in a day. Anyway, I had an hour to kill before the bus, so thought I’d sit and play my fiddle. Taunton is festooned with charity shops and one enormous Waterstones that looks like a Weatherspooons. I set up on a pedestrian precinct which turned out to be where the ‘town dwellers’ hang out. First to make my acquaintance was Busker Dominic and his half empty bottle of wine. He dropped it, and kept talking as he picked up every bit of glass. Couldn’t understand why I wasn’t into hallucinogens. ‘It’s the way forward’, he told me, ‘you don’t know who you really are til you’ve been pushed to the edge.’

I’m sitting there thinking: ‘bet you’ve never given birth to a ten and a half pound baby, that’s pushing it to the edge, mate.’

Busker Dominic also enlightened me on the joys of the A minor chord: ‘It’s a busker’s best friend. It’s the brightest of all the minor chords. I must know six songs in A minor. It’s the chord that’s pregnant with possibilities.’ There you go. A minor.

When Busker Dominic finally staggered off, and I started playing, it seemed to attract the ‘Town Centre Dwellers’, who were a happy bunch, they danced and clapped in all the right places. I stopped to pack up ‘Got a Bus to catch’, I told them. Their main man looked at me and announced: ‘it’s the next town where you find the jar of gems.’ ‘Always,’ says I. We nodded sagely at each other.

Two old dears at the bus station with trolleys full of shopping. ‘Ooo look, there’s a bus to Minehead, shall we jump on it and go have a swim in the sea?’ Says one. ‘We’d have to leave our trolleys here, I’m not going to do that,’ says the other and they both cackle. Imagine that said in an old lady taunton accent, and it’s very funny.

Glastonbury. What can I say? Within twenty minutes of arriving here, I had booked into an ashram which was situated temptingly on the way to the Tor. I left my rucksack there and climbed up to the top of the Tor and felt bloody brilliant.

I ate, had a bath, had a nana nap and went to the evening devotional service, which consists of sitting on the floor and singing songs that go on so long that you can’t help joining in with the simple beautiful melodies. I persuaded Nora afterwards to play a couple of the songs/chants so that I would remember the tunes. She kindly did a very heavily edited version for me.

Nora Gonczi: maha mantra

Nora Gonczi: evening arti tune – this is the tune we sing to Krishna when we do the evening offerings.

This is the sight that persuaded me to call in. I was in glastonbury after all, and as they say: ‘when in Rome…’

Ashram courtyard. My room is the wooden hut on the right.

Well chilled now, just done my morning meditation session, and after breakfast, I’m off to Frome. Catch ya later dudes x

Sweet Times in Torrington

I’m not following the news during my big adventure. I am vaguely aware that the political situation in the UK is like a clown circus without the funny bits, I am aware that there is always a football match somewhere that’s important… scans mind to try and think of anything else I’ve been aware of… and that’s about it really.

And it is a marvellous wonderful thing to be free from national media horror stories and opinions. I don’t have to get stressed about things that are happening in places I know nothing about, and tragedies that I can do nothing about anyway. I know it sounds selfish, but there is nothing like a break from all media (TV, newspapers, radio, etc), to roll away a whole layer of stress from life. Imagine not hearing the word ‘Brexit’ for a whole day. Now imagine it for two weeks. Yes that’s how good it is.

I’ve not sealed myself away from everything, but my interactions are with people, actual real people, people who have stories, opinions, people who love life, who grumble occasionally, who will smile and nod at a stranger, people – normal folk who are interesting, fascinating and amazing in ways that will never make the news.

I was thinking about music today on my walk from Torrington to Bideford and Barnstable (along the Tarka Trail). I love music and how it can alter your state of mind, pull up memories, make you want to dance, elevate you, depress you – it’s quite an amazing thing. I enjoy a good concert and listening to music, interacting passively if you like.

But there is something, some sprinkling of magic that no amount of fame and glory and studio production and expensive hi-fi system can recreate, and that is the magic of spontaneous live music. I went to a session in the Royal Exchange pub in Torrington last night – there was all different kinds of music played by people with different levels of musical ability, and as the night wore on it gelled together to turn into one of those scenes in a pub where everyone is singing and clapping, the sort of scene that Hollywood might recreate in a film if it saw ‘typical English music pub’ written in a script.

