Gorgeous people, gorgeous music, a grand buffet and a goodbye for now

I’m sitting here in The Stealth Campervan camping on a deserted beach writing my blog from a week ago. Only a week, and yet it feels like a different world. It has barely stopped raining in that week, but, as with the rest of my adventure, it’s been a magnificent week.

But back to last week. I was still staying with Frank and Corrie, I’d had another massive bowl of porridge for breakfast, managed to finish it all this time, and me n’ Frank were up early, going to Gateshead because he had a gig at a community gathering and we had to be there for 10am. We drove along the Hadrian’s Wall road in the Tesla, me marvelling at the enormous satnav that picked out all the ancient forts and walls and earthworks. I do so want a Tesla. I’m saving up.

We arrived in good time at the Gateshead church hall and met up with the other musicians, Trish (flute and whistle) and Ian (pipes and bazouki/cittern). As often happens with these sort of gigs, the band is often made up of musicians who might not have all played together, but share a common repertory of tunes. Frank and Trish have played together before, as had Trish and Ian, but the three of them – it was their maiden voyage. Not that you’d have known, they were all brilliant players. I did wonder if the audience realised how high the musical skill level was.

The event was a Mobilise and Socialise dance event – Paula Turner (artist, researcher and activist) runs dance classes for ‘mature’ people with an emphasis on the creative and social energy of moving together.

This ‘Loosely Come Dancing’ – session mixed together two different groups and brought in live music, encouraging dancing and togetherness.

I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it at first – a church hall with all the seats in a large oblong and the musicians setting up at one end, as the participants, mostly elderly, came in and sat down.

The musicians and the first tune were introduced, and Paula suggested the first dance should be one where everyone extends a hand of friendship and walk/dance round. Start with one person then get more up.

By the end of the tune, everyone was up and twirling round each other, huge smiles, the years and aches and pains melting away.

Another dance – everyone stands in a line, both ends facing inwards and snake in between each other.

These weren’t complicated dances, they weren’t even called like a ceilidh or barn dance, the dances just evolved from the music, and the dancers unashamedly and joyfully danced for the joy of it.

Another dance -the dancers hold hands in circle, in and out, maybe kicking, maybe raising hands, nobody tells them, they just do it.

I didn’t film any of the dancers, as some were vulnerable adults but I filmed some of the music and their dancing feet.

Here’s some Northumberland tunes:

Here’s ‘Dance to Your Daddy’ – and the dancers join in singing

Here’s the feet, on a spontaneous weaving line dance:

Here’s sitting down after the nosh and listening to some lovely music – band playing ‘Far Away’:

They danced for over an hour, the musicians played, and then there was a special buffet.

Nomnomno. Of course I had some too. Church Hall buffet? Don’t mind if I do.

And then the musicians played some more. So of course, nothing finished on time, everything over ran, and nobody was in the least bit bothered.

Events like this should be treasured and encouraged. Simple, strange, and beautiful.

My original plan for the day went like this: I go with Frank to the running session in Gateshead, then we’d get back to Brampton by 1pm ish and I’d spend the afternoon walking to either Longtown (10 miles) or Gretna (14 miles) where I had arranged to meet the Lovely John who was driving up after work and would be there by 8-9ish.

We didn’t get back from Gateshead til getting on 3pm, and we were both in need of a nana nap after all the cakes and buffet, and Corrie would be in later in the afternoon, so I’d get a chance to hear Corrie and Frank playing together.

And it just so happens that the Tesla needed recharging, and there’s a charging station at Gretna, so, I stayed, I heard Frank and Corrie playing together, it was magic, and I got a lift to Gretna after tea.

Of course I could have said to The Lovely John to come and pick me up from Frank and Corrie’s, but then he’d have fallen under their spell as well, and we’d never have left.

‘So?’ Said Corrie.

So indeed. Very very hard to leave, but wonderful to have been there.

And I’ll be back…

And in the meantime, here’s Frank and Corrie:

https://youtu.be/vqwmhUbjXyQ
https://youtu.be/uwSDgfFtv_g

Newcastle:

https://youtu.be/ACNTAfRUdNk

Bonny at Morn:

https://youtu.be/tukp5leo2lU

Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about the old dulcimer, as I completely forgot today, and I’ll definitely tell you about the gusset in Gretna Green…and the herd of cows walking in the river, and Burns Burns Burns everywhere…

Whiskey in Porridge and Tesla Dreams

Thursday – Corrie was up and out early as she teaches a violin making class, so came downstairs to find frank making a huge pan of porridge.

