Bridestones Revisited

On Saturday I visited the Bridestones near Congleton. A group of us met there, representing ( more or less) England, Ireland, Scotland and nearly Wales based on where we are living at the moment. It's an amazing place. An ancient burial place for a significant person. Linked with Ireland, Scotland, Anglesey and the Isle of Man in its structure and form. Pillaged by the Victorians for gothic rockeries in the garden of the adjoining house and in Tunstall Park. I hadn't visited since 1982, and as I arrived I could picture the photo taken there that day. When I got home I rummaged in the laundry basket full of random photos, literally hundreds of snaps, and of course found the one I could visualise.
As amazing as the stones are, the view on that crisp clear November day was stunning. We could see across Cheshire and Staffordshire, through the Midlands and over to Shropshire and Wales. When we climbed The Cloud, the beautifully named hill behind the stones we could see from Winter Hill, across the city centre of Manchester, picking out the Hilton Hotel tower, to Jodrell Bank, Alderley Edge,Mow Cop, Axe Edge, Hen Cloud,the Roaches, right across to Fiddlers Ferry power station and down to the Wrekin and the Shropshire Hills. A kingdom. A panorama in space and time for me - my past, present and no doubt future life in one view. From childhood memories of visits to Rivington Pike, to my old home, Manchester. Links to the book I had re-read this week - Alan Garner's Red Shift. My sister's house in Anglesey. My life on the day I visited in 1982, contrasted with my life now. Family trips to the Green Man festival, driving along the borders of England and Wales.
Quite a day and quite an experience for all of us - a sense of place. Far horizons. Who am I? Who was I? Why am I here?
I will never feel trapped in the Midlands again!

On The 8th Day 40th birthday celebration

On Saturday 4th September a group of people with 8th Day connections in common gathered together to celebrate 40 years of the shop. From the early days of New Brown St - now buried under the Arndale Centre in Manchester - through to the recently developed new building on Oxford Rd. Old friends, new friends, absent friends - in the end probably quite a random mix of those involved who had been in touch and could come to the party. It was wonderful for me to see some friends I haven't seen for many years - more than 30 in some cases - but who were such an important part of my teenage life and beyond. A few mysteries solved - who thought of the name for one. A first viewing of a piece of film from Granada's archives taken at New Brown St - all fake psychedelic camera effects! Lovely old photos from the 70s of lovely young people working there at the time. A real sense of pride, friendship, love for the ideals that created it and the people who continue to keep it going. Three of the five originals were there - the fourth has sadly died and the fifth lives abroad, so three out of five was great.A real affirmation of a different way of doing business, created by a crazy mix of luck and judgement over the decades. Long may it continue.

Green Man

I can't believe I haven't written for so long. A lot of water has flowed down the river since June. To bring things up to date I have spent some of today talking about my Hacienda days and the potential for music tourism in Manchester. It was great to have a chance to consider the possibilities.I was interviewed by someone I met on C.P.Lee's musical heritage guided walk there a few weeks ago. I have just got back from the Green Man festival in the Brecon Beacons - my family holiday with my 3 children. It's the fourth time we have been in 5 years. Glanusk Park in Crickhowell is a stunningly beautiful setting. It rained incessantly for most of the festival but there were some real highlights and inspirations in spite of the weather. We spent more time in the literature and cinema tents than sitting around on the grassy banks listening to music. Special moments included Trevor Lock dealing with child hecklers in the comedy tent, John Cooper Clarke, Lone Wolf, First Aid Kit, the spectacular Flaming Lips, Billy Bragg talking and singing, Laura Marling, and the magical Joanna Newsom. There was a real sense of a relationship between performers and audience - Billy Bragg, Wayne Coyne and Joanna Newsom all referred to the magic of the place and the people for them. I came away inspired to look for unusual books in charity shops ( Robin Ince), and to consider a list of songs to break your heart - Billy Bragg was asked for his and he came up with Tracks of my Tears and Little Feat's Long Distance Love.
And autumn seems to have arrived in Derbyshire.....

One of those weeks

The image is of one of the 3 fates holding the thread of life. I feel like I've been threaded along it at great speed this week.
Ups and downs, and then ups again at work as we plan for how we survive the cuts - arts provision for vulnerable people has its own vulnerabilities. Tuesday night was the opening night of Bert Broomhead's exhibition in Sheffield - I met his daughter, the image of her mother, the most significant teacher of my life. I also met old school friends - lots of memories and some very beautiful and fascinating paintings. Wednesday night took me to a special film night at Haddon Hall. After all the contemporary films made there, the manager had tracked down a copy of the silent film, made in Hollywood, with Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks.'Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall' rewrote history as we know it, but was a great historical (even hysterical, very slapstick in places) romantic comedy, with amazing sets clearly based on Haddon itself. The hero broke through the window of the room we were watching in at one point. Some of the scenes in the garden must have been filmed on location, but the theory is that they made faithful sets back in Hollywood for the interior scenes. On Thursday night Lester Simpson, who teaches our singing class in Bakewell, asked us to join with his Wirksworth choir for the launch of the new Coope, Boyes and Simpson CD. A great concert and a privilege to be involved. I also met Georgina Boyes ( selling the tickets) who is one of my heroes for her fantastic book on the history of the folk revival - The Imagined Village.
I have just got back from a concert organised by the Derbyshire Literature Festival - Mills and Chimneys - David Gibb and friends from Fleet Arts. A lovely experience - great songs, talented musicians - a real treat. And I met Berlie Doherty there, another hero, for her wonderful children's books set in Sheffield and Derbyshire.
Lots of ideas and inspiration - watch this space!