I’ve filmed a few things last night. I was sat next to John Golightly, a wonderful box player. I asked him if he’d play me a couple of tunes, so we went into the relative quietness of the beer garden where one of those magic moments happened. Listen to these tunes:

1: ROLLO’S WALTZ:

My name’s John Golightly and I wrote this tune in memory of my grandson Rollo who sadly succumbed to cot death about 4-5 years ago and this tune is in his memory.

2: JOSEFIN’S WALTZ:

this tune was written by Roger Tallroth for his niece on the occasion of her christening, and it’s called Josefin’s waltz. It’s a lovely happy loving tune. A nice antidote to the last one.

We came back in to the session which was turning up a notch, here’s a clip of Ian and Mark playing Ring of Fire:

And here’s the rollicking final song in which Ian and John had the whole pub pirating along. I’ve included the whole song, cos I want to learn the words.

hmmm it’s not uploading… blimmin’ internet.

And lastly, but by no means least, thanks to Janet’s brother, John and his wonderful wife Anne for being such generous hosts, looking after me, picking me up, and feeding me. They even washed my smelly clothes, so I smell sweet again.

Smelly Pits

I stink. I’m not normally a smelly sort of person, but dear god, my armpits. Why oh why are armpits so close to your nose? Note to self: as soon as I finish this blog post, find a shop and treat yourself to some deodorant, woman.

I’m meeting the brother of Janet today and he’s taking me to a musicians night at Great Torrington. Janet plays in Shiznitz with me, so I know and love her well, but have never met her brother. So, I’d better have sweet smelling pits. First impressions count, dahlinks.

Today, I got a lift most of the way to Oakhampton, which needs to be done in order to reach Great Torrington tonight. I did have a most pleasant walk in, impressed with how I was handling the ridiculously heavy rucksack. I have repacked it, thrown away two notebooks, and had a day without it yesterday, so we’re getting on fine today.

Can I take a moment to show you a picture of the Alternun Angel?

Andy the Altarnun Angel

He owns the B&B where I stopped for a couple of nights. He came up with the ‘plan B’, where I walked to Launceston yesterday and he picked me up, and also offered to drive me most of the way to Oakhampton today. When I arrived at his B&B, I was a bit down, tired, exhausted, and was close to giving in. A little rest and recuperation was all i needed, and a lift or two, and I’m back on track again. He’s lived all over, is a retired teacher and baptist minister and one of the kindest, gentlest person I’ve met in a long time. And he tells some brilliant tales.

So, I reach Oakhampton, (promises so much, but delivers so little), its got a castle, so I castled up and played a little medieval tune up in the keep:

‘Tristan’s Lament’, if you’re interested. It was ‘Tristan’s Feeling Fab’, til i started playing harharhar.

Me n fiddle in Oakhampton Castle

Headed into town – full of interesting little charity shops and cafes – and found a music shop/cafe down an arcade. I kind of had to go in. And have a cup of tea. They loved the fiddle, and Steven offered to play me something for my blog:

Steven playing Dark Necessities by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers

‘Twas a grand little shop – Music & Bean Co run by Terry. If you’re in Oakhampton, pop in. I did Oakhampton in half an hour, I wanted to sit somewhere and play my fiddle, but there’s nowhere really, so I have decamped to the library, where I’m getting the blog up to date, and waiting for my lift ‘cos I’ll be out playing tonight.

Terry trying to hide behind his counter. Owned a music shop but wouldn’t play me a tune. Pah.

The arcade in town where the shop is. Don’t worry you’ll find it.

And lastly, here’s a picture of Sid Simmonds, town benefactor who had a little play on my fiddle in the Museum of Dartmoor Life.

Right – Time to find me something to sweeten up my armpits. Xx

B plan and Bagas

Today started off with a B plan which was just as well, because I couldn’t find anywhere online to stay in Launceston, my next port of call. Plan B, offered last night by my wonderful air bnb host Andy, involved me walking to Launceston, and giving him a call and he’ll pick me up, as he had some errands over there anyway.

