I’ve been listening to the new-ish Big Star box set, “Keep an eye on the sky”.

It prompted me to dig out the Rock City cd(one of Chris Bell’s first bands, early versions of “My life is right” and “Try again” credited to Rock City but featuring Alex Chilton) which also has the Icewater version of “Feel”, pretty much the same as the Big Star version.

I’ve adored Big Star since around 1975/1976. Their name apparently came from a grocery store Alex and Chris used to visit for snacks between recordings.

“Radio City” called so, Andy Hummel said, because “If someone suggested going to a store but you had gotten a bad deal there you might say, “Oh no, that place is ‘rip off city’.” Calling an LP Radio City  would be kind of wishful thinking. I mean we hoped it would be played on the radio a lot, making it “radio city”. Of course it didn’t pan out that way”.
Andy Hummel sadly passed away recently. Aside from his fabulous colossal reverbed bass playing, he wrote a number of Big Star tracks, notably for me “Way out West”. And the first AV of “the India song” on cd 1 in the box, also written by Andy, is beautiful.

My bud from Art school Matthew borrowed “Radio City” from Eddie Pouncy, and as soon as I heard it, I took it from him! I obsessed over it like I did the New York Dolls albums and played it several times a day for many months. I did eventually get an original copy, still sealed, for 2 quid, but it had an annoying pressing fault at the end of “September Girls” so I sold it. According to some listings that would now cost me £400!
I recall the first time I heard “Radio City”. I was at a party with Will and Matt in Boreham I believe, and Matthew put the record on the turntable of a half reasonable stereo. It was certainly in the early hours after we’d been drinking and smoking some. My memory is seeing a loft type room, with pine panelling, very Scandi!
But the music, well it overwhelmed me, captivated me, and I simply couldn’t let it out of my grasp. There were Beatles/Byrds overtones for sure, but the vocal harmonies, listening to them 33 years later, were almost like the Beach Boys in their complexity and timbre. And oh Chilton’s guitars, trebley, crystalline, glassy, chiming, all the old Byrds cliches, but beyond anything I’d heard before, with the possible exception of perhaps Tony Hicks (from the Hollies)guitar sound starting at “Look through any window” and “So lonely” and beyond.

I wasn’t sure about where Alex’s head was at, but it was a place full of regret, sadness and space. The songs had so much melancholia and soulful emotion, glimpses of winter bleak darkness and sunny morning optimism.
At the age of 18 my girlfriend was a fiery red haired 28 year old Glaswegian. She squatted in an old house in the country, surrounded by farmland and trees. Radio City sound tracked some of that love affair, and I recall listening to it spaced out whilst gazing out across the autumnal countryside.

When Paul and then Mark Robins heard Big Star they loved them too and wondered how Alex Chilton got that sound. We feverishly looked for pictures of Chilton playing with Big Star, to see what guitar he used, and what amps. But of course in 1977 NO ONE aside from a very small hip few knew who Big Star were, and none of the weekly Rock rags(Sounds, NME, Melody Maker)ever mentioned them.
So we totally obsessed over “Radio City” and in 1978 Line records released a twofer of “No.1 Record” and “Radio City”. The Accidents became Big Star/Radio City  mega fans. Paul spotted a pic in Sounds showing Chilton playing a Strat, with a Capo, through a Sun amp. Much speculation ensued.
Could we make out the settings on Chilton’s amp and guitar? Where was the Capo, and how did it affect the key?
We simply didn’t know, but we talked about the EQ and Reverb as being critical, not to mention Chilton’s wacked chords, all 5th’s and 9th’s.

Paul cleverly analysed Chilton’s writing and came up with songs like  “Blood Spattered with Guitars”, whilst Mark provided suitably Chilton-esque guitar solos.
We were ahead of the pack for sure. We covered the Choir’s “I’d rather you leave me”, a fabulous slice of Power pop maximum, channeling the Byrds, the Beatles and Big Star simultaneously!
We loved “No 1 Record” too, tho’ it’s dynamics and songs weren’t nearly as hard hitting or original as “Radio City”.

It was an all together more “Rock” album, but I love the acoustic songs at the end of the album, “Give me another chance”, ” “Try again”, “Sunrise” and “ST 100/6″. The alternative version of “My life is right” in the box is phenominal, and for me one of the few reasons to buy the box, tho’ of course I’d heard it before on the “What’s goin Ahn” cd. And there’s a wonderful supposed outtake from the 1st album on another Big Star cd called “Beale street green”, a song called “Another time, another place and you”. An instrumental featuring much acoustic guitar and mellotron, fabulous.

The big difference between the first and second albums is the presence of Chris Bell, who left the band in 1972. Although uncredited he wrote or co wrote “Back of a car” and “O my soul”, and I’ve read many times that a significant amount of Bell’s guitar playing was left on “Radio City” which he worked on before quitting the band.

At some point in either 1979 or 1980 I got a copy of the “I am the cosmos” vinyl 45 by Chris Bell, which for the Accidents was manna from heaven. I remember some wasted sunny day Paul, Nick and I on the roof of Foulden road, listening to “Cosmos” over and over again, revelling in it’s wonderful guitars and voices, like some long lost outtake from “Radio City”. Thank you Chris Stamey. What we didn’t know was that Chris Bell had died in a car crash on the 27th of December 1978. We originally heard he’d driven his car off a cliff, but actually he hit a lamp post after he’d lost control of his car. By all accounts Chris was a major depressive, perhaps mostly down to  the fact he was ashamed of being Gay, tho’ apparently he struggled with Heroin addiction most of his adult life. (strangely, Chris was buried the day after he was killed, the 28th of December, Alex Chilton’s birthday!)He tried to deal with his troubles by becoming a devout Christian, which explains a lot of the lyric on the “Cosmos” album.

Thankfully Ryko released “I am the Cosmos” as a full album, in 1992.
It was a great record, and Alex Chilton guested on “You and Your Sister”(the b-side of the vinyl 45),tho’ as I’ve mentioned elsewhere pretty much the only indispensable track for Big Star fans was “Cosmos”
In 2009 Rhino Handmade released a deluxe version of “Cosmos”, with lots of bonus tracks and AVs, but as it costs £25 upwards I don’t know anyone who has a copy! I quote Rhino: “On the second disc, all but two of the 15 tracks are previously unreleased. Among the wealth of unissued recordings are eight alternate versions and mixes of album tracks, including “You And Your Sister” with Mellotron in place of the original’s string arrangement, and a later version of “Get Away” featuring Big Star’s Alex Chilton on guitar, Ken Woodley on bass and Richard Rosebrough on drums. The collection also gathers up a number of unreleased songs Bell recorded that did not appear on I AM THE COSMOS, including two songs by Icewater (a precursor to Big Star); collaborations with Memphis songwriter Keith Sykes (“Stay With Me”) and singer Nancy Bryan (“In My Darkest Hour”); and “Clacton Rag,” an instrumental recorded in 1976 that features Bell solo on guitar.” Shame that the bonus tracks couldn’t have been put on the “Sky” box, that would have rounded it up nicely……

Paul actually met Alex at the Music Machine in Camden, I’m guessing the Summer of 1980?(help me out here Paul!).
Alex was pretty drunk, and Paul was probably getting there, but Paul managed to pop the big question to Alex, “would you like to produce our new album?” Alex said sure, but we’d have to pay his flights, accommodate him whilst he stayed in London and there’d be his fee for producing……
Paul wrote about this meeting in a song for the Gene Tryp, called “Colour me gone” a phrase I first heard Jed Wilson use, sometime in the late 1970′s. The title is typical Paul, psychedelic and pun-ful. The second chorus says “met a Big Star, drunk in a London scene, TV guitar looks bright on a shiny screen”. And the lyrics in the chorus “I had a dream, when I was nine” is referencing my serious awakening to Rock’n'Roll, but perhaps his too?

With the Gene Tryp a lot of influences collided. US hardcore punk(Husker Du being formost)the Paisley underground(The Three O’clock/Rain Parade/Long Ryders)and of course English Psyche, the Beatles, and the Who and other Freakbeat bands. But we never lost that Big Star/Radio City vision, and with songs like “Horseless” and “Angel face of a gun gurl”(as in “September Gurls”) we still tried to keep the torch burning, because sadly Alex didn’t.
Although in retrospect I actually like quite a lot of “Sisters/Lovers”, when it was first reissued in 1978 aside from “Thankyou Friends” and “Jesus Christ” I thought it was horrible depressing shit! We wanted more songs like “September Gurls” and “Back of a Car” not a dreadful drunken version of “Whole lotta shakin’” or some such. It’s a widely held belief that “3rd” spawned a thousand Indie/Alt Rock bands in the 1980′s and 90′s. They were a kind of Velvet Underground for their time.

Reading one of the last interviews with Alex(in Mojo, 2009) he comes across as a bitter disappointed soul, with little or no respect for the Big Star cannon, although “In the street” was picked up by a US sitcom (That 70′s show)so he finally made some dollars as a result. People talk about Alex’s solo records with words like harrowing or loose and chaotic, but that wasn’t the Alex I wanted. I wanted the uber jangle, the unmistakable vocals, those unique and beautiful melodies.
Tho’ “Sisters/Lovers” had “Thankyou Friends” “You can’t have me” and “O Dana” which lent towards “Radio City”, and there were chords and vocals reminiscent of the glory days, it seemed like Alex had drunk from a poisoned chalice, washing down his Heroin with lots of liquor, and I didn’t want that kind of darkness. But strangely tracks like “Take care” and “Holocaust” sound amazing to me now.