‘Do you want whiskey in your porridge?’

‘Hell yes.’

I have this new philosophy where I say yes to things that I previously might have been polite about and mumbled a sorry-arsed excuse like – ‘it’s too early in the morning for me’, or ‘no thankyou, I couldn’t possibly… (insert whatever nice thing something is offering)’

For the record, it was the first time I’d had whiskey in porridge, and the first time I’d left some porridge in the bowl. This was nothing to do with the whiskey, more to do with the huge bowl in front of me. There’s something about porridge – when you’re making enough for one person, you always get it exactly right, if you double the amount for two people, you end up with enough to feed a small army, but you still give it your best shot.

We took our instruments and cups of tea out into the garden and pretty much picked up where we left off the night before, playing tunes, waiting for the arrival of Rachael Hales.

Rachael is a graduate of the Newcastle Folk course – turns out that she knows a couple of people I know from the course. Frank had invited her over to play some tunes together.

Rachael and Frank in the garden playing tunes

Rachael Hales:

‘The romanticised story of Northumbrian music is the discovery of the music of three shepherds: Joe Hutton, Willie Taylor and Will Atkinson; they were recorded quite extensively by people like Alisdair Anderson as being the Northumbrian tradition, and taken round festivals as the authentic Northumbrian sound.

‘My friend wrote three tunes for them – ‘Farewell to Joe’, ‘Memories of Willie Taylor‘ and ‘ Robin Dunn’s Compliments to Will Atkinson’.

I’’ll play you those three tunes – all written by Robin Dunn who I play with quite regularly and I play in his ceilidh band. He’s from Ashington’

Frank:

‘I knew joe Hutton quite well – i taught his two kids and sold him my old bike.’

Rachael:

The next tune is a waltz written by Mairead Green – she’s Scottish : ‘Maggie West’s Waltz .

This next tune I got Rachael and Frank to play so I could record it. We’d all been playing it, and I rather liked it. Something about the strange timing and tune structure that appealed to me.

Five broom besoms – (Blind Willie Purvis) early 19th century Newcastle.

That evening, the Morris team Frank plays for, Hexham Morris were dancing at the Whalton Baal Fire. For those of you who are not au fait with the custom of Baal Fires, here’s a wee description:

Northumberland Baal fires were an annual tradition in the Middle Ages celebrated in many villages in the county. Whalton is the only village in which this tradition has consistently been upheld, even through World Wars I and II when the bonfire was replaced by the lighting and speedy extinguishing of a few small twigs. It is said that in years gone by villagers jumped over and through the flames of the fire. No such thing happens today but the village is all involved in building the fire, and celebrations including watching children from Whalton CofE First School dance round the fire following dancing by a visiting troop of Morris Dancers.
The site for the fire remains where it has always been in the centre of the village, now just to the east of the Beresford Arms. There is some conjecture to the origin of the name with claims of its derivation being a pagan rite celebrating the god Baal, or that it is from the Old Norse ‘Bal’ meaning a great fire. Sir Benjamin Stone captured photographs of the Whalton Baal Fire in his 1902 visit. Event starts 7pm until 9pm.

As per usual on my adventures, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but in saying ‘yes’, went along to the other side of the country in a Tesla car (they are utterly amazing – not very girly but incredibly well designed and it’s not often I harp on about cars. I even dreamt about this one – I loved everything about it…) but i digress.

Upon arrival at Whalton, I found I was unable to buy Frank a pint, as the pub provided refreshment for the Morris dancers.

They had school children doing a dance. They lit the fire which was smaller than i thought it would be, but not as small as Frank led me too believe, then the Morris teams did their thing to the appreciation of the gathering crowds.

And I filmed some of the dances. You can see the fire in the background in this film. And bear in mind it’s a tradition that has been going, uninterrupted, every year since the Middle Ages. It deserves a nod of appreciation.

https://youtu.be/fO5Yofz2gQ4

Another dance, another angle.

https://youtu.be/-keRuwixgk4

And here’s the Hexamshire Lasses doing a dance:

https://youtu.be/b99eE8cIwWE

It just so happened that on the way home, Frank had to deliver a tuning wrench for an old Hammer Dulcimer to a man in possibly Hexham. He invited us in, once he heard that I was bit of a dulcimer nerd… but it’s getting late, I’m ready for bed, and even though I’m a week behind with my blogs, all my notes for this evening are in my other bag, which I’m sorry to say, I can’t be arsed to find right now.

