Ramblin' Folks

     We have been traveling a bit.  Our friends Jimmy and Val (jiva) came out to see/hear us at Croxdale.  Fred, and Sheila were there as well.  It was a nice night, with lots of music from Fred, Sheila, and jiva. The evening before we went to the folk club, which is held in the Daleside Arms pub, we went for a walk around Fred's neighborhood.  As many times as we've been to Croxdale, we never had done that before.  We always do a lot of preparing for our next trip on the road such as doing laundry, shopping, preparing food for the road, maybe a bit of rehearsal, and generally taking care of business.  It is always interesting to me that as densely populated as England is, there is still a lot of land that is empty, and public paths to explore the parts that are in that state.

Croxdale from the fields.

I've never seen a warning sign like this before.

Croxdale is a former mining town, and Fred lives in what was miner's quarters.

     After playing that night we went home to Fred's for a drink, and cheese and crackers before bed.  Both of us slept well, and we slept in a bit the next morning.  We were headed for Dunfermline, about a 3 hour drive from Croxdale.  Kristi made lunches for us to eat on the road while I finished packing and loaded the car.  We bid farewell to Fred Brierley and set out on the road to Dunfermline, Scotland.  It is about a 3 hour drive.  I would say the drive was more, or less uneventful other than having a detour in Alnwick (pron. Annick).
     We stayed with Gifford Lind in Dunfermline.  We managed a short nap before "tea" with Gifford, and his wife Anne.  Then it was off to the folk club.  I drove, and had to significantly rearrange the care before we set off in order to have room for Gifford, his guitar, and both of our guitars..  I did manage that.  We have played Dunfermline folk club everytime we've been to the U.K.  By this time we know a number of the members by name, and by their particular approach to their instruments, and voices.

Steve and Kristi @ Dunfermline Folk Club

Of course there is Gifford, who is the master-of-ceremonies, and a master songwriter/guitarist.  He's also a person with a very intense interest in history, and culture.  He is a great conversationalist.  There is Davey Lockhart, and 80+ year old master painter who plays violin, and recites poetry.  There is Lindsey Porteous, well known for his jews harp playing, and somewhat of a musicologist.  Lindsey shows up with a different instrument every week, and he plays them all.  This time it was cow's horns that he had made flutes out of.
     We have been playing the songs off of our most recent recording for our first set lately, and it goes down exceptionally well.  This night was like that.  Gifford was full of praise for us, and he had gotten praise for us from his audience at the folk club.  The club is held in a small auxiliary room of the Thistle Pub.  This night there were about 20 club members there.
     The next morning we slept late.  There was really no hurry to leave, except we had a lunch date out in the wilds of South Scotland with our good friends Mary Smith, and Malcolm LeMaistre.  They had just moved to their house on the Loch, and things were in the disorganization that you'd expect for having just moved.   There was lots to talk about.  We had lunch with them, and retired to "the garden" for a dessert of chocolate, and exquisite conversation in view of the loch.

Malcolm LeMaistre

Mary Smith

Malcolm always has a lot happening.  His latest project is putting together "The Barrow Band", a band that plays songs about plants, and animals, ostensibly for children.  From what he says, he has a great lineup, and I'm certain that the band will be a lot of fun.  He is also working on the ~"Not the Incredible String Band", a group of musicians that includes Malcolm who formerly worked with The Incredible String Band.  That's an entirely different story though.  In the meantime he and Mary have moved, and have an entirely new cast of characters living with them.  They really should be a sit com.  I won't, or should I say couldn't really tell you all about what is/has been happening with their old place, Gowanbank, and the new/old spot on the loch, but it's a lot.  These days I wonder if I'll ever see an old friend like Malcolm again when I drive away, and this time it made me very sad to go.  He is someone with whom I can readily share my hopes, and dreams, and I his.  There are too few people with whom I have that kind of relationship.  

     We drove to a long visit with Jimmy and Val Monteith-Towler, aka jiva.  They are close friends as well, and even today we have shared a lot.  Yesterday we drove up to Holy Island (one of the few places that is pronounced just as it is spelled), and  Lindisfarne (pron. lindis fawn)Castle, and then to Bamburgh (pron. bam burra) Castle.  We went to lunch in Bamburgh (pron. Bam Burra), and then up to the elegant castle that stands watch over the town, and the North Sea.  You can see lots of pics on my Facebook page.

Lindisfarne Castle (pron. Lindis fawn)

Bamburgh (pron. Bam burra) Castle gate

     I don't think there's much interesting to say about doing touristy things.  We did them, we enjoyed them, today we get ready for our next series of gigs.  I will say that we've had this spelling experience U.K. style.  I now know that I'm not a particularly good speller.  I would never pronounce Alnwick as Annick (which is correct).  I even know that I didn't know how to pronounce Leicester, although I thought I did.  It is pron. lesta.  I was saying lester.  There are many, many more places, and things that have names, and now I know for certain that I don't speak English.  I guess it's a bastard amaracan language that I speak.  Maybe I should be keeping my mouth shut.  At any rate that's what I'm a gonna do right for now.   Thank you for your attention ladies, and gentle mens.  Steve N.

9-10-011  -  Scroll down to see Kristi's comments.

jiva  -  My language mentors

Digital Jimmy doing his impression of what it means to be "digital"

Kristi Nebel and her beautiful bass guitar

By the Sea
                                 by Kristi Nebel


I think I have finally and truly arrived here in England and Scotland on this, my seventh musical tour, because no one yet has introduced me as Kirsty.  Though I might not mind the name; it's lovely and by now has graced a number of programs and websites.  When I mentioned it to our audience in Dunfermline our host and emcee, Gifford Lind, got flustered and immediately reverted to the name that most naturally rolled off his tongue, though; Kirsty.

A week or so ago I spied a tiny child in a laundromat wherein we were washing clothes.  She had a cherubic blonde face,going around coughing from deep in her little chest.   I should have felt the impulse to cradle her and nurse her to health.  I'm evil.  I wanted to run for my life.  when I get head colds I many times get laryngitis and can't sing.  That's deadly to my lifestyle, meaning I can't pay my bills.  I have caught something in the past two days but not as severe so far as what that toddler had.  It's just a sniveling little sniffle and sore throat as yet.  Wish me luck.

We've been in holiday seaside towns lately.  Here in England a trip to the beach holds plenty of allure to the citizenship.  A typical holiday seems to go as such: motor yourself to the beach.  Hire a beach hut which faces the sea.  Get your folding beach chairs out of the hut and line them along the beach railing facing the sea.  Walk along the esplanade and buy ice cream.  Then sit on the chair and contemplate the sea.  No messing with the sea itsself here.  Only tiny tots occasionally do that; it's much too cold to remove clothing and toss around a ball or splash in the water with an inflatable.  So it would appear in this densely populated island folks make the pilgrimmage by the thousands to the perimeters to escape civilization and ponder their last solitary wilderness, the ocean.

No charter fishing boats, either.  The sea, I'm guessing, holds no allure since all the big fish were scooped up by the fishing industry some thirty years ago.  We play in folk clubs with singers still clinging to the identity of a trade plied by their parents and now lost.  The tradition of songs of the sea continues to spawn many festivals and singing groups to such an extent that after these seven years I've become familiar with quite a few and can join in with customary gusto on the many chanteys.  The more recently written ones, by such singers as Matt Armour, deal with the sadness of abandoned dreams and rotting, beached boats.  We bring our own from the still-thriving seas of Alaska.  Our family continues to fish salmon so the lifestyle lives on there with two more generations enjoying the challenging and dangerous lifestyle of living by and off the sea.