A Pictorial Day in Newcastle

Jimmy and Val near the car park.

Our extremely excellent hosts Jimmy and Val indulged us for a day of escapism in Newcastle.  It's named after the new castle which is only a thousand years old.   I had asked to see the Great North Museum at the city university.  It was conveniently located nowhere near the car park (see how comfortably I make the language switch here) meaning we needed to walk completely through downtown and soak in the sights first.  I found domed rooftops seemingly everywhere which made me wonder if there's a reason for that rhyme.  Once again we add a chapter to the series of Steve's photos of my butt.  In all our leisurely travels he surrepticiously stops on sidewalks and shoots the camera at my worst angle.  We have photos of my butt in a dozen or more interesting places and you'll not be seeing any of them here.  It was a fine day in every respect including the dinner at an underground Italian place near the quay.  Look that up.

I read "Down and Out in Paris and London" by George Orwell
before coming on this trip.  This hallway was once one of
those portals to impoverished hell described in
the Orwell memoir.

Can't get enough of those spectacular arches everywhere.

These are good times.

Much better view from the front.

Who knows what this soup kitchen looked like inside when it was first used.

This is the portal to hell from another view.

Dome #1.

Now we're in Grainger Market.  Note the pork pies.  Steve's most favored hat, called a porkpie, is named after the overhead view of it which looks exactly like one of these.

Doc Marten's store in Grainger Market.

Famous guy whose face nobody ever sees from the ground.

Yet another dome.

Here's where the architecture starts to get less interesting, saved by two beautiful older domed rooftops.  The seagull obviously agrees with me.

Irish pipes, (uilleann) played nonstop by an expert.

Zapatistas aren't nearly as interesting as I-phones.

Dried up Neptune who seems to blame the guy below.

The Sage at Gateshead; a concert hall designed by Norman Foster.

We've been blessed with sunshine, warmth and good spirits here thus-far.  Cheers.

Kirkcaldy

New Scotland

I stand on your rocky crag

A thousand years of wind and rain whipping my face.

I swear I can hear the voices of the cruel past

In the scream of the wind.

I can taste those years in the rain

But now the castle is in ruins

And the chains of the peasants are broken.

There will be no respite for the lords of the manor.

The voices whisper.

The ship makes a course for the closest harbor.

It is too late.

The master is no longer master.

The crew turns the boat around,

Heads back out to sea

To another port

Where they will take the future on board

And sail it to a new Scotland.

       

     We played in Kirkcaldy, Scotland on Thursday night.  It was a long day of driving, and business before we finally arrived there.  We exchanged rental cars at the Edinburgh airport.  That meant that we arrived a little later than we would have otherwise, but no problem.  The last time we were in Kirkcaldy we were staying with friends near Glasgow, drove over and back in the dark, or with nightfall coming on.  This time we drove into Kirkcaldy in broad daylight and were better able to see what kind of place it is.  When we arrived at our hosts house, we both had our doubts about what kind of accomodations awaited us.  It was an old building with a sign in front designating it as a post office for a place called “Pathhead”. 

     As it turned out it was a beautiful, charming home.  It is three stories.  There are objects on the steps going up to the second floor, and paintings, pictures on the wall all the way up to the third floor.  The lounge is a comfortable place, and there is a deck leading to a lovely garden with a view of the neighbors roofs.

Our hosts, Davey, and Mary are retired social workers.  We instantly connected.  I’m not sure at all how that worked.  I was in an exceptional chatty mode all the time we were there.  They were pretty good talkers too, so it worked out fine.

     There is a referendum up for vote that will make Scotland a separate country, will take it out of the United Kingdom. The truth of the matter is that I really had no idea what this meant.  I have not been generally a fan of states seceding from their mother country, suspicious of the motives, and doubtful about the outcome for both the seceding state, and the mother country.

     On the other hand, Scotland IS another country with it’s own language, customs, and social mores that are separate from the English.  The general story that I heard from our hosts is that Scotland is a much more leftist country than the UK, and they want the right to pursue their own socialist destiny.  There is only one conservative MP out of Scotland, the rest being quite liberal.  I have stayed with conservatives, and with liberals in Scotland over the years of playing there.  I don’t necessarily engage in long political discussions as a guest, not wanting to end up sleeping in my car.

     Later in the night we talked about many things including the aristocracy in the UK, and whether they have any real use at all.  From what I could gather, having a queen, king, etc. is like having a soccer team, and is a distraction from reality for the masses of people.  Having written that I realize that I’m probably going to hear more about it, whether I want to or not.  I mentioned the fact that having a group of people who are born into privilege like royalty underlines the unfairness of the economic system in practice.  Strangely enough, most people don’t see it that way.  I could have talked to Davey and Mary more.  They seemed to me to have answers to many of my questions.

     We were there to play music, which we did.  It was a great audience that clapped loudly, and enthusiastically.  They laughed at our jokes, and we felt like we were truly sharing our music with them.  It all took place at the Polish Club, and they have a custom that if you say Polish Club they will all shout “hey” at you, or it could be something else, but it is loud, and it is fun to say “Polish Club” a few times in a night.  Oh, and the drinks were free for the musicians at the bar and it is probably the most highly paid gig we will play while we are here.  I say, the more you get paid, the better you get treated.

     Friday morning we went for a walk with Mary after they fed us breakfast.  She took us down to the beach where there was a “Dovecote”, and a castle, and walls along the beach that the local aristocracy had built to keep the “riff raff” off of their property.  There were sea birds, and crows.  We got just the right amount of exercise, and a look at the local history.  The “dovecote” is a beehive shaped stone structure that was built to house pigeons which were used as a source of nourishment for the local aristocrats.  As much of a project as it must have been to build such a robust structure, the pigeons must have been tasty.

Dovecot (Scottish "Doocut")

Ravenscraig Castle (beach view)

Building began in 1420 looked like this when finished

     On our way to Kirkcaldy the GPS had taken us through the countryside on an “alternate” route.  It was entertaining, and quite rural as opposed to the customary A1, which we would have driven if using just a map.  On the way back there was construction on the alternate route, and we ended up on the A1 where there was about a 20 minute delay for construction as well.  We are happily back in Blyth where life chugs along at its’ normal pace.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

GETTING TO BLYTH . . . or From Fleetwood to Blyth

GETTING TO BLYTH . . . or From Fleetwood to Blyth

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.

Who Invented the Light Bulb?

Quick spot quiz: who invented the lightbulb?  Thomas Edison, right?  Failed the ethnocentric test again, Yankee.  The photo above is Newcastle's claim to fame on a wall.  You'd think this guy would merit a whole statue on a shelf on a wall, but all he gets is this brass plaque.  Newcastle isn't big on dead guys on buildings. In fact the only one we saw yesterday was so high up on a pillar you couldn't even recognize him from any angle. But Swan had a pretty important role I'd say with the incandescent bulb.  That introduced a revolution of progress to the developed world and forever changed circadian rhythms of our species.  Who'd think after just 115 or so years it has had it's swan song.  In Tacoma the sales of them is banned from stores.  Our power company figures if they're replaced by energy-efficient bulbs within a few years there will be far fewer new power plants needed in the Pacific Northwest.  I read in the News Tribune that the incandescent bulb sheds it's light 90% by burning fire, which is pitiful next to it's competitors, CFL, LED, and halogen.  So the incandescent bulb is history.

The First Days in the U.K.

                                                                             

   I think I’m getting over jetlag, but I’m not over it yet.  We have managed to get through two performances so far.  The first we played as a four piece with our good friend John Montague and his percussionist friend Alex.  Both of them are excellent players.  I did record that performance.  I haven’t listened to it yet.
     On the plane coming over here we sat next to a young Australian who works for amazon.com.  We both talked about our respective lives.  He was of Maylasian descent, and had gone to college in London.  He had been living in London for a number of years while he got his education, and made his first steps toward having a career.  He reads non-fiction nearly exclusively, is a  nose to the grindstone kinda guy (I think).  He is a vey friendly guy who will be living in China working for Amazon.com very soon.  He has a girlfriend who lives in Hong Kong, and he will be living close enough to Hong Kong to at least see her on weekends.
     Before I left on this trip I read “Down and Out in Paris and London”s by George Orwell.  I also read  “A Fine Balance” by Rohinton Mistry.  Both of these books deal with extreme poverty, and the oppression inherent in the societies where these conditions exist.  “Down and Out in Paris and London” is listed as a memoire.  I’ve had the subject of poverty on my mind anyway.  These two books immersed me in the experience.  I’m starting to get over that immersion now, but I have written a number of songs dealing with the subject, and we sing something like that every night.
    Jonathan, who I met on the plane over, was interesting to talk to.  He had had some experiences that put him face to face with poverty, although I’m not certain how much thought he had given to it.  He told me that his girlfriend, who lives in Hong Kong, visited the quarters where her servant women lived, and she was shocked at the shabby conditions they were living in.  We talked a bit about Australia where he is from, and he made it clear that Australia is the country which holds his loyalty, and first love.
     We didn’t have to play anywhere for the first couple of days and we went to stay with our  friends Geoff, and Jacqui Leeds in Sawbridgeworth.  Jacqui is disabled, and Geoff is still working.  He works in security for a large insurance firm in London.  We were trying to get over our jetlag, which has been pretty bad this trip.  When we arrived at the Leeds Geoff said we were a day early.  We think that it was just a glitch with Jacqui, as Kristi was quite sure she had arranged for us to be there at that time.  Unfortunately they had had a leak in their bathroom and Geoff was busy fixing that.  He also put some new lights in the kitchen which they had had some work done on.  They have bamboo floors now, and a new stove with one oven that does both regular oven heating, and is also a microwave oven.  Kinda cool.

     By now it is a few days later and we have played three bookings:  Monty’s Acoustic Club was the first, and we played it as a four piece band with John Montague on guitar and Alex Warwick on percussion.  We rocked pretty well.
     Next we played at St. Neot’s Folk club.  This is run by our old friends, Patti, and Roger Pitt.  They are both retired now, Patti from teaching, and Roger from drafting and design.  The night there went very well.  It was a more conservative scene than Monty’s Music, but we were well received.  We have been used to being around a fairly progressive crowd.  Roger is a climate change denyer.  He doesn’t use the internet, can’t tell you exactly why, but I guess it gives him the heeby jeebies.  We spent the day after that in Cambridge, which Kristi and I had visited a few times before.  Even more interesting to me than Cambridge was the trip over there which took us around to a number of villages, and we looked at old houses.  These were really old houses as in older than the United States.  Roger explained to me that house construction in England varies around the country according to the natural materials that are available to build with.   The houses around that area used to be mainly mud, and wood construction with thatched roofs.  Kristi took this closeup of thatch which was on a thatched fence.
                                                                           

Closeup of thatch

                                                                                

Thatched Wall

     In the drive around the villages there was a discussion of the aristocracy, the workers houses that we saw, and the larger houses that were owned by the “lord of the manor” so-to-speak.  I am aware that this culture was similar in the North American continent, but not quite the same.  I also read a book called “Paris” by Edward Rutherfurd recently that described the aristocracy in France.  The book was what my friend David Gilmour referred to as “faction”.  It had made an impression on me and it described the relationship of the wealthy, and privileged to the poor.  It is something that doesn’t go away.
     In Cambridge bicycles are a very major form of transportation.  I have seen this in Japan as well.  I suppose that this is true in almost any college town these days, although in my day it was walking or the automobile, and not so much the bicycle.
                                                                         

     I think there was an agenda that went somewhat awry as there were a number of attractions that were closed.  We mostly walked around Cambridge with a walking commentary from our hosts, Roger and Patti.  It is an attractive town full of many colleges.  That's something that I have not seen so much in the USA.  A lot of times where we live colleges are placed in small towns such as Ellensburg, or Cheney, or Bellingham and there is only one college, maybe two there.

                                                                                     

King's College from the rear

At Lunch

Goose Eggs (don't see these often in our local farmer's market)

Market color

Lots of this there

I am going to put some more pictures from Cambridge here simply because they are a little bit interesting.   There was a market outdoors, which may have been an everyday occurence mainly aimed at tourists.  I don't know.  It didn't look particularly local in produce, and there was quite a bit of touristy stuff.  

     Today we walked around Blyth with our friends Jimmy and Val Monteith-Towler.  I bought a sweater at a thrift store, and Jimmy and Val had errands picking up a package from the post office, and also they delivered a package to another post office annex.  We have spent a lot of time talking about songwriting, and bands, booking etc.  I’ve got to admit that I feel quite comfortable talking about these subjects that we have been grappling with for so long.  We tried out their PA system which we will be using tomorrow night, and maybe on Monday night as well.  This is realizing that using a PA system creates something of a boundary between you and them.  You must avoid moving your head around, so when looking at an audience while singing it is a little bit different than just playing the room.  The last couple of gigs have been all acoustic, and I’ve got to admit that I wonder how much we were being heard, and understood.  The room in Fleetwood was very prone to making the guitars/instruments louder than the vocals.  I only hope that I recognized this and kept the guitar out of their faces.  We did sell a few CDs.
      People do ask me if we have a new CD.  I knew that we should have recorded one before we came, but there really hasn’t been the time lately.  I really doubt that there has been anyone who owns all of our CDs.  We have quite a few titles with us.  They should be able to find something that suits them that is part of our old repertoire of CDs.  I really worry a bit about CDs becoming obsolete.  We are going to be stuck with a large archive of them when, if this happens.

Concrete Railroad ties

     I thought that this little piece of track was interesting as we have wooden railroad ties in the U.S., or at least we did when I was young.  These rails are not in use now.  Jimmy hasn't seen these rails be used since they have been living in the neighborhood.  He is a railroad afictionado. 

The other side of the tracks

     Here is another remnant of the railroad that once ran through this neighborhood.  There are rails nearby that are still in use as well.

Ladder to a ghost switch.

    The first post office we went to was a "rental".  We have these in the states as well.  It seems like business here all has its' analog in the U.S.  

     I'll call it a day for now.  I hope you've enjoyed our first blog.  Steve N.3/09/014

FROM KRISTI
We're on route now day ten of thirty-three.  It's such a pleasure to arrive at a place in an alien continent where there is familiarity, comfort, welcoming, commonalities, and safety.  We're at such an oasis now, the home of Jimmy and Val in a town near Newcastle.  We've finished three gigs without mishap, all well-received, in three towns in the midlands of England.  At last I can relax and feel as if I'm on vacation this day between gigs.  Ethnocentricity is an exercise of such pleasant arrogance that we comfortably call it exotic.  I'm forever looking at this and thinking "WE" don't have that back home so isn't it very interesting!

We had a day of vacation in Cambridge with our excellent hosts Patti and Roger Pitt.  We strolled past dead people on pillars and I of course wondered why "WE" don't have any on our buildings.  It would appear our monumental edifices such as governmental or religious buildings aren't important enough to be adorned with statues high up.  These guys peer down on us from various pedestals all over Cambridge, and they aren't all important people.  Of course that barefoot king with the pigeon on his head is the exception.  And needless to say Cambridge considers itself to be as ubiquitously important as any ancient institution in the world.  But one building is festooned with carved wedding-cake swags of bric-a-brac caught up at intervals with faces of people nobody could ever identify, yet immortalized in stone.  Maybe we should have that back home, and I could be one of those faces.  Who were these people and why did they wind up on buildings?  Was that brother-in-law of the sculptor happy with the portrayal of his face on that building?

As Bill Bryson points out, the names of places have a very different character here as well.  I noticed as we passed a sign post, two names placed consecutively, "Yelling" and then "Gravely".  I pondered those two locations.  Then it came to me what it would sound like: "I'M SORRY BUT YOUR CAT HAS BEEN RUN OVER BY A TRUCK!"  That would be an example of yelling gravely.

I included the above photo as an example of an exotic northern delicacy.  We encountered this while shopping for lunch groceries at the ASDA supermarket, England's equivalent of Walmart, owned by the same guys.  The black pudding in the center peels off with the slice of lunchmeat.  It consists of congealed pig's blood with globules of fat visible.  I thought, what will those Waltons think of next?  They really know what will be CLASSIC, as the package boasts.