Tomorrow, I’ll tell you more about the old dulcimer, and Loosely Come Dancing in Gateshead, and I might even get to tell you about the gusset in Gretna Green. But my dreams about the Tesla – that’s between me and Wee Willie Winkie.

Frank’s Kitchen

I’d had a gorgeous hot day of walking when I arrived at Frank and Corrie’s house. Frank had heard about my adventures and invited me to stay over whenever I was in the area. He described his house as ‘a bit of a factory and a bit rough and ready,’ so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect when I arrived at Brampton.

I wasn’t expecting a huge, amazing, laid back, chaotic, wonderful, interesting house. I also wasn’t expecting to stay for more than a day, but Frank was doing lots of music things over the next few days, and invited me along to all of them, so I decided that as long as I was at Longtown or Gretna by Friday evening, then I was happy to stay.

I was more than happy – Frank’s house is now one of my favourite places in the world. Every room had instruments in – Corrie is a violin maker and seller – and there was a constant buzz of musical activities and conversations and people passing through.

I had a nana nap in the garden while Corrie did some weeding and Frank cooked the tea, then after we’d eaten, Corrie went to bed early and me and Frank sat in the kitchen and played music. The kitchen is downstairs and has rattley tiles that clack as you walk on them, and an aga, so it’s always warm down there. As well as knowing hundreds of tunes, Frank can tell a good tale, and do accents as well, and I love a good tale as much as I love a good tune, so the night was one of those magic evenings of music and laughter.

After I’d filmed a tune or two, I borrowed a guitar and we played and drank whiskey til the wee small hours, Frank telling stories and playing tunes and me strumming along on guitar. I was accused of being a lightweight, cos by 1.30am I couldn’t keep awake and had to retire. I think I saved face by reminding Frank that I had walked to his house from Carlisle, carrying a big rucksack, on a very hot day, and under normal circumstances, I’d have drank him under the table.

Here’s some tunes from Frank’s Kitchen:

Frank Lee:

‘I first learnt some tunes from a man called Frank Rutherford – him of the false teeth and whelk spots.

1957 – I used to catch the train to school with my dad who was going to work. One time we heard a recorder playing on another compartment. Every day we heard it and my dad decided to find out where it was coming from. It was a man playing in a compartment further down, back in the days where once you were in a train compartment, you couldn’t move to another one. He had the compartment to himself, made sure he did, so he could practice his tunes on the way to work…he used to buy whelks, there was always a whelk seller in Durham station. There’s always a hard black cap on a whelk and you take it off with a pin, he’d stick the black caps on his face and no one would want to sit in his compartment. Failing that he’d take his false teeth out and beckon people in, guaranteeing that no one would come anywhere near. Anyway, me and my dad would sit in with him and play tunes together. And that is how, reluctantly at first, I started playing tunes.

‘I’ll play you some tunes that I’ve grown up with.

‘This one is called Captain Bovar.

‘There was a lot of press gang activity in 18th century. Captain Bover was brought up from London to get some law and order, but local folklore says he made it much worse, amounting to mass murder – this song is a girl standing on the side shouting to her husband on a collier boat ‘where have you been?’ And him saying ‘I’m not coming in til captain Bover has gone. They’d stop at sea til the press gangs had gone.’

Captain Bover

Where hev ye been, me canny hinny?
Where hev ye been, me winsome man?
Where hev ye been, me canny hinny?
Where hev ye been, me winsome man?

I’ve been to the norrard, cruising back and forrard,
I’ve been to the norrard, cruising sair and lang;
I’ve been to the norrard, cruising back and forrard,
But dare na come ashore, for fear o’ Bover and his gang.

When will ye come home, me canny hinny?
When will ye come home, me winsome man?
When will ye come home, me canny hinny?
When will ye come home, me winsome man?

I must stay in the norrard, cruising back and forrard,
I must stay in the norrard, cruising sair and lang;
I must stay in the norrard, cruising back and forrard,
For I dare na come ashore, for fear o’ Bover and his gang.

The weary cutters also a song about the press gangs in Newcastle.

O the weary cutters and O the weary sea
O the weary cutters have taken my laddie from me
They’ve pressed him far away foreign
With Nelson beyond the salt sea

O the lousy cutters and O the weary sea
O the lousy cutters have stolen my laddie from me
They always come in the night
They never come in the day
They come at night and steal the laddies away

O the weary cutters and O the weary sea
O the weary cutters have taken my laddie from me
I’ll give the cutter a guinea
I’ll give the cutter no more
I’ll give him a guinea to steal my laddie ashore

Dance to your Daddy – there’s quite a few versions of the lyrics, but the tune doesn’t change:

I’m going to break my stay at Frank and Corrie’s into several blogs, because there was just so much music. And I just didn’t want to leave.

