Saturday, May 15th Isle of Arran, Scotland
The light lingers late this time of year. Not until 11pm does the dark
really take hold and the stars give their full force of shine. From an
upstairs window of the Catacol Bay Hotel
I look east across the Arran Sound to the mainland of Scotland. The
temperature is pleasant, the air smells of ocean and mountains together, and
the only sounds are a faint lapping of water on the shore, and an occasional
clink from pint glasses in the pub downstairs. The scene is infinitely
peaceful, and for the first time in the two weeks since we arrived I am able
to reflect upon events of this tour. At four in the morning I rouse myself
for a drink of water and return to the window amazed to hear birds singing
and the daylight beginning to grow.
So far Sue and I have played 11 folk club gigs in two and a half weeks, mostly in the south of England. Just as we were getting over jetlag, around our third date, we caught a bug, a mean respiratory bug that left us coughing and fatigued. As a result we’ve spent every scrap of energy keeping well enough to deliver good shows. One great thing about touring here is that the audience has consistently rooted for us and treated us like royalty. This does wonders for morale. It doesn’t matter if we spend all day feeling like hell because when we finally get up to do our bit and it goes off well everything becomes worthwhile. Then comes sleep, and then another day to do it all again. We wake and drive to the next town, have a bite to eat, and then do a show. By the grace of adrenaline we spend those couple of hours singing, feeling good and connected with the other players in these clubs who down through the years have no doubt gone through the same rigors.
But for the moment we’re on the Isle of Arran, and for two full days our rhythm is simply to wake, write, and walk, to eat, play and sleep. I don’t think we could physically and emotionally do these UK tours without coming to Scotland, or at least to the north of England. The simple fact is that the further north you go, the fewer people there are. There is less congestion, pollution, and traffic, and more space between things - the air is cleaner, and the countryside is quieter. Sue has been reading a book by Bill Bryson called Notes From A Small Island, which is filled with humorous anecdotes about England. One amazing comment he makes to get perspective on how densely populated the country is: “ …to achieve the same density of population in America as in England you would have to uproot the entire population of Illinois, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Minnesota, Michigan, Colorado, and Texas and pack them all into Iowa….” So we’re on the Isle of Arran in part to reboot, and recharge so we have the energy to go south again to the industrial urban midlands, and London to sing with full desire.
The Isle of Arran is roughly 6 miles across and 20 miles from north to south. It is the most southern of the western Scottish islands and is tucked into a nook between the Lowlands coast and the peninsula of Kintyre. When we arrived by ferry to the town of Brodick there had recently been rain, and much of the island was shroud in its usual habit of grey cloud and mist. The road from Brodick north to Catacol is like none that would ever be allowed to be built in the States. The much-too-narrow road undulates and turns like a roller coaster with no allowances for slowing down. Up to the left are craggy mountains, and a glance down and right are green glens sloping low and deep. It’s not safe to dwell on the view, however, as woolly sheep lay in the road and cross it randomly. At least the sheep move upon approach: one time a duck in the middle of our lane, stood its ground, refused to move, and hissed at our car as we drove around it.
Arran is known as “Scotland in miniature” because despite its small size it contains all of the elements that Scotland is known for: massive craggy mountains, lowland farms, coastal cliffs and bays, castle ruins, and its own “Holy Isle” that is home to a Buddhist retreat. Our raison d’être was realized with a walk up Glen Sannox – one of the deep sweeping glens that’s part of the mountain-glen complex on the southern part of the island. A not-too-boggy trek about seven miles roundtrip culminating with a steep hike up a rocky saddle that overlooked Glen Rosa on the other side. After this hike came the obligatory visit to the Arran distillery, then happily we hobbled home.
Thursday, May 20th Eastbourne, UK
The following week it’s back to work and on to more adventures. We had
bought a car this time over: a third-hand Rover for about $650, which is
actually less than we would have paid to hire a car for the month. Our
thinking was that it would at least get us through this tour. But no such
luck. In the town of Royal Tunbridge Wells on our way from the eastern coast
town of Southport to the south coast town of Eastbourne (go figure the name
vs. location!), the gearbox and differential together bit the dust. I can
still feel the grinding of gears breaking to pieces under my hand upon the
shifter, and the smell of car death as the gearbox oil leaked onto the
street while we vacated the car and traffic drove around us. We sold the
Rover for $75 to a repair shop called Mr. Clutch, and found a too-expensive
rental at the local Ford dealer to get us to our gig that night. That night
at The Lamb Folk Club,
relieved to have arrived with time to spare, we somehow turned our hard luck
into enthusiasm and wound up having the most fun gig so far this tour and
emotionally, if not financially, redeemed the day.
Saturday, May 29th Northampton, UK
One highlight this trip was in meeting
Tom Paley.
Tom is known to many as one of the founding members of the New Lost City
Ramblers, a string band that was formed during the folk revival in the late
1950’s. The band brought traditional mountain tunes and ballads to
universities, coffeehouses, and festivals all through the 50’s, 60’s and
70’s. Tom left the band in the early 60’s and first moved to Sweden, then
later settled in London, where he’s lived ever since. Tom showed up to play
a floor spot at our gig in
Walthamstow in northeast London. He introduced himself and invited us
over to his flat in Islington for a visit and to play a few tunes and sample
his collection of fiddles. Three weeks later on our way to Camden to play
at the Cellar Upstairs,
we took him up on his offer.
The first thing we noticed when walking into Tom’s flat was the volumes of books and fiddles covering the walls. Naturally my eyes went to the fiddles. They were wonderful, exotic, first-rate instruments. He says he’s collected upwards of 100 fiddles and most of them are for sale. Tom, Sue and I spent a couple of hours immersed in fiddles, tunes and stories. Tom was kind enough to let us record his version of “The Boy Who Wouldn’t Hoe Corn,” which is now next on my list to learn.
Another real highlight of this tour was meeting Mike Harding and recording an interview for his radio show. Mike greeted us at the door of his office in the village of Delph on the edge of the Peak District east of Manchester. Bespectacled and brimming with energy, he immediately engaged us in conversation and filled our ears with interesting bits of information that I wished I had had a tape recorder handy to get it all down. Mike is an author of many books with the Green Man or Jack of the Wood being a forte. He is also a songwriter and performer with a huge discography going back to the 70’s. Mike is an excellent photographer, world traveler, and a Radio Host for the BBC. His folk show on BBC Radio 2 is the largest show of folk music in the UK. Each Wednesday evening at 8pm, 750,000 people tune in for this one-hour show. My interview with Mike will be aired on Wednesday, June 30th at 8pm GMT, which is 3pm EST. You can listen to it online at http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio2/r2music/folk/ .
When Sue and I arrived home in Asheville, and made our way to Jack of the Wood for our customary pint and meal, I noticed something that I had previously overlooked. Painted in ornate script upon the men’s bathroom wall, a poem by Mike Harding in ode to the Green Man. What serendipity, I thought, that this man’s words should adorn the walls of our local pub. I thought it an appropriate welcome home.
Thanks again for reading and being a part of this adventure. Keep in touch – sign the guestbook. If you’d like to be on the email list, drop me a line.
All the best - Dana