When “In Space” was released in 2005 the reviews were mixed, and just like Paulie said about Brian Wilson’s output, post Beach Boys, I was scared to listen to it in case it buggered the beautiful vision.
I love the obviously Alex written “Dony” with it’s classic nasal Anglophile vocal and I think we can thank the Posies for several wonderful tracks on that album, notably “Lady Sweet”(although I read that the lyrics were Chilton’s paean to Heroin, just like “Lady” by Dennis Wilson was supposedly his ode to Cocaine)and “February’s quiet” and the very wonderful “Aria Largo”(although a traditional song it’s Big Star goes Medieval!)but frankly a lot of the album was throwaway shite, and just like the box, would have made a great EP.
But I think that was always Alex, sabotaging his breaks, and perhaps that was a throwback to resentment of the Boxtops treadmill. Who knows, but as Alex died on the 17th of March 2010, maybe we’ll never know, except perhaps when the Posies spill the beans. And let’s hope they pick up the pieces real soon, because they’re a wonderful band in their own right.

Finally, just as a heads up to those who may not have heard them, here’s my top 5 Big Star soundalikes:-

1) The dB’S – Nothing is wrong (from “Repercussion” 1982) Daisey Glaze by any other name……
2) Teenage Fanclub – Alcoholiday (from “Bandwagonesque” 1996) September Gurls rhythm guitar with perfect Big Star harmonies, which pretty much defines the whole album!

3) The Scruffs – She say yeah (from “Meet the Scruffs” 1977) No. 1 Record Big Star style, recorded at Ardent studios just like both Big Star albums. Stephen Burns(the anglophile/nasal/Eric Carmen meets Chilton vocalist for the Scruffs)also recorded with both Alex Chilton and Chris Bell. A great album, a lost Powerpop classic!

4) The Posies – Apology (from “Dear 23″ 1990) A mish mash of chords and harmonies from both Big Star albums, much reverb and melancholy. What a great band, what a fabulous album!

5) The Gene Tryp – Horseless (from “Psychedelic Feedback Farmers” 1986) Our life was white……

I’ve just got the Legacy edition of Raw Power, one of my all time favourite albums. As I’ve written previously, my dear friend Veronica Peyton turned me onto it, shortly after it’s release in 1973. Iggy was sort of rescued by David Bowie. Bowie obviously knew Iggy was a unique talent, and got him signed to Mainman, Tony De Fries management, who also handled Bowie(and Lou Reed in Europe for a while, and Mott the Hoople). Ig mixed the album originally, but did a “US Beatles in stereo” type mix, with the vocals from one channel and the instruments from another. Mainman threatened to drop him unless he let Bowie mix it, which he did at Western sound studios, Hollywood. A bit like the makeover Bowie and Ronno gave Lou Reed with “Transformer” in 1972.

I used to have a 10″ vinyl bootleg of the pre Bowie mix, but I think that got left with Kat Young in Fort Lauderdale in 1990. I can’t recall it being remarkable. There was a New York Dolls boot released at the same time, on 10″ vinyl. It just says “Live in LA” on the sleeve. I do recall hearing Raw Power, well if not the first time then certainly one of the first times, on Veronica’s old Dansette. He looked real scary on the cover, dark, druggy and asexual, maybe glam because of the silver trousers and make up, but he wasn’t a cousin of the Sweet or the Glitter band!

But the music was just so hard, metallic, urgent and aggressive. And the opening chords of “Search and Destroy” surely were the Punk archetype, tho’ a good deal more complicated, with Iggy’s just escaped from an asylum but cool and nonchalant vocals and screams, worthy of Johnny Burnette. With a whole heap of Jim Morrison(his biggest inspiration to become a singer, after seeing the Doors in 1968)crooner style. Think “Riders on the storm” and “Gimme Danger”……….? And as for the “Hurrr!” at the start of Raw Power, well I stole it and made it my own with the Rats and the Brigade. And when Ig says “how my doing?” on “Raw Power”, well that’s just channeling Howlin’ Wolf, the first of many I’ve heard using that aside.

I’ve seen Iggy many times. At the Rainbow theatre in Finsbury park, with David Bowie on keyboards, on the 5th of March, 1977. The band launched into Raw Power, and Iggy cartwheeled onstage with what looked like a horse’s tail sticking out from his bum! And Bowie looked totally Station to Station/Thin White Duke, wearing a Fedora hat and smoking lots of ciggies. I saw him at Essex uni with the Accidents with Glen Matlock on bass, on the Instinct tour with Andy McCoy both in the UK and US, and I saw the Stooges in 2007, at V, with the mindblowingly brilliant Ron Ashton. Ron totally rocked out. Wailing wah-wahed psychedelic solos and the meanest, crunchy-est power chords known to man, truly a guitar God and a totally unique player.

Will met John Lydon at an Iggy gig, probably the March ’77 gig. He was standing at the bar with his minder, talking to Iggy. Will approached Johnny and got invited back to his house, where much cavorting ensued. Over to you Will……

Of course we have been tantalised before, with Iggy’s remix in 1997. I was very excited at the prospect, but actually for the most part it’s painful listening. The drums and bass are buried, the guitar and vocals totally dominate, and actually seem to get louder! Yeah it’s great to hear those sabres rattling, and the extra yelps, and some extra guitar accidents and noise. But generally the digital clipping doesn’t add anything but ear bleed. Sorry Jim……..

So anyway, was Sony going to make another balls up re-ish, as in Pacific Ocean Blue?

And incidentally, I’ve figured what Capitol are doing with the Beach Boys archive. They are waiting til the Beach Boys core audience is dead, then they’re going to taunt us from beyond the grave, “See, we issued all the stuff you were gagging for, and now you’re dead and you can’t buy it! Ha ha ha!” Bastards. This is what comes of people that don’t like music running record companies. No worries Capitol, there’s a new kid in town, it’s called the Internet. You should check it out, it might be an insightful experience for you. Oh you have? And you’re suing some housewife in Illinois for file sharing. Great. Manly even.

So anyway, what’s the new remaster like? Well I’m very happy to say, it sounds fabulous! The major thing for me is that they’ve kept everything as it should be with the Bowie mix, but given it the mid range frequencies missing from the  vinyl. I dug out my original vinyl of “Raw Power”(which has “this record belongs to Veronica Peyton” written on the inner, in ink pen)and pretty much listened to both versions side by side. The overall effect is the guitars are much clearer, the bass and drums sound wonderful, and Ig sounds better than ever. A layer of mud has been taken off the sound, to excellent results. Top marks to the people who did the remastering, Bruce Dickinson and Robert Matheu.

As for the bonus disc, despite what you may have read, the quality of the live show I don’t think is any better than the numerous bootlegs, i.e. low-fi and mono sounding, avoid! And I think I’ve heard  “Dojiman” on boot before, and that and “Head on” makes me think a big “so f*****g what?”.

Far better to check out the boot and the Youtube footage(presumably leaked by the Stooges camp?)of the San Paulo show on the 7th of November 2009. There’s an incendary version of “Cock in my pocket” which totally kicks.

I read a review of the Stooges playing “Raw Power” at the Hammersmith Odeon/Apollo/whatever the flavour is this week, and the wag reviewer said Ig looked like a “Chamois leather chimpanzee”, with a slight paunch. Of course the Ig lives in FLA now, sensible chap, and has a perma tan, but I thought it was a funny and appropriate discription. But I tell ya, if I look half as good as Iggy when I’m in my 60′s I will be eternally grateful to whatever God I should be eternally grateful to!!!

And of course James Williamson rejoining the band was my idea, just check Mojo’s online tributes to Ron Ashton……….

http://www.mojo4music.com/blog/2009/01/iggy_ron_asheton_is_eternal.htm

George gave several Royal command performances, the first being for King William the fourth in 1834(and from then on in was a “Royal menagerie”), and in 1842 and 1847 for Prince Albert and Queen Victoria, at the Quadrangle in Windsor castle. George was later summoned by Prince Albert, to try and find the cause of his Harrier hounds sickness. George suspected it was their drinking water, and when the water was changed the hounds recovered. The Prince was delighted and as a gift of gratitude presented George with a nail free coffin made from timber recovered from the “Royal Oak” warship, which sunk in 1762. George promptly put the coffin on display in his show, and was eventually interred in it.
As a result of these “Royal command performances” GW was given Royal consent, which meant he could park in any market place for 3 consecutive days without charge.

Apart from the entertainment value travelling menageries were also looked upon as educational. The proprietors of such shows were regarded as men of wisdom, as this excerpt from the Scotsman newspaper (1872) makes clear when talking about George Wombwell , whose collection was: “Certainly the largest travelling, and the one which has done more to familiarise the minds of the masses of our people with the denizens of the forest than all the books of natural history ever printed during its wandering existence.”