So that’s all for now folks.

Tomorrow, its Me, Frank and the delightful Rachael Hales playing in the garden, and an evening of an ancient fire tradition and Morris dancers at Whalton, and a surprise stopover at a dulcimer player’s house.

Firecracker and Fiddletunes

‘A fireracker’

‘a right character’

‘She’s quite incredible’

‘an amazing woman’

‘she has done so much to promote Cumbrian music’

‘if you’re in the area, you have to meet her’

I heard this all the time from people in Kendal. So naturally, I arranged to meet the legend that is Carolyn Francis. She’s a busy woman; she teaches folk fiddle in schools all over Cumbria, and runs an adult music group, Carolyn Francis and the Lakeland Fiddlers, who meet up in a community centre in Kendal on a tuesday night.

Tuesday night, I was there at the community centre. Carolyn had said she would be turning up later, so I had chance to meet the group and play a tune or two with them.

There is half of me that wants to just sit and play when I meet other musicians, but on this adventure, there’s another half of me that tells me to put my fiddle down and pick up the ipad and record some of these tunes.

The Lakeland Fiddlers play mainly music from Cumbria, traditional tunes, and tunes written by local musicians. It’s run a bit like an adult education class – everyone pays a subscription, Carolyn teaches the tunes, and occasionally they play out at gigs. They’re a lovely relaxed group of people who made me feel very welcome and were interested in my journey.

Here’s the group playing Keswoick Bonnie Lasses. This was written by William Irwin a local chap who died in the 1860s and is buried in the Chapel Stile church.

‘We play this over his grave sometimes- a tradition we’ve started. He was a well known local teacher and music writer – he used to walk over to play at a dance in Keswick, walk back then work the next day.’

Here’s Cumberland waltz, an old traditional tune, and Furness – a slightly newer tune.

At this point, Carolyn arrives, and the room filled with her energy and her infectious laughter. It’s an extraordinary thing, being in the presence of someone with such a magnetic personality, and with all the praise and admiration i had heard about her before meeting her, I felt a little bit intimidated, which lasted for about three seconds. She insisted that I taught them a tune from my travels, so I taught them Nine Brave Boys, which I had learnt from the Bagas Crowd in Cornwall, a similarish group who play Cornish tunes.

Cup of tea time, and back on the Cumbrian tunes – The Helmwind written by Peter Corkhill, a local fiddle player. The Helmwind comes over the Pennines when coming from the east and forms the Helm cloud which loops and curls round the mountains. Road to Alston – the Helmwnd curls there. (Incidentally, I learnt Road to Alston years ago from Jamie Knowles, who I revisited recently in Glossop. Ooo the connecting webs are getting stronger)

The Helmwind/Road to Alston

Carolyn also writes music, and the group play some of her compositions.

Carolyn:

‘I lived in Dent, rented a house near a waterfall, it was wet and dark for 3 months, but i wanted to write music. Cissy Middleton was an old woman who lived in Dentdale at Gawthrop’

Cissy Middleton / Dentdale Diggers/Flintigale Fall

They finished the evening off with a coupe of tunes: Patterdale cross (Phillip Bull)/ Bang Upp Hornpipe.

I do love these groups and people that keep traditional music alive – finding and playing local tunes that might otherwise have been forgotten or laid languishing in a dusty manuscript waiting for someone to come along and remember them.

Hats off to all those unsung heros who hunt down these tunes and bring them to life, and make sure that there’s new generation who can enjoy them. Thanks to all the Carolyns, the Jamies, the Gwilyms, the Jim Eldons. I’ve heard people talking about you, and it’s all good stuff they’re saying, guys.

Stopped over with Carolyn, not before putting the world to right over a couple of pints. It just so happened that the next day, Wednesday, Carolyn had to be up early because she was teaching in schools in Carlisle. And it just so happened that Carlisle is a nice day’s walk from Brampton where I had an invitation to visit Frank and Corrie, tunesmiths and instrument makers. So I did it. I got a lift to Carlisle and walked to Brampton.

I walked up 100 steps to get to that viaduct. I didn’t have to, cos I had to walk down again, but what a view

I never got a photo of Carolyn, as she was running late when she dropped me off, but she’s there in the videos, green trousers, full of life. Amazing woman. Firecracker.