So I hobbled off to Launceston, saw the Castle, and had a lovely day. And the church in Altatnun (St Nonnas) where I’m stopping has incredible carvings on the edge of the pews. And Doctor someone or other had his wedding there in the tv series. The things you learn…

Flying the flag for Cornwall at the top of the castle

The beauty of this plan, was that even though it was raining, I didn’t have to take my rucksack, and what a difference that made to the walk. And it’s windy and mizzling now, as I’m back in the BnB, so I’m rather glad I’m not camping.

I do lots of things when I’m walking – my thoughts go all over the place, sometimes my mind pulls up memories, sometimes plans, sometimes the monsters try and take centre stage, but today, once I’d sang myself a song or two, I thought about getting a bit more organised on this walk, so people know where I’ll be at certain times. So I have decided to walk 100 miles every 10 days. If I’m not up to speed, then I’ll take a bus to get me there, if i’m ahead then i shall enjoy a rest. And I’m not beyond getting the odd lift. I’m making my own rules up here, and maybe in Scotland I’ll be skipping like a gazelle along the route, but for now, I feel every one of my 55 years, and I don’t see why I should suffer too much.

I’ll concoct a schedule of sorts for tomorrow, but meanwhile, here’s last Saturday’s meet up with the wonderful Bagas Crowd:

The Bagas Crowd are a community traditional music group run by Frances Bennet who meet every Saturday morning in Threemilestone Methodist Church to play and learn traditional Cornish music. Google them, they’re an amazing bunch of people of al all ages. I joined them last Saturday morning when it was led by Cathy Bennet (daughter of Frances, and who is a similar age to Bagas – 17ish).

The Cornish tunes they play are beautiful, haunting and lyrical, similar to the music of Brittany, but with more of a hint of mystery and yearning. Any musician passing through on a Saturday will be more than welcomed and you get to take home a Cornish tune or two.

NINE BRAVE BOYS

Tros An Treys/ Dynamite Quay (in 5/4 timing)

The second tune is a quay that was used to bring the dynamite in.

These two tunes were written by Len Davies – a banjo and mandolin player born and bred in Cornwall, he wrote us a good few tunes

Oll An Geriow/ Martin Jeffreys/ Tansy Golowon

Cathy, Rose, Joyce, and Barry on drum.

For some reason this won’t download on YouTube…

The Way Is Clear

played by Fern Carroll-Smith: ‘I love this because it’s a really pretty tune, slow and simple, a good one to learn for starting but good enough to perform. I’m starting up, a beginner, it’s early stages.’

First Day – easing into the journey nicely, thank you

Woke up with the sun twinkling on the sea outside the Stealth Campervan.

Headed to Sainsbury’s where we will be parked til tomorrow. Then found the bus station – a lovely mile or so by the sea – where we boarded a bus to take us to Land’s End. This bus was open topped – so naturally we went up top, enjoyed the views although it took over an hour to get to L E round scarily small country lanes. But we braved it like good uns.

Land’s End: it just can’t help itself, it’s a bleak place. My dad took us there when I was little and despite his enthusiasm, it was a bleak place. I took my kids when they were little. They couldn’t understand why we were there.

I was there today with The Lovely John to begin my epic walk. I played my fiddle there, although I was feeling sick with nerves – not for the playing of the fiddle, but for the enormity of the walk ahead. We managed to successfully procrastinate for an hour, eating our packed lunch, watching the Germans, going to the hotel and getting our LEJOG certification signed. There is only so long that you can put off the inevitable, and we set off, me nervous to the pit of my stomach.

Bear in mind that I have no plan beyond head east in Cornwall, then north, and we re both long distance hiking novices, so we decided to walk to Penzance along the A30. My god what a road that is. I’m sure there’s a little off road track somewhere, but we didn’t find it and were dicing death with cars and coaches.

Having said that, it was a beautiful walk, warm, sunny, and we took our time, positively rambled along so we did, watching the miles disappear gently into the glorious hedgerows.