Wombwell was described by Thomas Frost as “a man of strong will and great courage. He thought nothing of entering the den of the most ferocious beast; and he invariably, when any of his animals were sick, got beside them and administered with his own hands his unfailing remedy – a dose of castor-oil. Fear was something that never entered GW’s mind.”
“In two articles of dress he was particular almost to eccentricity. He would only wear the finest linen ruffled shirts, and he would never put on a pair of mended boots. His boots at all times had to be kept scrupulously clean, but of the remainder of his wearing apparel he was absolutely careless!”(Thomas Frost)
I find the remark about George’s boots incredible, as Alfie loved his shoes to be clean and shiny, and I’m afraid it’s an obsession of mine too!

Various sources talk about George’s success in breeding Lions. It’s said he bred over 20, and also reared 5 Elephants.
He had a yard in Commercial road, in London, where he kept the various beasts he bought before the were assigned to one of his three menageries. He is described as being “the most successful showman ever”, and his popularity was shown by an obituary in the Times newspaper.
Much was made of the rivalry between George and Thomas Atkins, but there’s also evidence to suggest they never stepped on each other’s toes in terms of where either menageries were shown, and never encroached on each others territory. Indeed JL Middlemiss in “A Zoo on wheels” quotes a letter George wrote to Thomas in 1848 “I wish you would have mackerel boiled, stewed kidneys, neck of roast mutton, asparagus, for me and a friend at 8 o’clock”.

I’ve read on several sites that George “owned” or “kept” the Elephant Man, but this is complete myth. Tho’ in his book EH Bostock recounts borrowing several of “Barnum’s Freaks” in the winter of 1890.

But then, George’s story is fraught with myth and half truths. Several obituaries say he left his number 1 menagerie to a “wife”, some say he had 2 wives, but there’s absolutely no documentation to substantiate this. Again some obituaries say George died after the death of his only son, but there’s no concrete evidence of him having a son, let alone a daughter, which some sources mention.
I don’t want to tell my readers “facts” about George that I can’t substantiate, and to that end………….

George died on November the 16th 1850, aged 73, in his caravan, at Richmond in Yorkshire. “In the saddle”, as showmen say.

To quote the words from the posters:-
‘The days they come, the days they go,
But there still remains the grand old show”.

EPILOGUE:

Firstly, I’d like to extend heart felt thanks to Karen Ramon, not just for her relentless researching but for showing me I was reading JL Middlemiss’s Wombwell family tree wrong, which changed the whole picture of my family tree.
The sharp eyed amongst you will have noticed I am no longer calling GW my gg grandfather. He was infact my ggg uncle, and Karen opened my eyes to this.
My ggg grandfather was William Wombwell(GW’s brother), my gg grandfather was Charles Wombwell, William’s son. My great grandmother is Eliza Wombwell. Charles’ daughter(not William’s daughter!) and the rest as they say………….

I’d also like to thank EH Bostock’s granddaughter Heather Payne, for her wit and panache, valuable snippets of information, and for her serious credibility, being as closely connected with the menagerie as anyone could be.

Lastly I’d like to thank everybody that’s commented or emailed me.
Thank you and God bless you all.

George Wombwell has taken up many hours of my life these past five months. And as Karen rightly said after all our research, still George Wombwell remains an enigma……

Prom lake, Maldon, by Doris Ruffle 1955

I was walking towards the gate near the top pavilion, which is now used as changing rooms for footy, when I became aware of this rather large grey/black bird, making a really odd noise, which sounded like “Jack! Jack!”
To be honest I was probably a bit scared, it was a big beastie, with large beak and claws, and white eyes.
It seemed to be following me and to want my attention. After a few minutes of trying to figure out what my feathered friend wanted I ran home and told my Pa, and he asked me to show him the bird.
When we got back to the Prom and Alfie saw the bird, he told me it was a Jackdaw. It was very tame and Pa was able to pick it up without any problems. He decided we’d take it home so it wouldn’t be attacked by a cat or some such.
We had a big wooden shed at the bottom of our garden in Fitch’s crescent, Dad said it would roost there, which it did, and we gave it a big bowl of water and a bowl of milk with bread in it. The Jackdaw made its self at home, scoffed some of the bread and milk, and settled for the evening.

I couldn’t believe a wild bird had taken a shine to me! It was my first and only real pet! Well, except the Newts, Frogs, Moths and Elvers which I kept in tanks and cages in the garden. Of course the Newts and Frogs would always escape, ably assisted by Pa I fear. And I’d watch beautiful Moths hatch from their Pupae, and sometimes lay eggs which produced wonderful looking Caterpillars, which I also loved. Sadly the Elvers demised overnight and Pa advised me they could only survive in running water so they were a one off.

The following morning when I opened the shed door the Jackdaw flew out and perched on my shoulder! And then my head!
Fortunately I lived and died in an old US army fatigues hat at the time, a la Sargent Fury, so his claws didn’t scratch my head! It seemed the bird wanted to be with me.
Alfie became convinced the bird was someones pet and thought it was only a matter of time before it was claimed, as it was so tame. But nobody came forward and Jack as I’d named him/her became my constant companion that Summer.

Kids "Guying" with a trolley and a Guy on it!

At that time all us kids had trolleys. They were essentially fruit crates on a T frame, with pram wheels on the front and back, and a rope attached to the front wheels for steering. Like a poor kids Go Kart, except Alfie being Mr Smart, my machine was a clean machine. My box(on which one sat)had a proper hinged lid with foam rubber glued to it for maximum comfort. Alot of kids had them, I suppose before we could afford Bicycles we had trolleys, and then as we got older we got off our trolleys, and onto our Rayleigh Choppers. Ahem.
I decorated my trolley box with cartoon pictures of Spiderman and the Hulk, who I thought were the coolest Marvel characters. I’d cut them out from the comics I bought at the time. I had Smash delivered every week(another great concept in the 1960′s, paper boys who delivered your daily paper and your comics if you were lucky)but I loved Wham, along with Pow, Fantastic and Terrific. Halcyon days for British comics, with added Marvel loveliness! Smash also featured Grimly Fiendish, a character that inspired the Damned song. And I loved the Swots and the Blots, a more anarchic version of the Geoffrey Willans and Ronald Searle characters in Whizz for Atoms and How to be Top.
Sadly Pa told Ma that the 4 foot pile of comics I had by the side of my bed was a fire hazard(bloody Firemen!) and I came home one day to find my priceless beloved collection gone! Probably to the Rag and Bone man, but that’s another story………..

Plans for a "Go-cart"(trolley)

Everywhere I went on my trusty trolley Jack was with me, usually perched on the back of the box. He didn’t fly a great deal, and was mostly happy perched on me or  the box. I can’t recall or imagine what the other kids thought of him, but I thought it was totally cool, a big wild bird as my friend and pet.
Dad also said that Jackdaws could mimic human speech, so we spoke to him all the time, prompting him with various phrases, alas to no avail.

Then one day, towards the end of the Summer, I opened the shed door as I did every morning and Jack flew away. Without so much as a bye-your-leave!
I was broken hearted, my constant friend for a month, my special pet, had left me……….

Looking back to those days the story seems quite incredible, tho’ there was a time when it was not out of the ordinary to keep Jackdaws as pets, tho’ usually in a cage. They have enjoyed notoriety as Witch’s familiars, and the famous Witch Sybil Leek had a pet Jackdaw called Mr Hotfoot Jackson. Amazingly she became friends with Aleister Crowley at the age of  9. She said they often talked about Witchcraft and Magickal words. And as a result of her psychic abilities numbered HG Wells and Lawrence of Arabia amongst her friends. Oddly enough my Father’s brother John was a good friend of Lawrence’s whilst they were in the Army together.
Jackdaws are very clever and are comparable to Primates in intelligence apparently. They store food underground, and Corvids(the Crow genus) have contributed to much of the natural forest in the UK.
In myth they herald both good and bad omen. Some say they forsee the future and the approach of death. In Macbeth, the eponymous thane registers the fall of dusk with the words: “Light thickens, and the crow makes wing to th’ rocky wood.”
It was named in Latin by Linnaeus as “the little money bird”, probably after its habit of stealing bright objects such as coins. The smallest of the crows, the jackdaw is bigger than a blackbird but smaller than a carrion crow and is distinguished by a grey nape (the back of its neck)
The ancient Greeks accounted for the crow’s black feathers with a tale of infidelity. Ischys, the son of Elatus and Hippea, had fallen in love with Coronis, who was carrying Apollo’s child. When a passing crow – who was then, like all crows, white-feathered – told Apollo of Coronis’ infidelity, he was so angered that he turned the crow’s feathers black, before killing Ischys. I loved Greek and Norse mythology as a child, I remember a Puffin book about  Greek heroes  was my bedside reading in 1967.

In Norse mythology the god Odin keeps two ravens, Huginn and Muninn, who represent Thought and Memory. Odin sends his ravens around the world at daybreak, to bring him news. In Irish and Welsh myth, the Raven plays the role of prophet, and in the shamanistic cultures of the North-west American Indians, the raven helps to create the world.