Tomorrow’s blog – at Frank and Corrie’s. This is the adventure that keeps on giving.

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.

Between the Angels and the Clouds

Rosie Gange was one of the first people to invite me to share music with her, before I’d even set off. I think in our mind’s eye, we imagined that we would walk the gorgeous Glossop hills is the sunshine, stopping only to picnic and play our fiddles aloft a hilltop as the birds sang overhead.

My Lovely Rosie – we managed a little walk together, and we managed to play music together, but not at the same time. We have promised each other we’ll do some walks next year.

What we didn’t take into consideration was timing, weather, and availability. The thing I’m realising with my adventures that i can predict where I’ll be for the next two or three days, but beyond that I’m at the mercy of many different factors that can change timings and directions. And that other people have lives and agendas that really don’t circle around mine. And that when the weather is awful, and by awful i mean raining cats and dogs, there’s usually only me who is keen to walk.

Rosie had stuff to do, I arrived at a random time, and it rained.

So, I had a lovely stay with Rosie and Jamie, but i set off on my own in the rain, heading over the hills to Holmfirth, to meet Jan Ansell and her band who were rehearsing that night. I’m sorry to say, but Nakedactionman was tucked up in my rucksack.

Heading along the valley on the Longdendale Trail. It rained.

Heading up along the Woodhead Pass. Yes that’s a cloud ahead and I’m heading into it.

That’s Derbyshire, same view, when the cloud clears for three seconds

#proudfaceme. I climbed all that way through rain and clouds.

Hahahahaha that’s a frame at the summit so you can photograph the view. Hahaha

This walk was five miles along the Longenden Trail, five miles climb into the clouds to Holme Moss, and five miles descent into the Holme Valley to Holmfirth.

It was a little bit terrifying, heading up the hill realising that I was heading for the cloud bank and I wouldn’t be able to see more than ten yards ahead of me. I remembered an old man who used to tell me that when you were up in those hills it was like being between the ‘divil an’ t’ deep blue sea’. I’m not sure where the deep blue sea came from, but it felt more like walking between the angels and the clouds.

There was something about that sense of isolation and being totally and utterly alone that was calming and exciting at the same time. Yes there were cars passing infrequently, but they didn’t see me. Nobody saw me, not even the sheep.

Note to self: get something hi viz to wear.

But I was an incredibly proud old Hector when I completed the walk. I rang Jan when I got into Holmfirth and she drove down from the hills above Holmfirth on the opposite side, and picked me up.

Jan contacted me some time ago – she’d seen my posts on facebook, looked me up and realised that we both studied at Bretton Hall and even though we were years apart and never met, she felt honour-bound to offer me food and a bed and show me the music that she plays in a band with her husband, Steve (also an ex-Brettonite).

Steve and Jan live with their two children, two dogs and malevolent cat in a house in the hills high above Holmfirth – back up into the clouds again. The views were, apparently, just as spectacular as the views I didn’t see walking over the Holme Moss Pass.

I was fed and watered royally, and the band arrived for their tuesday night rehearsal.

The band, the Good Earth Collective (http://www.goodearthcollective.co.uk/) were preparing for some upcoming gigs. Most of the songs are written by Steve, and it was most enjoyable watching and listening, and they even insisted that I joined them with my fiddle.

Steve Ansell talking about ‘Rust’:

‘Rust was written at a time when my dad died, Jan was ill, and my friend in the band Carl was ill, going through cancer treatments, and he still came to rehearsals, still turned up and played. Music takes you somewhere else to a place you can cope with anything.‘

‘Southern Rain – I’ve written this song as a sort of composite of images of love songs.’

https://youtu.be/2I22x9wUcGU

I’m on my adventure, but for most people life goes on as normal, so Steve was up early in the morning off to work, Jan did the school run, and offered to take me down into the valley, as soon as she’d made me eggy bread for breakfast. Nomnomnom.

The one thing (and there are many things) that I love about my adventure is how lovely, hospitable and interesting people are.

Jan even made a little coat for Naked Actionman.

Fashion Designer Jan Ansell with her latest creation. Us Brettonites can turn our hand to anything.

Jan decided that we should have a memory lane trip around our old Bretton places – she lived in Denby Dale as a student; I lived in Skelmanthorpe, or ‘Shat’ as it is called locally, and we had a wonderful journey pointing out places where things used to be, where people used to live, where misdemeanours once occurred and this continued all the way to Wakefield. I thought I was getting a lift to Holmfirth, but we were having way too much fun to stop.

