GETTING TO BLYTH . . . or From Fleetwood to Blyth
We were in Fleetwood a few days ago. I think I mentioned it the last time I was writing this stuff. We have played the Fleetwood FC three times now I believe. We also have played the Fylde Folk Festival twice now. Fleetwood is a lovely little town in Lancashire, just a couple of miles from Blackpoole. It is a very down-to-earth crowd we play for there at a pub in the middle of a working class neighborhood.
When we arrive in Fleetwood we can never get a hold of the organizer, or the people we are to stay with. It is usually a long drive there from wherever and we get there early just because we have been lucky with traffic, and we give ourselves lots of time. That means that we have to entertain ourselves for awhile before the club starts at 8 pm. This time we went to the grocery store, and then I took a nap in the parking lot of the superstore (in our rented automobile).
That didn’t take up enough time, so after the nap we got ourselves over to where we were to play and took a walk around the neighborhood. It is populated by row houses, and might remind you of a New York City neighborhood in that there are lots of people out walking around. There is a candy store where it’s only teenagers hanging out. The houses are in varying states of repair, and disrepair, occupied, and unoccupied.
Fleetwood used to be a fishing town, but has always had some of the tourist overflow from Blackpoole as well. Kristi got a little history from one of the FC members, something about a developer who built the streets by fanning out from a point on a knoll, with the help of a mule and a plough. That story came from the enthused mariner helping the club organizer at the door. He showed Kristi his splendid portfolio of drawings taken from early photos of the town, all original. There is more posh housing on the waterfront there. The folk club is on the third floor of the pub, and is immediately pretty friendly when we arrive. When I introduced “Durham County” as a song about a seaman who sees himself as a folksinger the guy at the door chimed in that it must be about him. I am on Joe Boe’s email list and hear from him several times a year. When he first talks to me I have not seen him except for one night three years ago, and although I suspect that it is Joe Boe I wait until someone confirms his identity.
Almost everyone in the room sings a song or recites a poem in between our sets, which go very well. It is definitely a night of sharing. We sold a few CDs, and I see our host people come into the room after we start playing. Carol and John are marvelous people. It comes out later that John has been feeling under the weather, and we are the only people important enough to get him out of the house of late. He has been holing up there for awhile. Carol is very outgoing, loud, and some fun. She is Irish. Both she and John have worked on ships. The merchant marine has been John’s career, and he talks about the places he’s been, ships he’s been on, and what has taken place on them. He and Carol worked on the same ships at times and at one point he asked Carol the name of one of the ships that they had worked on together to flesh out his story.
After we finish playing we get paid, pack up, and get our gear out to the car. On the way I get John and Kristi walks home with Carol. We arrive at about the same time as the house isn’t far from the pub. We have been on the wagon, but we decide to fall off this night as we don’t have to play for a couple of days after this and figure it won’t hurt for one night. We stayed up until about 3 am as it turns out, me drinking scotch, and Kristi drinking (uncharacteristically) white wine. I listened to John talk about his days at sea. He claims to be a conservative, but categorizes the crazies who call themselves conservative in the states these days way over the top from his brand. He says he believes in meritocracy. From Wikipedia ‘may be used to refer to any government run by "a ruling or influential class of educated or able people."’. Of course those of you who know me know that I’d be unlikely to sign on to a program like that. I think it’s just smoke and mirrors allowing for a “ruling” class. On the other hand, I have enjoyed hearing what the people who I stay with have to say. If you can believe it, I often am able to keep my mouth shut.
The house that Carol and John live in is similar to other houses we stay in while traveling the UK. It is attached to other houses. The truth is that I didn’t look at the outside of their house much while staying with them. I think this was our third time. Last time I brought a bottle of Absinthe with me that we drank in one night. In the morning it is time for a traditional English breakfast, and we’re off on the road again, but not before I watch a little TV with John. We are watching an English version of “Cops”. The English cops are relatively gentle and the fun is mostly in how stupid their “perps” are. We discuss American police vs English police, and John explains that the English police are very rational, and if you’re reasonable enough with them can be talked out of a DUI unless you’re really falling down drunk. I’ve met a few retired English policemen, and they seem more like social workers than police. On the other hand John has a story about a Virginia port that he was in where the local police would give a sailor who missed the launch back to the ship a place to stay in the local jail.