There’s also other myths surrounding the Jackdaw which relate to me in sadder times. When I was a young lad at school I thought every one was brighter than me, that I was a “Daw”, the old English word for simpleton. Of course now we know the Jackdaw is one of the most intelligent birds on the planet…….
And then just like now I talked too much, my teachers writing on my reports that I was far too talkative, my head bursting with thoughts and ideas. Another ancient Greek and Roman adage runs, “The swans will sing when the jackdaws are silent,” meaning that educated or wise people will speak after the foolish become quiet.
And for all the women that have told me how vain I am, ancient Greek authors tell how a jackdaw, being a social creature, “may be caught with a dish of oil which it falls into while looking at its own reflection”!
But on the positive side, Jackdaws are highly social birds, they pair for life, and have strong male/female bonding.
They are the only know species to share their food, and an individual initiates the sharing, rather than the flock stealing the food. They are notorious for nesting in church steeples, so they’re obviously spiritually inclined……..

Well, it was a wonderful experience for me as a young lad, having a wild bird as my close companion. Perhaps it’s the Wombwell blood…………..?

George Wombwell was born in Duddenhoe End, near Saffron Walden, on the 24th of December 1777. He was the son of James Wombwell and Sarah Rogers.
James married Sarah Rogers at the church of St Michael the Archangel in Braintree on the 10th of February, 1760. The register entry has his surname spelt UMBLEY, and curious spellings seem to be the norm for this family until they settle in the North-West Essex area. The marriage was witnessed by Robert Collis and Daniel Rogers, both of whom appear to have written their own names in the parish register. I don’t know whether Daniel was any relation to the bride.
Sarah herself was the daughter of Samuel and Sarah Rogers, and she had been christened at the same church twenty-three years earlier, on 8th February 1737. James was born in 1739.

In his early life George had a passion for domestic pets, and took great pleasure in rearing birds, rabbits, dogs and other animals. If any of them fell ill or became injured he nursed them with care and would seek advice from his family doctor as to how to treat his pets.

George’s pre Menagerie years don’t appear to be documented, save that he moved to London in 1800, and ran a cordwainer’s shop. For those who don’t know, a cordwainer is somebody who makes leather goods, including shoes. This being distinct from a cobbler, who traditionally repairs shoes. The shop was in Monmouth Street, Seven Dials, then a famous mart of the second-hand clothes trade, and now called Dudley Street. However a change of career presented its self, when he bought 2 Boa Constrictors from a sailor at the London docks for 70 guineas, and started exhibiting them in local hostelries. There is an interesting advert in the Bristol Mercury and Universal Advertiser from September 1807:
“EXTRAORDINARY REPTILES
Amongst the Number of Natural Curiosities arrived in this City, there seems none to equal or rival the Two wonderful Siboya Serpents. Those Ladies and Gentlemen who have already seen these extraordinary Reptiles, are so highly gratified with the sight of them, that the Proprietor flatters himself, from their high Recommendation that all ranks of people will gratify their curiosity, as they are undoubtedly the only ones of the Kind ever exhibited in the kingdom alive.
To be seen at a commodious room at the White Swan, St. James’s Back.
N.B. The Proprietor gives the utmost value for Foreign Birds and curious animals”.
This may well have been George’s exhibition, as Siboya is an island off Thailand renowned for Boa Constrictors.

Within 3 weeks George had recouped his investment and a substantial profit. He realised that there was money to be made by showing wild beasts and started to purchase exotic animals mainly from ships returning to London from around the far flung corners of the British Empire. George had a great love for all animals, and a natural flair for animal husbandry.

His first exhibition was at Bartholomew fair, at Smithfield, in 1804. He became an importer of wild animals and proprietor of one of the largest and finest menageries that ever travelled and that he predated Jamrach and Eice(famous wild beast importers of the Victorian era) is proved by the existence of a small yellow card, bearing a woodcut of a tiger, and the inscription

WOMBWELL,
Wild Beast Merchant,
All sorts of foreign Animals, Birds etc. bought, sold, or exchanged, at the repository of the Travelling Menagerie,
Commercial Road,
London.
If anyone reading has one of these cards, or a photo or scan, I’d be much obliged.

In order to secure animals, he kept in touch with the pilots on the Thames and elsewhere, so that when the East Indiamen and the other foreign sea going ships entered the Downs with wild animals aboard, George was promptly notified and got the first chance of buying them. Later, George engaged agents specially to watch the ships arrivals.

In 1805 the Wombwell’s travelling menagerie proper took to the road.
George continued to amass all sorts of wild beasts, including a pair of Giraffes which cost the then huge sum of £1800! They were taken to Commercial road whilst he set a team of men to build a portable cage for the creatures, sadly before the waggon was finished the poor beasts died 3 weeks later, as a result of the cold English weather

In 1825 George was in London, buying wild beasts, and was incensed to learn his major rival Thomas Atkins was advertising “the only wild beast show in London” at Bartholomew fair. And so he set off from London to Newcastle where his menagerie was currently showing, and brought it back to London, which took 10 days. It was a herculean task, as he exhibited each night on the road. He had 14 huge waggons,  and between 50 to 60 horses, the Elephant’s waggon alone requiring at least 12 horses to pull it. This waggon was 30 feet long, 13 feet in height, and 9 feet wide. It had 6 wheels, each of the tyres being 18 inches wide, each wheel weighed 7 cwt. Dragging this waggon up a steep hill often required the efforts of more than 30 horses. On arrival in London both horses and men were spent, and the next morning George discovered his Elephant had died.

Atkins countered this by advertising “the only living Elephant at the fair”. George responded by saying ‘You Sir, might own the only live elephant at this fayre, but I owns the only dead’un. Now, a live elephant is not a great rarity, but the chance of seeing a dead’un, comes only once now and again!’ and did much better business than Atkins who eventually became proprietor of the Liverpool Zoological Gardens.

George had a pet Lion called  Nero, who by all accounts was a friendly beast who would let children ride on his back, and apparently slept at the foot of George’s bed! Perhaps he’s the Lion talked about by Susan Tebby?
Wallace, his other pet lion, was an all together more aggressive animal.   During King James’ reign there were Lion fights at the Tower of London. There had been a Royal menagerie at the Tower from the 13th century. In 1825 whilst in the Midlands, George overheard several chaps discussing this. Two separate fights between dogs and the two Lions were organised.
“The combats were said to have originated in a bet between two sporting gentlemen, and the dogs were six bull-dogs, and attacked the lion in “heats “of three. The first fight, was between Nero and the dogs, and took place in July, 1825; at which time the menagerie was located in the Old Factory Yard, in the outskirts of Warwick, on the road to Northampton. This not being considered satisfactory and conclusive, a second encounter was arranged, in which Wallace,the younger animal, was substituted for the old lion, with very different results. Every dog that faced the Lion was mauled and disabled, the last being carried about in Wallace’s mouth as a rat is by a terrier or a cat”.  (from Old showmen and the old London fairs by Thomas Frost).

Among the more bizarre items in the Saffron Walden Museum in Essex is a stuffed lion, George Wombwell’s Wallace! Born in Edinburgh in 1812, Wallace was the first African lion to be bred in England and was perhaps named after William Wallace, the Scottish freedom fighter.
Wallace’s temperament remained something less than meek throughout his life.  Two years after the Warwick fight he attacked a man named Jonathan Wilson who (as the Leeds Mercury noted) “imprudently and incautiously” placed his hand upon the bottom of Wallace’s cage between the grating.  Wallace attacked and seized the man’s arm with his fangs.  Fortunately the keeper was at hand, “and by his prompt, spirited and efficient exertions” – what ever those might be – succeeded in saving both the man and his arm from Wallace.  A week later the Leeds Mercury posted the following:

“Jonathan Wilson, whose arm was severly bitten and torn at our fair, by Wombwell’s lion, Wallace … continued in a favourable state until Saturday, when the arm was suddently attacked by violent inflammation, followed rapidly by mortification [of the arm, not Wilson].  In this state he continued till Wednesday morning, when he died at his own home, having, the day before, requested to be moved thither from the infimary.”

It was almost certainly this particular Wallace (the name became a popular one for lions) that inspired Marriott Edgar’s poem “The Lion and Albert” which relates the quaintly vicious story of a young boy named Albert who was eaten by a lion at the zoo:

There were one great big Lion called Wallace;
His nose were all covered with scars -
He lay in a somnolent posture,
With the side of his face on the bars.

Now Albert had heard about Lions,
How they was ferocious and wild  -
To see Wallace lying so peaceful,
Well, it didn’t seem right to the child.

So straightway the brave little feller,
Not showing a morsel of fear,
Took his stick with its ‘orse’s ‘ead ‘andle
And pushed it in Wallace’s ear.

You could see that the Lion didn’t like it,
For giving a kind of a roll,
He pulled Albert inside the cage with ‘im,
And swallowed the little lad ‘ole.

By early July in 1838, Wallace was in sad decline.  A journalist for the local Wolverhampton newspaper noted the difference in the lion from his last visit: “Numerous persons who have visited the Menagerie over the past week have had their feelings unusually excited by the worn out appearance of their old favourite lion, Wallace. This once fine and noble creature seems to be gradually sinking from premature old age and is at times so weak as scarcely to be able to support his own weight.”