I had arranged to meet a woman called Lesley in Wakefield who was interviewing artists for her podcast, on the theme of a sense of home and how belonging affects your art.

I’ll tell you all about it in my next blog. And also my stay with some other ex-Bretton Hall students, this time they were old mates of mine, and the magical night at the Polka Hop, and the trip to Yorkshire Sculpture Park, where Bretton Hall used to be.

And some amazing art and some totally over the top art explanations

Naked Actionman modelling his new coat in the Hepworth Gallery, Wakefield.

But for now, if you’ll forgive me, it’s actually Friday 28th, The Lovely John is meeting me for the weekend, and I’m not planning on doing any blogging, cos he’s only with me for about 30 hours, so you’ll have to wait til next Monday to find out what I got up to last Wednesday. It’s going to be a heatwave this weekend, so enjoy, walk away from the computer and get the Barbecue lit.

Royal Traditions

Royal Traditions is a folk club at the The Royal Hotel pub in Dungworth run by Jon Boden and Fay Hield. The club is an acoustic evening with house songs and a bit of a session at the end – you can just turn up without ticket and they pass a hat round for the artist. The music starts from 8pm. There are different people every time, and it’s a singer’s club. Singing is not only encouraged, it’s expected.

Despite me being a bit of a folkie, I’d not been to a pub where there’s house tunes and guests enjoy it when the audience join in heartily and lustily in full harmony.

We’d parked up in the pub carpark, been out walking for the day and the landlord let us run up a bar tab for food drink and breakfast.

So we had our food, nipped out for a nap, and went to watch the club in action.

Rowan and Rosie were called on at last minute, as the main act for the night had taken poorly,

https://youtu.be/13u111gwBBQ

Rowan Piggott and Rosie Hodgson are based in Sheffield, which is fast becoming the Folk capitol of the North, attracting many young and amazingly talented performers.

http://www.rosiehodgeson.com http://www.rowanpiggott.com

After the performances, the club settled down to a singaround – here’s Rowan and Rosie again, joining the singaround in a more relaaxed and informal style:

https://youtu.be/zraz5gt334o

The next morning at breakfast, I was talking to another guest who had been at the evening club, and I asked her if she had a song for me. She had a song and a story.

Corinne Male at the Royal Hotel Dungworth

Here’s Corinne Male:

‘The song I’m going to sing is from County Clare, but I think the origins of it is an American music hall piece. In County Clare, West Clare, one of the great singers was Tom Lanahan, whom I never knew, he died some years ago. The second time I was over there at a singing festival, I was in the hotel on the first night of the festival where there was a big singing session going on with some lovely people there, and a group of women sitting by the fireplace and one of them turned to the other and said ‘sing the poker song’, and she sang the song I’m going to give you. It really got my imagination.

I’ve wanted this song for years but I don’t have the nerve to be a collector, to go knocking on people’s doors and say ‘sing me a song’.

I went back to the festival every year and I was back one year and had stayed over for a couple of days fishing. The weather was awful, blowey wind, fish were’t rising, coudn’t cast out, and I finally had the nerve to phone up Tom and Annette Monolly – Tom was a great collector – and ask for Noni Lynch’s phone number – she was the woman who sang the song.

So I rang her up, saying ‘you don’t know me but…’ and I went over bearing a fruitcake and a recorder and she sang me the song. I went back to visit her several times, she didn’t have aa lot of songs, but this was her party piece.

I’m told she was up on stage at the Willy Clancey Festival singing it when she was 92. The song is called ‘My Good Looking Man’.

When i was down at the Bodmin festival and I first met Viv Leg, Vick Leg’s sister and she has a cut down version of this song from her aunt, called ‘Good For Nothing Man’. She was from the Orchard family of Devon Gypsies.

Noni had learnt the song from Tom Lanahan. There is no record of Tom ever singing the song, But Noni learnt it from him, they were first cousins, their mothers were sisters.

‘My Good Looking Man’ (learnt from Noni Lynch)

And yes we did settle up the bar tab, we did have a lovely time and would never have seen that gorgeous part of the country and met such talented singers had we not been going to the Royal Traditions.

Tomorrow’s blog – The Lovely John returns home again, and I head to Glossop to visit old friends and a legendary tune collector…

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…

Rain stops dancing, but it didn’t stop the playing.

Monday and the weather is still a bit on the moist side. I had been invited to meet up with Gwilym Davies and two Morris teams who were having a dance out Monday night at a pub called The House in the Tree (https://www.houseinthetree.co.uk/) at Hayden, west of Cheltenham.

