May I recommend. . .

[Stanley]

I'm sorry to hear that Wendy, he was a good man and a very competent farmer!

[Wendyf]

358133285_10161629126094505_1077362971082629438_n.jpg

[Stanley]

Lovely Wendy, straight into the archive!

[Stanley]

I've been back and watched the rest of the Lothersdale film. I was reminded that our Pickles of Barlick and before that, Kelbrook, all originated in Lothersdale. Lovely half hour, now I shall have a spot of dinner and then cook my vegetables!
Thanks for that Wendy.....

[Stanley]

If you like this, try Branch Line Volume 2.



Listen carefully to what Betjeman says about traffic increasing and the folly of neglecting the branch lines. He was right of course.

[Tripps]

There's so much in that video that makes me think. Wish I was bright enough to express it all. Suffice it to say - the djinn is out of the bottle and it's not going back in. That age is gone. . . .

I've got a book of his works - I like this. (Furnish'd and burnish'd )


Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
What strenuous singles we played after tea,
We in the tournament - you against me!

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,
The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won,
The warm-handled racket is back in its press,
But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.

Her father's euonymus shines as we walk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in
To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin.

The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double-end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.

On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts,
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And westering, questioning settles the sun,
On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

By roads "not adopted", by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the dance has begun,
Oh! Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!

Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car park till twenty to one
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.



Note: Betjeman, although married, was captivated by a work colleague called Joan Hunter Dunn and wrote this poem in 1940, fantasising about a parallel life with her. She later recalled the poem captured her lifestyle accurately, although she was to go on to marry a civil servant. She died in 2008.
-

[Stanley]

Thanks for that, I've always liked it. Will modern kids understand 'racquet press?
I had to look up euonymus.
(The footnote was interesting....)

[Tripps]

It's been a while.

I calculate that I've owned a copy this record for fifty nine years. Scary.
There's plenty to go at here - make of what you will. Is it deep truths - or just high class incoherent nonsense - or both?
I know what I think. I haven't - and doubt I ever will - get to the bottom of it.

He not busy being born . .

Propaganda -all is phony. . .

And it’s alright, Ma, I can make it






It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)
Written by: Bob Dylan


Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child’s balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying

Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool’s gold mouthpiece the hollow horn
Plays wasted words, proves to warn
That he not busy being born is busy dying

Temptation’s page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover that you’d just be one more
Person crying

So don’t fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It’s alright, Ma, I’m only sighing

As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don’t hate nothing at all
Except hatred

Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Make everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It’s easy to see without looking too far
That not much is really sacred

While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the president of the United States
Sometimes must have to stand naked

An’ though the rules of the road have been lodged
It’s only people’s games that you got to dodge
And it’s alright, Ma, I can make it

Advertising signs they con
You into thinking you’re the one
That can do what’s never been done
That can win what’s never beenwon
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you

You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks they really found you

A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit
To satisfy, insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not forget
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to

Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to

For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despise their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something they invest in

While some on principles baptized
To strict party platform ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God bless him

While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society’s pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he’s in

But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it’s alright, Ma, if I can’t please him

Old lady judges watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn’t talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony

While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer’s pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death’s honesty
Won’t fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes must get lonely

My eyes collide head-on with stuffed
Graveyards, false gods, I scuff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
what else can you show me?

And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They’d probably put my head in a guillotine
But it’s alright, Ma, it’s life, and life only

[Stanley]

Some verse goes completely over my head, as does that. I think you have to have a particular wiring set in your head to understand it. I lack it!

[Tripps]

I'll push it up the pecking order for the afternoon shift - in the hope that I'm not the only one who gets something out of it all.

If I am - then so be it.

It’s alright, Ma, I’m only sighing

Do I look bovvered? .

[Wendyf]

Love it David, but then you know that already. I wouldn't try to understand the lyrics, I just enjoy them.

[Stanley]

Is that the trick Wendy? Don't try to understand them, just let it wash over you? That's what I do with his singing but I can't do it with the text......
David, it's no reflection on you, it's my deficiency.....

[Tripps]

it's my deficiency....

Not at all - I doubt he could make a Stewart engine - despite receiving the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2016.

Now for the Spooky of all time -

I discover from his Facebook fan club that

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you:
Highway 61 Revisited! Released 58 years ago today - August 30, 1965! What a classic!"

I miscalculated the year I bought it.

[Stanley]

There's no doubt 'they' are monitoring your posts on social media David......

[Tripps]

Now for something completely different - I came across this tonight.

As someone says in the Comments - which was exactly my first thought too -

"We were a remarkable nation then. Within a very few years of the end of WW2, a song in German , a marching song at that,- was in the Hit Parade."






Mein Vater war ein Wandersmann
Und mir steckt's auch im Blut
Drum wandr' ich froh so lang ich kann
Und schwenke meinen Hut
Valeri, valera
Valeri, valera ha ha ha ha ha
Valeri, valera
Und schwenke meinen Hut

Das Wandern schafft stets frische Lust
Erhält das Herz gesund
Frei atmet draußen meine Brust
Froh singet stets mein Mund
Valeri, valera
Valeri, valera ha ha ha ha ha
Valeri, valera
Froh singet stets mein Mund

Warum singt dir das Vögelein
So freudevoll sein Lied?
Weil's nimmer hockt, landaus, landein
Durch and're Fluren zieht
Valeri, valera
Valeri, valera ha ha ha ha ha
Valeri, valera
Durch and're Fluren zieht

Was murmelt's Bächlein dort und rauscht
So lustig hin durch's Rohr?
Weil's frei sich regt, mit Wonne lauscht
Ihm dein empfänglich Ohr
Valeri, valera
Valeri, valera ha ha ha ha ha
Valeri, valera
Ihm dein empfänglich Ohr

Drum trag ich's Ränzel und den Stab
Weit in die Welt hinein
Und werde bis ans kühle Grab
Ein froher Wandrer sein
Valeri, valera
Valeri, valera ha ha ha ha ha
Valeri, valera
Ein froher Wandrer sein

[Stanley]

I remember it well and it didn't strike me as unusual, there was a version in English I think as well. Children's choirs were quite common, the Maia Choir in Stockport, the Luton Girls Choir and one in Scotland I seem to remember. (I see the Maia Singers are still extant. LINK)

[Stanley]

I don't like the finished boots but I like the way they were made....
A totally relaxing half hour......

[Stanley]

Could this be even better than the original?

[Tripps]

As discussed before - when the headline is a question - the answer is usually no.

Howver I'm not qualified to give an opinion - having never heard of either the song or the group.
(When and why did 'groups' become 'bands' ?

I tried (honest) but I'm unable to watch it. For me it's a bunch of unattractive show offs prancing up and down. and making a noise.

À chacun son goût - as they say.

Sorry.

[Stanley]

No need to apologise David! It's that glorious variety that means we have such a range of music to recommend....

[Tripps]

Speaking of mystery objects and Boll Weevils made me think of this - Other versions are available.

[PanBiker]

[Stanley]

I tripped over this.... well worth a coat of looking over!

[Big Kev]

having never heard of either the song or the group.
(When and why did 'groups' become 'bands' ?

Rainbow was formed by Ritchie Blackmore when he departed Deep Purple. The vocalist, on the Rainbow version, was Graham Bonnet.
'The Classic Rock Show' are touring the UK next year, they seem to do very well for a 'covers' band. I saw a similar band at the Muni in Colne the day before the country 'locked down', they were as good and it was a very enjoyable evening

[PanBiker]

Thinking maybe of the plethora of "Boy Bands" , how can they possibly be a band when none of them play instruments?