After Wallace’s death in 1838, he was sent to the Saffron Walden Museum by stagecoach. A framework for his body was made of wooden struts and wires, over which his skin was stretched and stuffed with wood shavings. He was mounted with his left front paw theatrically posed on the figure of a dog, in remembrance of his triumph in the fighting pit. The first museum catalogue published in 1845 reads:

“Lion Barbarus Grey (The Lion Wallace) Presented by Mr. G. Wombwell. This animal is remarkable as the first lion bred in this country and was during his life of 25 years in collection of Mr. G. Wombwell, surviving his battle with the dogs at Warwick, several years”.
It’s also been revealed that in all likelihood the ” Big Cats” that are spotted in places like Bodmin moor are the descendants of various large felines that escaped from circuses and menageries through the years.

The cover of “The life of George Wombwell”

To be continued……

On the 11th of August, I had my second rehearsal with Second Offense, having had the first one on the 29th of July. Ralph initially called me in June, offering his services as a dep for George, the Surf Rats drummer. But he also asked me whether I’d be interested in singing with his band, who he described as Dr Feelgood / Pirates clones, which certainly intrigued me, as I love both bands.

The first time I saw the Feelgoods was in 1973, at the Alexandra palace, which essentially I went to to see the New York Dolls, though 10cc were the headline band, who I had no interest in at the time.

I went to the gig with great anticipation, I was actually going to see the Dolls!!! And what a beautiful looking venue the Alley Pally was in those days, I can recall lots of glass, and big palm trees, like a giant greenhouse. It must have been a nightmare for the sound crew, with all those shiny surfaces for the sound to bounce off of. There were lots of really strange looking Transvestites hanging out pretty close to the front of the stage, where we’d made our camp, Bob Mardon, Sally Butcher and I. I saw Chris Spedding chatting with a couple of these weird people, he looked so cool, black quiffed with black motorcycle leathers and winkle picker boots (a look very similar to the band he’d go on to produce in their early days, the Sex Pistols) and really stood out in the crowd, though I didn’t know who he was until he took the stage with Sharks, who followed Dr Feelgood on the bill.

Wilko

Dr Feelgood came on, dressed in what looked like de-mob suits (a cheap suit issued to soldiers who had finished National service, in the British army, in the 1950’s), very austere and 60’s. Lee Brilleaux, the singer, and Wilko Johnson, the guitarist, immediately caught everyone’s attention, Lee chain smoking Number Six cigarettes, (ah! those were the days, my favourite cigarette, sadly no longer available) blowing a mean blues harp, and vocally sounding like Howlin’ Wolf’s Canvey Island cousin, looking really psycho!. Wilko looking and acting like an escaped lunatic, leaping and running about like a man possessed, wielding his Telecaster like a machine gun. Chicken hawk gusto, as Al once described me! To me, this was the most mind blowing live Rock’n’Roll I’d ever heard. Loud and aggressive, obviously with it’s roots in British R’n’B, i.e. the Stones, the Pretty Things (who I’d loved since hearing “Rosalind”). And in retrospect, very much like latter period Pirates. But it was closer to the noise of the Stooges than the Stones, Punk Rock before Punk Rock had happened!!!

Also, as I mentioned earlier, the band that Chris Spedding was playing with that day was Sharks. Aside from Spedding, who at the time was unknown, despite his session credentials, the other awesome player in this band originally, was Andy Fraser, from Free. Nick Fisher and I had seen them January the 28th, 1973 at the Sundown in Edmonton. They were fabulous, kind of Free-ish, but Snips, the vocalist had a really unique voice, like a more tuneful version of Roger Chapman from Family, and of course Fraser was such a dynamic player. But by the time we saw them at the Alley Pally, Fraser had left, having been replaced by a bassist recommended to Snips by no other than Mick Jagger, Busta Cherry Jones. an excellent, if not more funky player, which changed the dynamic of the band somewhat. Spedding looked total Rock’n’Roll cool, and played a beautifully distorted, very tasteful Gibson Flying V guitar. And their material was very strong too, quite poppy, 70’s Rock, but to imagine they were anything like the 70’s archetype would do them a great injustice, they were a powerful unique band of great musicians.

By the time the very-loud-for-the-time 10cc came on, I was totally cheesed off, the Dolls had cancelled, with no reason given that I can recall. The time I nearly saw the ORIGINAL Dolls!

I saw the Feelgoods numerous times up until late ‘76(the Chancellor hall, Chelmsford, several times, and the Kursaal in Southend) and never saw them post Wilko, though I thought Gypie Mayo was a killer guitarist. Wilko and Lee WERE the Feelgoods, and aside from the beginning of the tidal wave called Punk, it seemed inconceivable to have the Feelgoods without Wilko! I saw Wilko, with Norman Watt Roy on bass, at Will’s niece’s birthday party, at the Berwick suite, a couple of summers back. He’s still fabulous, as is Mr Watt Roy, who I saw a number of times with Ian Dury.

The first time I saw the Pirates, was at Woods leisure centre in Colchester, in 1977, on their Skull Wars tour. My good friend at the time, Martin “Oats” Wheatley, had a punk / skateboard band called the Gremlins, who supported the Pirates that night. The Gremlins (surf speak for a “learner” surfer) were killer, kind of like the Barracudas when they did the “Summer fun” single, but a good deal more English. Oats was a fab player, seem to remember they skateboarded onto the stage, and launched into a punk / surf instrumental, thinking back, very much like the “Surf Tune” that Wade and the Clocks used to play! Oats went on to play piano and sax on the Accidents album “Kiss me on the Apocalips”, but sadly I lost contact with him after that. There is a Martin Wheatley that plays for a jazzer called Keith Nichols, on Radio Four, I’ve emailed Keith for more info. There’s also a video of Oats on youtube, playing the “Tiger Rag”, and though it’s almost 30 years since I saw him, it’s unmistakably him. Watch this space….

When the Pirates came on, to the tune of “Dead man’s chest” and sound effects of canons being fired, the reaction was monumental, even in those crazed, loud Punk times. And Hell they were loud! Dressed in their pirates garb from the 60’s, Mick Green had a sticker on his guitar, “I choked the Happy Hooker” I think it said. They literally bludgeoned the crowd with their loud, very aggressive, high energy R’n’B, they raised the roof and took our collective heads off!!! The Feelgoods were raw and rockin’, but these guys were on another level, turbocharged, if you will, the fullest sound you’re ever going to hear from a three piece band. And Mick Green’s guitar style was extra-ordinary, distorted, aggressive, shredding, but very controlled and precise. I seem to recall him playing more with just his hands rather than with a plectrum, and can picture him in my mind’s eye with his plectrum between his teeth at points in the gig. They didn’t overstay their welcome, probably played for less than an hour, the Punk archetype, but by goodness they made every minute count.

I saw them again, a couple of years back, at the Riga bar in Southend. Although Frank Farley, the original drummer, is no longer with them as a result of heart problems, they still rocked to the max, Mick Green playing as aggressive and attitudinal as ever, having done stints with Paul McCartney, Van Morrison, and Bryan Ferry, since I first saw the Pirates. I know it’s been said before, but along with Cliff and the Drifters, Billy Fury and Vince Taylor, the Pirates are one of the biggest influences in English Rock’n’Roll, and possibly the most original sounding. Where did Mick Green get the influence to thrash his guitar like that? Such a unique style and sound, Farley and Spence were obliged to whip up a storm behind that!

Well, the Rattlesnakes (as Second Offense are now called) have since played our first gig, at the Welcome Sailor on the 13th of September, with Les, the Surf Rats bassist standing in for Nigel, our regular bass player. The reaction was excellent, Lawrence, the guitar player, totally rocked in a Mick Green style. We’re doing our second gig at the Berwicks jam night, on the 12th of November.

Epilogue: Since this article was published, the Rattlesnakes have split, tho’ Ralph has asked me to play a one off gig as a tribute to Mick Green, who sadly passed away on the 11th of January 2010. God bless Mick…………

2 Comments »
2 Responses to “Dr Feelgood and The Pirates”

Alwills // Nov 13, 2008 at 8:25 pm

Great gig last night Tel. I would say that Lawrence must have some telepathy with Mick Green as his style is similar, but not a direct copycat, in the same way that you sang ‘Down TO The Doctors’ making it your own!

Great article, the best yet.

Terence Ruffle // Nov 16, 2008 at 12:50 pm
Thanks Al.
One piece of the tale I forgot to tell was the time the Accidents (at that point, Will, Paul and I)met Lee Brilleaux,at a gig where we supported Deano’s Marvels, at the Paddocks in Canvey Island, sometime in 1977.We were sitting in the bar, and who should stumble in, with two chaps virtually supporting him, but Lee. He was sat right next to us by his “minders”, and was shortly thereafter presented with a pint of beer and a sizeable short. To say he seemed incredibly drunk would be a massive understatement! We really wanted to talk to him, and as an indicator of how out of it he was, I decided to ask him the time!Well hey, I was only 20!
“Serler ler ler rer” I believe the answer was.
We decided against any further attempts at communication……
Got to say also, speaking of very drunk people, how come Micky Jupp called the song “Down at the Doctors”, when the lyrics run “Down TO the Doctors”?
The truth should be told! Must we fling this pop filth at our kids?