Gwilym is well-known around the Cotswolds and Gloucestershire area for his work collecting local folk songs and tunes, and most people I’d met in the area had mentioned his name, so I was looking forward to meeting him, but first we had the daytime to take care of.

We went to visit Sudely Castle, which was recovering from a cancelled drowned out weekend of concerts, and the entrance fee was far too expensive for my meagre budget. So looking on the map, Bela’s Knapp (an iron-age burial mound) was nearby, and free, so we went there instead. Admittedly it was smaller than it looked on the photos, and once we’d gone round, up and over it, we were pretty much done, but it was an interesting visit. Got back to The Stealth Campervan just in time to avoid the next round of rain.

Bela’s Knapp – in one of the tiny chambers

Bela’s Knapp – trying to make it look like tutenkamoun’s tomb

I quite fancied an afternoon in Cheltenham. It was on the way to our evening meet up and I’d visited Cheltenham many years ago, but never looked round the centre. I now know why. Spending an hour or two in cheltenham caused me to ruminate on the question: ‘what makes a city centre a good/vibrant/pleasurable place to be?’ Cheltenham has all the potential building blocks, (nice regency architecture, plenty of posh shops, leafy greenness, interesting streets) but they’re teetering precariously on the verge of becoming run down.

We even visited the art gallery, and the people in reception watched us go up the open plan stairs to the top floor, which was closed, as was the next floor down, as was all the gallery apart from the shop.

We had a little picnic by Imperial Square, watching workmen dismantling a big exhibition with marquees and things. Which, I’m sad to report, was probably the highlight of my visit to Cheltenham.

By 2pm we had exhausted all possibilities for a fun time in Cheltenham, the rain was starting and we had a few hours to kill before our evening’s meet up. So we drove to the pub, parked up, and had a nana nap for the afternoon, waking up to torrential rain and the prospect of a lovely pub dinner.

House in the Tree, Hayden nr cheltenham. Our home for the night.

May I recommend The House in the Tree public house for food, and hospitality. There’s a notice on one of the walls that tells about the pub’s history and legends, and it bears repeating:

The House in the Tree, Hayden, near Cheltenham is some 500 years old and the interior is still original.

Legend tells how a beautiful girl named Maud Bowen, living nearby, was abducted by her uncle and followed by Walter the Archer who killed the uncle.

Unfortunately, while attempting to return home, Maude fell into a stream and was drowned. Court ruled that she had committed suicide, so her body was buried at the nearest crossroads with an elm stake driven through it.

Meanwhile Walter fled to Hayden, taking up residence in The House in the Tree. Maud’s mother spent much time at her grave, where in due course, the stake grew into a beautiful elm tree.

As a result, the mother was accused of witchcraft, taken to Maude’s Elm tree and burned. As the Lord of the Manor, the villain of the piece, watched, he too fell victim to Walter’s deadly marksmanship.

Maude’s Elm remained a district landmark for many years afterwards.

Crikey – they don’t write ’em like that anymore do they?

After we’d eaten, we went through to the bar to see if anyone would turn up in the pouring rain. It was obvious there would be no dancing outside, but it was rumoured that there would still be some music happening. Gwilym turned up, and within an hour, the bar was filled with members of the Gloucestershire Morris Men and the England’s Glory Ladies Morris all set for a right good night of playing music.

Before the music started, Gwilym gave me a brief introduction to himself:

GWILYM DAVIES

Hampshire boy – welsh father – hence the name – studied languages lived abroad, in early 70s ended up in Cheltenham. Got interested in folk in the days of skiffle, had a banjo – could only play one string, learnt chords, and used to play Lonnie Donegan stuff with some friends. We used to go to folksong clubs and discovered English folk. Went to school with Tony Engel of Topic Records . Discovered the Copper family. Thought ‘this is it – this is English music’.

I live now in Winchcome, north of Cheltenham – I play a bit together with my wife.

Branched out into Tudor and medieval music.

A Gypsy singer called Wiggy Smith used to play round this area. I used to pick him up from his campsite, bring him to this pub, fill him full of drink and record his songs.

Gypsies drank in this pub quite regularly once upon a time. I got friendly with a few of them and was invited to the funeral of one of them. I went to funeral and during the wake, I asked if any of the families knew his songs. Noooo. Nobody sings the old songs. Dying tradition, gypsy songs and tunes. I love them, I love to hear them, love to sing them, and I’ve collected a lot of them in the hope that they won’t die out.