Carol has a cigarette hanging out of her mouth a good deal of the time. She rolls her own cigarettes. I always feel like she is very good natured, and you know what’s going on with her at all times. I’m not certain that this is truly who she is, but it seems that way to me. They have a couple of children who have left the nest, neither of whom live in Fleetwood anymore, although her daughter and their grandchildren live close enough that they see them regularly. We have met the daughter when we were at their house in 2011. There was a party going on there when we arrived that time. This time seems relatively quiet.
John and Carol have pets, a dog and a cat. The dog is at the center of their existence. They call him Doofus, and claim that he never will do anything that he’s told, although he’s a pretty good pet as far as their concerned. He seems like a nice dog to me, part Golden Retriever, and part Labrador Retriever. As cats go, we don’t see the cat much except a silhouette of him in the window which Carol says means he wants to come in the house.
After breakfast we drove across the Pennine Mountains to get to Blyth, Northumberland where we are currently. I remembered the drive from 2011, but it seemed longer to me. The drive starts on the motorway where we drove north for what must have been pretty close to an hour. When we got off of the motorway we headed into the mountains.
The road was narrow, and there were a lot of hairpin curves to drive around. I pretended that I was in a race, and wound the little engine and our rental car up to the point that a governor took over and kept me from winding it up anymore. We did stay on our side of the narrow road.
So I entertained myself with the driving, which was quite intense unlike motorway driving. We wove our way up the hills through fields full of sheep, and little farms with stone outbuildings.
We both admired the stone fences that separated one farm from the other.
Eventually we arrived at the top which was about 3000 feet and roared down the other side of the Pennines to eventually arrive in Blyth.
FROM KRISTI:
My language skills are gradually returning after donkey's years (three to be exact). But up here there are yet different additions to be recalled. Last night at the Iron Horse in Aycliffe we heard a song about a pit cuddy, otherwise known as a gallowa. It was a sentimental tribute to the faithful pony that hauled coal in the mine, otherwise known as the pit, and the pony was called a cuddy. A canny wee cuddy coddled with sweets.
 |
| Strawberry Gardens - home of Fleetwood Folk Club |
We were in Fleetwood a few days ago. I think I mentioned it the last time I was writing this stuff. We have played the Fleetwood FC three times now I believe. We also have played the Fylde Folk Festival twice now. Fleetwood is a lovely little town in Lancashire, just a couple of miles from Blackpoole. It is a very down-to-earth crowd we play for there at a pub in the middle of a working class neighborhood.
When we arrive in Fleetwood we can never get a hold of the organizer, or the people we are to stay with. It is usually a long drive there from wherever and we get there early just because we have been lucky with traffic, and we give ourselves lots of time. That means that we have to entertain ourselves for awhile before the club starts at 8 pm. This time we went to the grocery store, and then I took a nap in the parking lot of the superstore (in our rented automobile).
That didn’t take up enough time, so after the nap we got ourselves over to where we were to play and took a walk around the neighborhood. It is populated by row houses, and might remind you of a New York City neighborhood in that there are lots of people out walking around. There is a candy store where it’s only teenagers hanging out. The houses are in varying states of repair, and disrepair, occupied, and unoccupied.
Fleetwood used to be a fishing town, but has always had some of the tourist overflow from Blackpoole as well. Kristi got a little history from one of the FC members, something about a developer who built the streets by fanning out from a point on a knoll, with the help of a mule and a plough. That story came from the enthused mariner helping the club organizer at the door. He showed Kristi his splendid portfolio of drawings taken from early photos of the town, all original. There is more posh housing on the waterfront there. The folk club is on the third floor of the pub, and is immediately pretty friendly when we arrive. When I introduced “Durham County” as a song about a seaman who sees himself as a folksinger the guy at the door chimed in that it must be about him. I am on Joe Boe’s email list and hear from him several times a year. When he first talks to me I have not seen him except for one night three years ago, and although I suspect that it is Joe Boe I wait until someone confirms his identity.