Part 1……….

Well, here I am on the train to Peterborough, my bum slightly sore  from the Jobsworth guard  charging me a further 18 quid for my journey! Knew I’d forget something……… my railcard! I dread to think how much a ticket to Inverness would cost! Will investigate further…………

After much  phaffing from 6 a.m. I managed to get myself out of the house just after 8.15, and at the bus stop a good 5 minutes prior to the Witham bus arriving. Didn’t get too OC leaving, tho’ my DM’s dropped mud on the carpet just as I walked out. Oh no! OC Terence said “get a cloth, fire up the vacuum, do something!!!” Fortunately sane Terence had the upper hand and said “Bollocks!” and  that was that.

It must have been some sort of omen. A road sign just beyond the crossroads at Wickham Bishops. The sign that said “Weak bridge ahead” I mean, what’s that supposed to mean?
Weak as in Dude speak, Southpark style weak? Or weak as in “the 350 tons of bus you’re sitting on will probably crash through this woefully constructed bridge it’s about to cross, and if you don’t get crushed in the fall you will surely get washed away by the rapids like current of the river below”. How comforting.
So, can someone give me a clue? Is it a “don’t be alarmed, we’re just saying, it’s a weak bridge, alright?” kind of thing. Or should we be on the alert? “Hmmm…….. the sign says weak bridge, hopefully I won’t be killed as the bridge collapses and the bus drops to the waters below, just……..well just keep your wits about you, that’s all.”
God I love this country.

Part 2……….

Well, we left P’boro about 2 hours ago, thankfully I was able to upgrade my ticket to legal  without a rail card status, for a mere £6.50, phew!
So I’ve had my head in my netbook pretty much all of that time, sending emails and surfing, and checking Dick Dale’s health status, which judging by his extensive tour itinerary; seems pretty good.

We just hit Newcastle, way-hay!
I’m in a very quiet carriage, this is mostly due to the fact I’m surrounded by computer nerds, all connected to the free wifi. There’s several Asians, and a white guy in front of me, all tippy tapping away on their keyboards, knees a quiver as these chaps are wont to do!
It’s incredible. When I was the age these chaps are all I cared about was Sex, Rock’n'Roll and drinking, nowadays these kids live in Cyberspace! The Gameboy generation, Very proficiant technicians but as for life skills………..? Well, they seem like quiet, nice kids, but geeks to a man.
And it makes me glad to have been born in 1957, of a generation that saw the Ramones and Elvis, who along with the Beatles undoubtably had the biggest influence on modern culture.
I believe Elvis not only brought popular music into the modern age, but as a result of Him the modern age really began, post 50′s space age. Put another way, he sexed up culture and music more than than anyone had done before, with a style so new and unique no one has surpassed it since.
As John Lennon was quoted as saying when Elvis died “Before Elvis there was nothing”.

The savage young Silver Beatles of the Hamburg years looked like perfect hybrids of Elvis and “Wild One” Marlon Brando, with a side order of Velvet Underground…….Lennon was also quoted as saying “Elvis died when He went into the Army”, well I understand what he meant, but the blueprint was there. And the Beatles rocked it hard.

They became the most famous Rock’n'Roll band ever,the most famous people ever, along with Elvis, not only influencing ALL music that came after them, but just like Elvis before them, changing modern culture and indeed the way people behaved in our society. Moptops, Beatle suits, drugs, meditation, LOVE, PEACE, IMAGINE……….
But could they have done it without Elvis’s original blueprint? I don’t think so.

And of course the Ramones, whose name Dee Dee borrowed from Paul McCartney, who would sign hotel registars under the alias of “Paul Ramone”. The Beatles influence on them is undeniable, Powerpop. I’ve already waxed lyrical about Da Brudders, but suffice to say, the memory of seeing the Ramones still hangs loud and proud in my memory, like a strange and wonderful sex I’m never gonna have again.
So come on you Gameboys, show me the Elvis of your generation………………….

Part 3……….

Mountain bikes. What a swizz they are!

I finally arrived in Inverness just before 8.30 p.m., found a Co-op and bought some wine, then met my niece Cathy. who drove me to my sister Helens cottage in Loch Luichairt. Her house is in a fabulous location, on the edge of a mountain. It used to be a bothy, and was converted by the estate in late Victorian times, but the actual date of origin is unknown. The cottage is between 300-400 ft above sea level, and if you go up what she laughingly calls the hill, that’s a further 2-3 hundred feet.  Do we see swarms of these mountain bikes? Is the hill infested with cyclists determined to scale the dizzy heights? Do we nonchalently don our bike clips and hare up the hillside? No, no and thrice  no! There’s not a bloody bike in sight! We NEVER bump into anyone CYCLING up the hill. “Oooh hello Jocky, nice bike, off up the hillside are we? Going right to the top ay? 700 feet up that away?” It don’t think so, it don’t happen, I’m  afraid.
So to recap, no we never see a single solitary “mountain” or any other kind of bike 5-600 feet up, it’s a myth!
So why call them mountain bikes? Do these bikes give you the superhuman ability to cycle up munroes and such? No!
Do these bikes enable one to perform incredible feats of strength? No! Are these bikes shaped like a mountain? No!
SO WHY CALL THEM BLOODY MOUNTAIN  BIKES??

Part 4……….

On one of our daily jaunts up the hill, Helen took me to see the old School house. It’s empty right now but we were lucky enough to bump into Hazel the house keeper, who showed us round. Like the few other houses locally it looks like it was renovated and modernised in Victorian times.
It’s a pretty spooky looking place, the Dorma windows have a distinctly Gothic vibe.

I expected to see some ghostly figure in the photo I took of the Rowan tree through the downstairs window, but actually the vibe of the house is peaceful and serene.

The Rowan tree is “very Scottish” as Hazel put it. Sometimes they are called the “Mountain Ash”, they are found in most mountainous regions including China and the Himalayas. The name “rowan” is derived from the Old Norse name for the tree, raun. Linguists believe that the Norse name is ultimately derived from a proto-Germanic word raudnian meaning “getting red” and which referred to the red foliage and red berries in the autumn.

Hazel said they are great trees for warding off Witches. The European rowan has a long tradition in European mythology and folklore. It was thought to be a magical tree and protection against malevolent beings. It was said in England that this was the tree on which the Devil hanged his mother.

The density of the rowan wood makes it very usable for walking sticks and magician’s staves. This is why druid staffs, for example, have traditionally been made out of rowan wood, and its branches were often used in dowsing rods and magic wands. Rowan was carried on vessels to avoid storms, kept in houses to guard against lightning, and even planted on graves to keep the deceased from haunting. It was also used to protect one from Witches. Often birds’ droppings contain rowan seeds, and if such droppings land in a fork or hole where old leaves have accumulated on a larger tree, such as an oak or a maple, they may result in a rowan growing as an epiphyte on the larger tree. Such a rowan is called a “flying rowan” and was thought of as especially potent against witches and their magic, and as a counter-charm against sorcery. Rowans protection against enchantment made it perfect to be used in making rune staves and to protect cattle from harm by attaching sprigs to their sheds.

We went upstairs and I looked out of the west window in the back bedroom(that strangely had a Kangeroo skin rug on the floor by the bed!) and took this wonderful shot of the mountains, truly magical.

Part 5……….

Sadly, after 8 peaceful and meditative days it was time to go home, big boo hoo!
I had to catch the train from the local station which is a half hour walk from Helens, so oft I trot at 7.15 a.m. along the very dark mountain road, with a wee torch Helen loaned me. To be honest it was quite a gas, the stars were beautiful and I caught glimpses of the waning moon. And then it started to rain………really heavy! By the time I got to the “request” station(yep, you stick out your hand and request the train stops!) I was pretty soaked, but fortunately I didn’t have to wait long for the train.
There were a handful of people in my carriage, I got the impression they were students, one of the lads was off his head on something. He kept trying to make conversation, “slurry slurry slur slur cigarette jocky?” “Sorry mate, I’m type 2 deaf and I can’t read your lips. And I don’t smoke.” That shut him up, kindof.
It reminded me of when I used to take Alfie to see the audiologist at St Peter’s.
We’d get to reception and guess what? The receptionist was Welsh. And her voice was comparable in volume to the sound a green fly makes landing on a blade of grass. In fog. Silence was actually louder!
That was that wag Shiva having a little chortle…..

After a short pause in Inverness, we were away again, bound for Glasgow.
It’s a lovely scenic journey, Avimore and the North sea prior to, and the beautiful mountains before Dalwhinnie.
I’ve got my headphones on, tripping through the mountains with Big Star, Andy Williams, JD Souther, the Pretenders and Curt Boetcher.