Morocco

Last night I went to see Jackson Browne at the City Hall in Sheffield. David Lindley played with him. Charlie and I had great seats. We hung round the stage door afterwards with a mix of middle aged men ( mostly) and women, and the occasional youngster like Charlie. Charlie chatted to him, and gave him his new vistaprint business card so Jackson could see him on myspace. Jackson and David had mentioned Martin Simpson. They were thrilled because they had had the opportunity to go round to his house in Sheffield and have lunch with him before the concert. Charlie and I saw Martin Simpson with John Boden at the Boardwalk a couple of weeks ago - a very memorable night.So I talked to Jackson about Martin Simpson.
When I got up this morning I remembered my friend Cathy in Casablanca - all those years ago - she came back from Essouira really excited to have sat next to Jackson Browne in a cafe there. I was always a little bit envious of that missed opportunity.
So on a rainy night in Sheffield - yes it did rain there briefly - I fulfilled a dream from almost 30 years ago.
I wore the bracelets I bought in Essouira last night - I still wear them on an almost daily basis.
Life does seem to be a spiral.

Memories

Last week at Writers' group we were asked to write about childhood toys. The topic triggered memories of toys lost and thrown away. I asked my son Jamie about his favourite toy, as I couldn't remember . Wisely he said it wasn't the object itself, but the memory of it that had meaning for him. This week our 'homework' topic is Memories - much too big a subject. Most of what I write is about processing, recalling and recording my past - there's so much of it when you get to this age! On Wednesday night I was lucky enough to go to a talk given by someone I used to work with at the Old House Museum. She had worked on the code cracking processes at Bletchley Park. She was in her late teens when she joined the Wrens. They weren't allowed to tell anyone about their secret work until 1975. Everything ( except Colossus) was destroyed at the end of the war, they couldn't make notes. How do you keep the memory alive when you have to bury it for 30 years? She didn't even tell her husband until 1975! It reminded me of another talk given by a member of the Historical Society some years ago. He was one of the last group of 42 men to be rescued from Calais, at the same time as the 338,000 were being rescued from Dunkirk by the 'little ships'. He was 19 at the time, and broke both his ankles in the leap from the quay to the deck of their rescue boat. Both speakers have had amazing lives since those wartime days. This morning I heard Dame Stephanie Shirley on Desert Island Discs, talking about her childhood journey to the safety of a foster family in England. She and her sister arrived via the Kindertransport. She was 5. I have been lucky enough to go to the Holocaust Centre near Newark three times, as a school governor accompanying groups of students. On each visit we have had the chance to listen the story of someone who escaped Nazi Germany, and ask them about their lives since. Those who are able to do these talks are now of an age where they too came here through the kindertransport system, and the memories of their difficult lives before escape are seen through the eyes of a child. As Dame Stephanie said this morning - she remembered the lost doll rather than the lost home.

My old school

As often happens, something balanced out the misery I felt at being reminded of my schooldays. The letter in the Guardian last week brought back many negative memories and feelings about convent education. Coincidentally a friend who lives in Bakewell asked me if I had ever heard of a local artist called Bert Broomhead, as a retrospective exhibition of his work is being planned in Sheffield by his daughter. It was strange to have any teacher on maternity leave in a convent school, and even stranger that her artist husband should take over her classes. He looked like a classic St Ives idea of an artist - extremely tall and slim, with greying hair and beard,and bright blue eyes. He always wore a long rib-knit jumper and baggy cords with sandals. He was a wonderful teacher, treating us with patience and respect, something we weren't used to in our school lives. His wife was also the English teacher, and she was a huge influence on me. I chose to study English at University because of her, and what she taught me for A level carried me through the literature side of my degree. She introduced us to a wealth of different influences, and whilst I was very grateful that she was my teacher, I knew she was worthy of better schools. When I moved back to Bakewell I tried to get in touch with her, only to find she had recently moved away. We did reconnect, and a neighbour sent her round to see me one day when she was visiting Bakewell. Sadly she died suddenly a few years ago. Their daughter - the reason for the maternity leave - is now planning the exhibition and has set up a lovely website. I was lucky enough to buy one of his paintings at a sale at the local community centre some years ago, and I'm looking forward to seeing more of his work on display. I nearly bought their old house with my ex - wish I had, but glad I didn't in the circumstances.
And talking of exhibitions, my friend Keith who has the Low Horizons blog, is in Finland as I write for his exhibition opening!