Almost everyone in the room sings a song or recites a poem in between our sets, which go very well. It is definitely a night of sharing. We sold a few CDs, and I see our host people come into the room after we start playing. Carol and John are marvelous people. It comes out later that John has been feeling under the weather, and we are the only people important enough to get him out of the house of late. He has been holing up there for awhile. Carol is very outgoing, loud, and some fun. She is Irish. Both she and John have worked on ships. The merchant marine has been John’s career, and he talks about the places he’s been, ships he’s been on, and what has taken place on them. He and Carol worked on the same ships at times and at one point he asked Carol the name of one of the ships that they had worked on together to flesh out his story.
After we finish playing we get paid, pack up, and get our gear out to the car. On the way I get John and Kristi walks home with Carol. We arrive at about the same time as the house isn’t far from the pub. We have been on the wagon, but we decide to fall off this night as we don’t have to play for a couple of days after this and figure it won’t hurt for one night. We stayed up until about 3 am as it turns out, me drinking scotch, and Kristi drinking (uncharacteristically) white wine. I listened to John talk about his days at sea. He claims to be a conservative, but categorizes the crazies who call themselves conservative in the states these days way over the top from his brand. He says he believes in meritocracy. From Wikipedia ‘may be used to refer to any government run by "a ruling or influential class of educated or able people."’. Of course those of you who know me know that I’d be unlikely to sign on to a program like that. I think it’s just smoke and mirrors allowing for a “ruling” class. On the other hand, I have enjoyed hearing what the people who I stay with have to say. If you can believe it, I often am able to keep my mouth shut.
 |
| Carol and John Bailey in front of their house in Fleetwood |
The house that Carol and John live in is similar to other houses we stay in while traveling the UK. It is attached to other houses. The truth is that I didn’t look at the outside of their house much while staying with them. I think this was our third time. Last time I brought a bottle of Absinthe with me that we drank in one night. In the morning it is time for a traditional English breakfast, and we’re off on the road again, but not before I watch a little TV with John. We are watching an English version of “Cops”. The English cops are relatively gentle and the fun is mostly in how stupid their “perps” are. We discuss American police vs English police, and John explains that the English police are very rational, and if you’re reasonable enough with them can be talked out of a DUI unless you’re really falling down drunk. I’ve met a few retired English policemen, and they seem more like social workers than police. On the other hand John has a story about a Virginia port that he was in where the local police would give a sailor who missed the launch back to the ship a place to stay in the local jail.
Carol has a cigarette hanging out of her mouth a good deal of the time. She rolls her own cigarettes. I always feel like she is very good natured, and you know what’s going on with her at all times. I’m not certain that this is truly who she is, but it seems that way to me. They have a couple of children who have left the nest, neither of whom live in Fleetwood anymore, although her daughter and their grandchildren live close enough that they see them regularly. We have met the daughter when we were at their house in 2011. There was a party going on there when we arrived that time. This time seems relatively quiet.
John and Carol have pets, a dog and a cat. The dog is at the center of their existence. They call him Doofus, and claim that he never will do anything that he’s told, although he’s a pretty good pet as far as their concerned. He seems like a nice dog to me, part Golden Retriever, and part Labrador Retriever. As cats go, we don’t see the cat much except a silhouette of him in the window which Carol says means he wants to come in the house.
After breakfast we drove across the Pennine Mountains to get to Blyth, Northumberland where we are currently. I remembered the drive from 2011, but it seemed longer to me. The drive starts on the motorway where we drove north for what must have been pretty close to an hour. When we got off of the motorway we headed into the mountains.
The road was narrow, and there were a lot of hairpin curves to drive around. I pretended that I was in a race, and wound the little engine and our rental car up to the point that a governor took over and kept me from winding it up anymore. We did stay on our side of the narrow road.
So I entertained myself with the driving, which was quite intense unlike motorway driving. We wove our way up the hills through fields full of sheep, and little farms with stone outbuildings.
We both admired the stone fences that separated one farm from the other.
Eventually we arrived at the top which was about 3000 feet and roared down the other side of the Pennines to eventually arrive in Blyth.
FROM KRISTI:
My language skills are gradually returning after donkey's years (three to be exact). But up here there are yet different additions to be recalled. Last night at the Iron Horse in Aycliffe we heard a song about a pit cuddy, otherwise known as a gallowa. It was a sentimental tribute to the faithful pony that hauled coal in the mine, otherwise known as the pit, and the pony was called a cuddy. A canny wee cuddy coddled with sweets.
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