I could have just left my camera rolling all night – the tunes and tales were many, led by Gwilym and also Christine of England’s Glory playing some wonderful tunes on her fiddle and Richard from Gloucestershire Morris on the box, but here’s a choice few for your delectation and delight:

Twin sisters: played by Gloucestershire Morris Men and the England’s Glory Ladies Morris

Here’s Gwilym playing ‘The Carter’, a Gloucestershire song he learnt from Bob Arnold, an actor from the Archers:

And here he is playing two polkas learnt from Lemmie Brazil (pronounced brezzle), who came from a family of gypsy musicians.

The full ensemble playing ‘Durham Rangers’ and Gloucester, (or Gloucester, two different tunes, but no-one could remember which was which) hornpipe:

Gwilym singing ‘When I took My Nance to Church’:

The Sloe – everyone plays this tune around these parts, so here’s another version:

Game Of All Fours – another song from the Brazil family – lots of songs around here from the Brazil family

The music and drinks flowed sweetly all night, and the rain outside barely paused for breath. We were sleeping in The Stealth Campervan in the pub carpark and the landlord Ady, offered to open up in the morning so we could have breakfast. The rain was torrential all night, but we were warm and dry snug as little bugs in a rug, with two more port of calls to visit on tuesday whilst I still had transport, before The Lovely John had to head back home.

Tomorrow’s blog: I meet an old friend and also meet a legendary singer recommended by Gwilym …

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

Searching for Banjo Dai

Friday morning, Janet’s brother John and his wife Anne took me out for breakfast before setting me along my way on the Tarka Trail from Great Torrington to Barnstable via Bideford. Yes, I know it was massively out of my way, but I was heading to Barnstable in search of Banjo Dai. He is a Welshman living in Barnstable, and he posts videos of himself playing clawhammer banjo. I’m a huge fan of his, so when i realised I’d be within a few miles of where he lives, I messaged him to see if he’d like to be involved.

‘Certainly Amanda’ came the reply, so with a spring in my step and a smile on my little excited face, I strode along the old train track, dodging families on bikes left right and centre.

I wasn’t meeting Banjo Dai til the evening, so decided to pass a few hours in Bideford, in the library, borrowing their free internet. I also discovered that buses in North Devon are ridiculously cheap, and it was £2.40 for the 10 mile ride to Barnstable…

Barnstable is a strange place to be when you’re waiting for a reply on when and where to set up with Banjo Dai. I sent a few messages, and got no reply, so in a fit of panic at the prospect of being marooned in Barnstable, I took advantage of the cheap bus fares, and got a bus to Tiverton (an hour and a half away – £4.10) to get me back on the walking track. On the way to Tiverton, I rehearsed my speech fr the B&B’s and hotels…’Hi, I’m doing the land’s end to Joh O’Groats, and my meet-up today went wrong, so I’m in desperate need of a super cheap room, could you help me please?’ It always seems to work in the books I read.

Of course the first thing I should have said was ‘Do you have any rooms tonight?’ Cos nobody did. Not even the big hotel at the other end of town. And the Christian bible study group couldn’t help me either. They did suggest that I could wildcamp at the canal bottom visitor centre.

Time was ticking on, so i headed to the canal bottom, which is actually up a steep and long hill.

So I’m wandering round the closed visitor centre, looking for someone to ask if I could put my tent up and ended up in a yard where I thought there might be a person who could give me a yeay or a nay. Over the edge of a high wall pops the head of a woman who asks, in a concerned way, what I was doing there. I’m explaining my predicament, and telling her about my walk and music and she says, ooo my husband is a morrisman, he’s a box player.

Would he like to play me a tune? I ask, ‘ooo he’d love to’ she says, inviting me up the hill to her house.

There then followed the sort of thing that only ever happens in films — They were the most wonderful couple,Valerie and Dave. They fed me, they let me stay the night, and they invited a Pete over with his bohdran so we could have a mini session round the table that evening, swapping stories and tunes. I looked at Dave’s list of tunes, and I knew most of them. Must be a Morris thing – there is a common repertory of tunes that all morrisplayers know and over the years they have infiltrated into sessions over the country. Just a theory there.

All’s well that ends well, as they say…

My little iPad is not lettting me upload videos at the moment. Grrr.

And here we go:

Valerie And Dave, my angels, in their garden at Swan Cottage, Tiverton

…and, Banjo Dai got in touch, his message came through the next day, to say he’d been at work and not seen my messages. But he sent me a video anyway, so here he is playing his claw hammer banjo.

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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.