Heigh-Ho Says Rowley

Dame Vera Lynn has, with apologies for the admittedly hackneyed phrase, a haunting and evocative voice and The Frog's Wooing is my favourite, not least because of the impeccably clear diction. She was the first Br*tish artiste to reach number one in the USA, in 1952, two years before, surprisingly, her only UK number one in 1954. Is there anyone who can listen to any of her recordings without coming out in goose pimples?

From 1949, for about ten years, Vera Lynn was accompanied by Barry Gray, who wrote most of the music used by Gerry and Sylvia Anderson, including my favourite The Man From MI5.

Both tracks can be found, along with several Century 21 TV themes, here.

I clearly remember Twizzle, which I always thought dated from the early sixties, but for years I could only recall a few images and hum a few bars of Torchy The Battery Boy, until I discovered the vintage television sites on the web. I saw again images that I had not seen since 1960, when I was four years old. Thank Englishman Tim Berners-Lee for the World Wide Web.

Once introduced to space travel I was more than ready for Fireball XL5, a year or two later.

The Ace Caff

You can find it here, though few of the pics capture the spirit of the place in its heyday. Sadly by the time I was cruising (what an innocent word that was then) the North Circular the Ace was a thing of the past. One day I intend to pass my motorcycle test and then I shall blat down the A1 for a coffee at the Ace.

I have never taken a motorcycle test and I have never ridden a motorcycle legally. I have not ridden a motorcycle (not a 'motorbike', which is a vile word) for thirty years but when I used to I did not display L plates, had no insurance, sometimes no licence, no MOT on a bike that was not 'MOTable', no road fund licence, or whatever it was called then, and, often, in the dark, no lights. My brakes were worn and didn't work terribly well in the wet (I remember, on a wet day, driving my bike between a camper van and a line of cones that separated, by less than a foot, my wheels from a deep trench as the labourers jumped for their lives and the cones toppled into the abyss, while pulling hard on the right hand lever, the throttle closed, and not daring to step on the left hand peddle for fear of jamming the rivets on the drum.) I was occasionally drunk, but never stoned, and, I realise now, always very, very lucky. Until late in 1975 I did not wear a helmet.

As irresponsible as I was, I did no evil to anyone. How did I get away with it? Who knows? Perhaps the devil looks after his own, which I earnestly hope he does.

Being There, Or Not.

By some strange and entirely unintended coincidence the videos below are linked. At art college (Ravensbourne, venue of what has subsequently been described as the Sex Pistols' first gig - presented while I was a student there, and no I didn't go because I thought the name childish and supposed that the band was crap.) I was vaguely acquainted with a fellow who described my Royal Enfield as an oil slick and with whom I later worked, (for more than two years; my longest tenure of any employed position) in the art studio of a small leisure and trade magazine publisher. He was a drummer and a member of a band that was offered a contract by Chas Chandler, who had managed The Jimi Hendrix Experience. Chris, my fellow student and later colleague, was highly regarded and 'tipped for the top', with articles about him appearing in the NME and Melody Maker, if I recall correctly, comparing him with Keith Moon, John Bonham and Carl Palmer, amongst others. For a while he was favoured by a 'rock journalist' (?) named Chris Welch, by whom he was introduced to various contemporary notables, amongst them, Tony McPhee.

An unrelated Jimi Hendrix story concerns the eldest son of some family friends wh0, like his brother, was a pupil of the local grammar school, at which I was also a pupil, though a couple of years later. In what must have been 1967 he, then an upper sixth former, was responsible for booking the bands for that year's end of year 'concert'. The budget was, I recall, £50.00 and he had the option of two bands for slightly less than that or one band for slightly more. Naturally he plumped for the most noise for the money and opted for the two band package. A week or two later The Jimi Hendrix experience had their first number one hit and could not be had for ten times that sum.

No Reason To Get Excited

I don't think I've ever heard a bad version of this. Both Dylan and Neil Young did it well but Jimi Hendrix's version is unsurpassed, I think. It's from the same period as Split Part 2, though a couple of years earlier, if I recall, and carries me back to my bedroom every time I hear it. It also reminds me of my time as a mature undergraduate at Sheffield, much to the chagrin of Mrs Gruff.

Split Part 2

The Groundhogs have always been one of my favourite bands and 'Split Part 2' one of my favourite songs, and I've never forgiven myself for selling my mint condition copy of the album Split sometime in the mid seventies for about £0.50 (I don't think I was ever paid for it).

There's a reasonable video of an excellent cover version of 'Split Part 2', by a band called Electric Experience, available at YouTube but it's a pleasure to show it here.

Trains

At first sight this has a distinctly French look to it but it was actually designed and built in England, one of three built by Robert Stephenson & Hawthorns, in 1940 for Iraq. I find it appealing: quirky but none the less stylish.

Colour shots of the locomotive in a derelict condition are presented here.

Thanks to Andrew Grantham and Google Images.

Out of Work Again.

I've been without an income for a week.