Pretty soon we’re in Glasgow and I had a full 40 minutes until my next train, so I figure a beer and some hot manjari. I went to the bar at the station, very cosy, with several red haired Celtic honeys(or taggies as Jed called them)serving a nice pint of heavy and a hot pie. So far so lovely.
I left this very comfortable scenario a good 15 minutes before the Euston train departed, figured I’d get settled in my seat and hook up to the wifi. But where the hell was my train? There was no 14.42 to Euston. I checked my ticket, the train to Euston was from Central NOT Queen street! Sheer terror and panic gripped as I hailed a cab in a vain attempt to get my connection. The cab driver was jolly nice, Glasgow seemed jolly nice, a beautiful old fashioned Carousel in the square outside the station. But it was futile, I arrived at Glasgow central at 14.50 and my heart sank…….
£107 on my Lloyds credit card later I was close to throwing myself under the 15.42 train rather than getting on it. God I was miserable. A hundred and seven bloody pounds, how am I going to pay that back……talk about being out of consciousness!
But it just got worse. Having got on the train, a Virgin train, low and behold, welcome to England, no free wifi. You want wifi Johnny no prob, £5 per hour. So I had a dram and thought hmm… a visit to the loo. I couldn’t believe it, I was aware I was in short  distance of the toilet, not just because I could see it, I could smell it too, utterly disgusting!

Now come on Mr Branston sir, I bought the bloody Faust tapes y’know! And Camenbert Electrique,(I must dig that out!) I helped you on the road mate, helped you build your blinking empire, fer Christssake, the least you can do is keep your kahzis in order!
Bet you don’t have to do a number in a smelly potty, why should I?

Well anyway, I eventually got home around 10 p.m., after an amusing bus journey from Chelmsford with Andy Jasper, regaling me with tales of him dressing up as Gene Simmonds at some Metal festy. Scarey huh?

Peace……….and Happy New Year everyone! 

After my Pa left school, in 1928, at the age of 13, his Father secured him a job at Heybridge laundry. It was an apprenticeship in a profession that would stand  him in good stead for his next big adventure.
But for now, as a young teenager, it was regular work and an education of another kind……

At this age, my Pa writes that his knowledge of the fairer sex was limited to the fact that they wore skirts and boys wore trousers. At the laundry his duties consisted of filling the washing machines with soiled linen, which would be washed by a senior laundryman, after which the linen would be “Hydro’d”(spun dried)then Pa would convey the linen to be ironed, which was done by women.  Everytime my Pa passed these particular 2 women, he would playfully pat them on their bums. “Cheeky arrogance” he called it. However after one playful pat too many, the women grabbed him, had his trousers off in a flash and poured oil all over his penis! Bearing in mind my Pa was short and slight, he was no match for these 2 ladies and promptly burst into tears!
He ran down to the boiler room where the foreman was firing the boilers. Seeing his tears and obvious distress, the foreman asked Alfie what was wrong, and he replied that the girls had poured oil on his “Drib”, the only term he knew for his penis!
The term “Drib” dates back to 1700s, probably derived from dribble, or a small amount, as in dribs and drabs. Tho’ it has to be said my Father was well hung! Apparently Drib is also Hip hop slang for a gram of Ganja!

After his first close encounter, my Pa learnt rapidly about girls, and had various affairs over the 3 years he worked at the laundry, calling it a most enjoyable sex education! The haystacks along the road leading towards the laundry were the venue for many a kiss and cuddle, a roll in the hay!

My Pa stayed at the laundry until the depression hit businesses and less people required their services. He was made redundant in 1931(there was no redundancy payouts in those days), so he went to sign on at what was then called the Labour exchange. Alfie said he was “dead scared” of the officials there, who would shout and holler at you, no doubt in an attempt to put you off claiming the meagre amount of 3 shillings a week Dole money. He said you had to convince them you could not find a job!
But his stint as one of the great unwashed was not to last, because after several weeks the Labour exchange sent him for an interview at John Sadd and son, which at the time was a successful local timber business.The manager who interviewed him recognised Pa as his Saturday paper boy and gave him the job. Pa loved timber and wood machining, and before he was 21 had become a skilled and proficient wood machinist.
The pay at Sadd’s was poor compared to other firms, so it was with great joy my Pa applied for and was given a job by another timber company in Stevenage, starting pay one shilling and six pence an hour, 7 pence more than Sadds.
He confronted the management at Sadd’s saying he’d been offered another job, but would stay with them if they upped his pay to the top local rate of one shilling and 3 pence an hour. They offered him one shilling and 2 and a half pence per hour. Pa walked out with the manager’s words ringing in his ears, that he’d never hold the job down, but Pa knew it was a “Doddle”, and him and his friend George Hinton started work in Stevenage.
Alfie loved motor bikes as a young man, and once owned an Ariel 4 square, a bike so big and heavy that often as not once he’d kicked the bike off the stand he promptly fell over! Eventually he settled for a Triumph, a bonneville I believe. Alfie and George travelled to and from Stevenage on their motorbikes.

Coming home one weekend to visit their ladies, George was involved in a serious bike crash and spent many weeks in hospital. Pa got rather lonely without his pal, Stevenage was a small town back then, with very little in the way of entertainment. One weekend at home his old foreman sent word he wanted to talk. He offered Pa his job back, saying they’d never been able to replace him. Pa accepted his offer happily, he’d missed Maldon, tho’ he’d enjoyed his time in Stevenage, but without George it hadn’t been much fun and he was glad to be back amongst people he knew.

Ma and Pa married at Saint Mary’s church in April 1937. Initially they lived with my Grandfather, Alfred Ruffle, but shortly thereafter rented their own cottage in Mill road for seven shillings and six pence! Pa’s pay was a colossal three pounds eight shillings a week, a very good wage for the times. The economy was booming and everyone was in work.

I remember my Pa telling me that when he’d first met my Ma, the only shoes she had were a pair of Wellington boots, and they were too small for her! Alfie bought her a pair of shoes, a move which improved my Grandparents Percy Double Day and Ethel Kate Mead’s opinion of him. Previously they’d thought him something of a Scallywag…………..

Percy Doubleday and Ethel Kate Mead holding Anna Campbell(nee Ruffle) September 1939

On September 3rd 1939 England declared war on the Germans, initiating World War 2. My sister Anna was 3 days old.
Pa of course got called up to do National service in November, but failed the medical due to his deafness, with both his eardrums perforated. He told me a tragi-comic tale that he waited for his name to be called to go in to see the Doctor for his medical…and waited… and waited. Until all the other people waiting had seen the Doctor, and he was the only man left in the waiting room. He went up to the clerk to ask why his name hadn’t been called. It had. Six times!
He went home with a glum face and confronted my Ma with the certificate  of exemption, she apparently burst into tears with relief!

Pa promptly joined the Auxiliary Fire Service and remained with them until the end of the War, at which point he joined the local Maldon Fire Brigade part time, another job he adored.
Pa said the AFS was made up of conscientious objectors and the like, some of whom were Gay. Several of them were rather camp and apparently very funny. Whilst my Pa was ferociously Hetro he didn’t have an issue with Gay men, and worked with a few in the Merchant Navy.
With the coming of the War Alfie was working at Sadd’s under what was called the Essential works order, which was mostly for people whose work was important to up keeping the war effort.
But also as a member of AFS he was also involved with firewatching, and since women were also involved in firewatching it made  the job interesting for Pa, if somewhat hazardous!

Pa had several women he’d see firewatching, and of course the blackouts proved brilliant cover for his frolics.
He describes one of these gals as rather superior in her manner but peculiar in her sexual capers. They would meet outside the railway station, and cavort on the covered  flagstone annexe on his overcoat. She would instruct Pa as to her desires, but wouldn’t let him fondle her! One evening they lay quietly when they heard heavy footsteps clomping through the booking office. They hardly dared breath as the footsteps stopped, and doors shut. It was the train driver and fireman going off duty. One of them remarked he needed a pee………….. and he relieved himself all over their legs! As it was pitch black their cover was safe, tho’ Alfie remarked he thought the chap was never going to stop peeing! They didn’t use the annexe again after that!

In 1947 my sister Helen was born, and Afie continued to work at Sadd’s. Through advice from my Ma’s uncle Harry Day, who had just left the Royal Navy, he was told he could make alot of money in the Merchant Navy, utilising his skills as a laundryman.
And so it was, in May 1950, Pa went to sea as a chief laundryman, with the Orient line. This was to be the start of Alfie’s biggest adventure……………

It’s a sad and shocking statistic that at Christmas time incidents of domestic violence and friction increase dramatically. And why should that be? Is it the close proximity of other family members, that one usually never sees except over the Festive season, that irritates? Is it the increased  Alcohol intake that causes people to become more aggressive? Or is it the sudden boredom that some some people suffer over the Holiday season?

No, I think I know why tempers are flared and fuses are short over Christmas. In two words, FAIRY LIGHTS!