Two thirds of the way to Penzance we met Anton. We had stopped for a gleg of water, and Anton walked by in the opposite direction. He stopped to say hello, and he had walked from John O’ Groats. He’d been walking since beginning of April, camping along the way, and I was so proud of him. He wasn’t someone who had done a book about it, he wasn’t doing it for charity, he just fancied challenging himself. He was a real Top to Bottom hiker – proving that it’s possible, it’s amazing, it will seriously challenge you, but it will be an adventure you will never forget. He told me that, he did. He also told me about hi vis vests, scavenging from the roadside (you find everything there) and avoid the A30.

Got into the outskirts of Penzance and the first pub we found was the Pirate boasting ‘good, food, drink, sleep, and music’. Wanting to tap into the local music scene (although in fairness, I’m easing myself gradually into that) we asked the landlord about the music. ‘We’ve been here about a year,’ he said, ‘and before we took over, the local folk session was ruining the pub, they would take over the bar, and act as though they owned it, if anyone sat in their space they were right rude to them.’

Oops. Looks like despite the Pirate being a grand pub and grand beer, I’m not going to find my first folkie there.

Weatherspoons food (as recommended by Anton – ‘spoons all the way, never got the shits once), then bed.

yes, this is me at lands end, journey beginning

On the open topped bus Penzance to land’s End. Starting in style.

playing a tune ‘Johnny don’t get drunk’ to let John o Groats know I’m on my way

Me and the Amazing Anton – walked JOG to LE in almost 7 weeks. Bloody Legend.

Good old Weatherspoons – never lets you down.

Before I begin I’d like to introduce…

1: The Stealth Campervan –

This beautiful little piece of kit will be spending the first week with me as my back up vehicle. It has lots of everything in it, so I’ll be able to work out exactly how much I need in my rucksack when I step out alone next week. It will be making several appearances throughout the trip. And thanks to Jamie Newson-Smith for clearing out his storage and finding the mattress.

Back of The Stealth Campervan.

Inside the Stealth Campervan

Our view at Mouseholes Sunday night

The Stealth Campervan

2 – The Lovely John

The Lovely John is looking after me for the first week, he is driving the van and cycling back each evening to pick the van up from where we left it. He has just driven us all the way to Penzance, and we’re parked up in Mousehole enjoying a pint or two before the Big Walk. The Lovely John and The Stealth Campervan will be making regular appearances over the next few months. I hope.

The Lovely John

3: My New Boots and Fiddle

These are Scarpa walking boots, as recommended by Dave at Go Outdoors, Scunthorpe. I have never spent so much on footwear before, so these boots are going to get mentioned a lot. I’ve been wearing them in, but have yet to give them some serious stick.

The fiddle will be my constant walking companion and it is a sweet little treasure. It’s made by an American company – Magic Fluke, check out their website, they have some brilliant travelling instruments. My fiddle is the Cricket model. Love it, so I do.

New boots and fiddle

One For The Road – Billy’s Father’s Polka

I met up with my old friend, Lee Merrill Sendal, aka Corona Smith, and That Guy From Shiznitz.

I’ve known Lee for years and we’ve spent many a happy hour playing music together.

He gave me a lovely little tune I’ve never heard before to set me off on the road. This tune is from East Yorkshire, my homeland and has an interesting history. It was taught to Lee by his friend and fellow fiddle player Jim Eldon (the Fiddler of Brid). Jim is an amazing collector of East Riding tunes and songs, and he learnt this tune (along with many others) from a character called Billy Harrison. Billy died in 1986, but he had a wealth of stories and tunes to share, some of which made it onto CDs. You can find out more about Billy, and Jim here: https://www.mustrad.org.uk/articles/harrison.htm

Lee cooks up all sorts of jiggerypokery: Zooandlogical Times, Shiznitz, Duets with Jim Eldon, (to name but a few) and is often to be seen around East Yorkshire busking with his little pegdoll puppets. If you happen to see him busking, ask him to play ‘Billy’s Dad’s Polka’ and chuck a couple of quid in his hat.

This tune, Billy’s Father’s Polka, made it to me through the lineage of Billy’s Dad, Billy, Jim, Lee, and me. I’m honoured.

This is me and Lee playing it together: