Episode Eight

First encounters with a turbulent priest.

And so it came to pass that that skiving chancer Jessie Adams got a summer job as a juggling clown on a cruise liner, which obliged him to take some time off from the fold firm's less lucrative endeavours. In order to fulfil a couple of engagements we asked our good friend Mr Gary Miller to work up a set of Blyth songs with us and act as stand in. Well, the last time we asked anyone to do this, it was Jessie and Bambi, and we liked it so much that we asked them to stay. No surprise then when it transpired that having Mr Miller on board proved such an enjoyable asset that we decided we'd engage him on a permanent basis. Hurrah! This is how it came to pass.
The weekend of June 30th was to be his first stand in appearance. There were two engagements: the Earlsdon Cottage in Coventry, and the Crawley Folk Festival. Pretty much the opposite ends of the scale as far as Blyth Power gigs are concerned.
Lo. On the morning of Friday 29th we set off for the sunny south in the Whisky Priest's big white van, which is v. comfy. Mr Miller drove us to the charming residence in which Jessie Adams has set up his yurt, for the cruise liner was not due to depart before the following morning, so Jessie had packed his steamer trunk in readiness, and was going to play the Coventry show with us before taking a cab to the railway station, and a nigh-sleeper train to the Port of Liverpool from whence - to the cheers and farewells of loveable scouse dockers, he would set sail for the New World.
Owing to the immense importance to his juggling career that this cruise represented, we were anxious that Jessie not become injured during the performance. Last time we played Coventry he managed to break two machine heads, one thumb, and the edge of the stage by falling from a great height during an impassioned guitar-solo atop the merchandise table. Oh dear reader - the unwisdom of trying to balance on one foot on a table top covered with 7" vinyl in slippery plastic sleeves! Thus it was that we made sure he played on the other side of the stage in a corner next to Gary and Bambi, in front of a combined pile of bass and guitar amplifiers that brought to mind that stack that is remembered as 'Rutherford's Folly' at Trinity Heights studio.
Many were the railway literate among the small but select clientele. The band played a first set, during which a number of old hits reappeared. Burning Joan and Katherine's Will have been re-introduced, only longer and slower, especially for Chris from B. Stortford. Swing swung, and Rowan's Riding rocked. Don't you just love lashings of lovely alliteration?
During the interval a gentleman who should, by all rules of appearances, have been a trainspotter approached TDL. He was not. He was a jazz saxophonist named Nigel, and he asked very politely if he might play along on a couple of tunes. TDL agreed, and so to Mr Miller's bemusement, he found himself, on his first appearance with the band, flanked by a bouncing Jessie and a grey-haired horn player playing Animal Farm and Stitching In Time for all they were worth.
It was well worth seeing.
Tearfully we waved Jessie off to catch his steamship, then repaired to Curly's house where we were delighted to learn that our host is a fan of The Bill. So are we. Hurrah!

Saturday dawned, with an impending sense of po-faced seriousness. We were on our way to a folk festival. Was this a good idea? You might ask…
Yes as it turned out. With the exception of the crusty looking marshals at the gate, who couldn't direct the way out of a paper bag, everyone was efficient and on the ball. Well, almost. It took a while to get the preceding band to get their gear offstage, but this aside, all went smoothly. Hi spot of the early evening was when Norma Waterson mistook TDL for a steward and thanked him for the hospitality. Jessie's response, when we told him this on his return from the seven seas was eloquent:
"I thought she was a bookshop…."
And so Blyth Power went onstage, with Mr Miller in control of the guitar department. The sound onstage was immaculate. The earth moved. We even managed to sell a few CDs before the cleaners threw everyone out of the auditorium to prepare it for the next act - messy lot Blyth fans. There must have been at least three empty crisp bags on the floor. I blame those Hilditch boys…
So, packed up, paid off, and with the keys to a nice hotel across the road we went and caroused until far into the night. Actually, TDL, who is Mr Fun, went back to his room and watched Anthony Hopkins play Nixon in the long-winded film of the same name. No wonder he slept soundly.
The following morning all foregathered in the hotel breakfast suite. There were all kinds of folk singers and musicians there, eagerly discussing the fascinating hybrids of folk crossover. There were violinists and mandolin players, balladeers and storytellers, Bodhran players and people who make that droning noise on a box with a kind of handle on it. There were singers of shanties, and folk who sung about the farmer's daughter. Whistlers, peddlers, Morris men, mummers and mimes, rubbing shoulders with every combination of musicians and artists that ever succeeded in blagging an arts council grant.
There was Blyth Power too, only they were sat in the corner by the telly, watching Hollyoaks and shovelling down enough breakfast for twelve.

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