So you’re thinking, how can something so innocuous and pretty cause so much bad feeling? Well, first up the lights that you carefully packed away from the previous Yuletime, ensuring all the bulbs are working, and carefully replacing all plugs and fuses, dusting them, polishing them etc. rarely work the following year. Or worst still, you put the lights on the tree, they work fine. You decorate the tree and mysteriously the lights go out. You carefully replace every single bulb and yay, they’re up and running again. That is, until a Wood Louse farts in close range of the lights and suddenly they go down again. So you carefully replace every single bulb again, nothing! Fighting back the sheer rage you carefully undecorate the tree, take all the Fairy lights off and plug them into a different socket and hey praise the Lord they come back on. Your rage and anger turns to delight, you calm yourself, you put the now working lights back on the tree, carefully redecorate the tree and plug in the lights. And hey, guess what, Satan(and NOT Santa)is messing with your head cos those damn lights just ain’t working!!!
Why why why? So you go into Poundstretchers or the late lamented Woolworth’s and ask the nice assistant for replacement bulbs. “Oooh no, we haven’t stocked those since the 70′s!”
And that’s it see. Replacement bulbs are a myth. Those 3 or 4 you get with your new set of lights, well make them last. Cos they’re the only 3 replacement bulbs in the KNOWN UNIVERSE. That’s it, just 3.

As a consequence people like me hoard replacement bulbs. I have approximately 5000 different types of bulbs. Not as a result of buying replacements but through keeping the remains of old sets, in the very vain hope that MAYBE one day you’ll buy a set of lights and hey look I’ve got tons of spares cos I kept the remainder from the set way back in ’63. Dream on, Buddy. Because before that occurs we will have colonised Mars, found a cure for Cancer and a reformed Osmonds will be number 1 in the Internet charts with that old GG Allin fave, “I wanna f**k  myself”.
It just AIN’T gonna happen.

If there was any justice in this world, if suddenly things turned fair for the average Dude on the street, the after sales service on Fairy lights would be first class. There’d be a help line, open through out all of the Holiday season, 24/7.

It’s Christmas day. As Fonz Linge would say, you’ve eaten your way through the pain barrier. In a happy haze of Whisky and Beer you contemplate the Christmas Dr Who, a short nap, the family arriving, Pyros a go go, more single Malt, then beddy byes clutching your favourite new toy. And what happens? The Fairy lights go down!
No problemo in the perfect world. You call the Fairy lights hot line, an 0800 number to boot. Within 10 minutes 3 chaps turn up in white lab assistant type coats. They assess the situation immediately with the aid of test meters and such like. Within 5 minutes they’ve either fixed your lights, apologised for the inconvenience, and left in a flurry of snowflakes and Ho Ho Ho’s. Or they replace your tree with an “It’s a Wonderful life” monster, with Harrods Fairy lights and small decorative Crackers containing Indoor fireworks or small pieces of jewelry made of Kashmir silver, and REAL candles, just like when I was a baby.And trust me Mr Health and Safety, our tree NEVER went up in flames, showering us with molten plastic and glass.

Much.

And whilst we’re on the subject of H&S, what is this silly shite about not being able to festoon our high streets over Christmas?
THEY say that there’s potential for injury, with the possibility of decorations falling from lamp posts etc. and causing harm to the cruisers below. Yeah right. When did you last see someone impaled on a Christmas decoration? “God look at that poor man, he’s being strangled by stray Tinsel!”. “Crikey that poor woman, those tree balls almost bashed her brains out!”. If there’s anyone out there who’ve witnessed scenes like this please get in touch. And ease up on your Parklife! Cos it just NEVER happens, Christmas decorations AREN’T dangerous! They’re just supposed to fill us with the Christmas spirit, not fill us full of dread and fear of walking down the street, paranoid we’ll be horribly mutilated by them!
As John Prime said to me recently, this stupidity is a result of our “Litigation Nation” a get rich quick scheme inherited from our American cousins. To people older than 40 all this “Nanny state” nonsence is insanity and an affront to our intelligence and common sense.
Please could our Government have an attack of common sense someday soon?
Ah well, what was I saying about the Osmonds………..

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!!!

There’s major part of my “Fetish” that I didn’t mention. Sadly it isn’t something I’ve experienced since probably the late 60′s, and that’s Indoor Fireworks. Indoor Fireworks you ask, surely some mistake? Not the type that Sergeant Alan refers to in his comment on “Firework Fetish”? No, you read me right, mini Pyros for use INSIDE the home. I think my earliest recollection of them is connected with Christmas Crackers, as I believe that at one time individual Indoor Fireworks were placed in Crackers alongside the paper hat and cheesy joke, as a type of novelty. I have a vague recollection of Crackers that once you’d taken them from the box it revealed a number of small perforated doors containing said Pyros. Can anyone verify that?

But the most common Indoor Fireworks I can remember were just like the ones in these beautiful photos by Martin Weselby. These little Pyros only happened at Christmas, which was such a “gas” for a kid like me, who loved and still loves Christmas and Fireworks with a passion. They were by no means spectacular, but several did flash and delight, and of course the mini Sparklers were a good reminder of the excitement of November the 5th, with their distinctive smell, which I’m pleased to say remains unchanged to this day.
And that’s a big part of the Indoor Firework experience, the smell! For instance, the “Flashing Lighthouse” which for all intents and purposes was like a miniature Roman candle, a bright sparkling flash of a morsel. But the smoke it gave off was phenomenal, and would easily fill the room. I can’t quite recall the smell, only that I loved it and that it was VERY chemical. Another classic was the  “North Pole” which I believe was essentially what were then called “Coloured matches”, long headed matches that burnt considerably longer than regular matches, with a coloured flame.

And of course a concept that would be totally frowned upon and banned immediately(if not sooner!)in this day and age, the “Smoking Monkey”. Just like the little fellas with grand moustaches in Martin’s photo, who look like they have massive spliffs in their mouths. Just light the tip of the ciggy and yay! they start blowing smoke rings, more lovely chemical smoke! I can remember buying a little Monkey (made from plastic probably) at the wonderful Joke shop in Colchester, along with lots of little fags for him to smoke, what a happy little Monkey he was! And they sold Bangers out of season too,  a wonderful shop.

The “Snake in the Grass” was again a small flashing beauty, which when lit produced what looked like a wee Snake coming from it’s lair, some 4 or 5 inches of chemical ash rising from the cardboard. Or a big long curly poo depending on how you looked at it. How thrilling!
And another mini marvel missing from Martin’s pics is “Snow Storm”, again a cone of silver foil that when lit produced a shower of white chemical ash that would fill the room like a mini blizzard. Again with a major fog of chemical smoke. Also available at the Joke shop, small white pills that you put on a saucer that also produced a similar effect, I remember them being in blister packs.

Of course the promise of Indoor Fireworks was far more grand than was actually delivered, and the packaging probably excited me more as a young boy than the little Pyros themselves. I recall the kitchen in the family home at Fitch’s crescent, Christmas night, early evening, the family excitedly gathering around the table, the lights low, with either Jed or my Pa on lighting duties, happy times.
But oh that smoke!

And that’s probably why I cajoled my parents into letting me have a Chemistry set. A Chemistry set you ask? Children allowed to play with dangerous and toxic chemicals? Surely some mistake? No, again you read me right, in the 1960′s and way back to Victorian times, kids were allowed Chemistry sets, as an educational toy. And the selling point for me was the hype about them inferred that they had some “Magic” ingredients, more like Alchemy than Chemistry. Way before Harry Potter. And of course I was convinced I could make my own Gunpowder, which was surely one small step away from making my own Fireworks!!!
I actually found my Chemistry set recently whilst going through the bowels of my outside store cupboard. Ma and Pa couldn’t afford to buy me a Chad Valley set, so clever Pa made me a grand looking wooden box to keep all the bits and pieces I acquired from another wonderful shop, this time in Chelmsford, called Body’s. Body’s was right of Burger King, on the edge of the bridge, a marvellous old fashioned chemist’s shop, that amongst the myriad of pills and potions, and surgical aids too numerous to list actually sold chemicals! And it had a beautiful red neon sign above the door.I can recall buying Magnesium ribbon from this shop, which was a fabulous coil of silver metal, inside a small cardboard box the size of an incence cone box. I acquired my fondness for Magnesium ribbon at school when some hapless Chemistry teacher showed us the effects of burning Magnesium. Right, we’ll be having some of that then, looks a bit like a Firework, and the fact that it burnt at 473C (883F) and was extremely dangerous was irrelevant, the flame was beautiful and bright white and I had to have some!

Of course it would be a dreadful lie to suggest that I was committed to the educational qualities of my Chemistry set, all I wanted to do was blow things up, or at least make them fizz and erupt uncontrollably. A customer of mine told me one of her friends managed to blow his little finger off attempting to make his own Fireworks, in the family garage, with his Chemistry set! Bet he wore that stump like a badge. “No, I didn’t go to the ‘Nam, I did it making my own explosives!”
He must have been a God amongst his school mates………..

And so I read that certain American chain stores are predicting the must have toy for boys this Christmas will be the revamped, new improved Chemistry set! Without chemicals…………..but with safety goggles and apron.
Isn’t that a bit like Ringo being the last of the Fab Four reforming the Beatles with Liam Gallagher? Beatles lite. Chemistry set lite. Oh how sad………………

Anyway, as a last word about Indoor Fireworks, I think I spot a rather sinister  sub plot here. Silver foil wraps. The inhalation of toxic smoke. Little white pills, the smoking “Monkey”, “Flashing” Lighthouse………..God it’s a wonder my entire generation weren’t drug addicts and Junkies! And if that wasn’t enough,  they then gave us our own laboratory and chemicals and said “Go forth!”

“Alwight Tel?!?”