harry's game

yet another quiet week in worthing so i thought i'd ruminate. it occurs to me that some people, sad people, don't know who harry gregg is or why i assumed the frivolous diminutive for this blog. i'll tell you if you promise not to tell anyone….i am not, nor have i ever been, a fan of manchester united but i was always a fan of harry gregg. he had the misfortune of playing for “them”.

i guess most people have reasons for buying their first television. my dad bought ours in 1958 to watch northern ireland play in the 1958 world cup. we didn’t even have hot water or an inside loo - he was good on priorities! but we huddled around the small black and white screen (such interference in those days, especially in the middle of the sperrins - we called it "snow") and could just about pick out the ball. i can still remember most of the team - danny blanchflower; captain of spurs and perhaps the most accomplished half back in the history of the game, jimmy mcIlroy; gifted inside forward [what they?] and a legend in burnley; peter mcparland; villa winger who scored 5 goals. how many wingers would score that many goals in one tournament today? would he even get a game? a young derek dougan – the doog! and many, many more. but why am i writing this now?

simple. the recent remembrance of the munich air disaster reminded me of my true, real-life hero - harry. i saw him talk (no, he blethered – it didn’t matter. it was always about what he did, not what he said) at the recent 50th anniversary and it confirmed my opinion "once a hero, always a hero". he could have been a fireman – he didn’t run away from that crash he ran back in dragging others clear. what a man. i can still see him, in my mind's eye [1958 again – keep track!] running out of his box, grabbing off his cloth cap, to head away a dangerous long ball. and through all that snow on my tiny screen! i know it happened, i saw it. i remember it – i’ll never forget it. why don’t they show it again? how many of today's keepers would be multi skilled enough to do that?

does anyone read my ramblings? if you do, let me know; who is your hero and why?

mrtony i presume

christmas came and went, quietly, in worthing so i thought i'd go in search of the 21st century's intrepid explorer - mrtony. if you haven't read his blog, shame on you! found him amongst the kiwis; not sure he recognised us at first but he seemed to be enjoying himself in the underworld - eventually he understood the odd word(s). "come with us - soft bed, nice shower, breakfast prepared, car hired"! it didn't take long; normal service resumed. good man - great guide!

highlights -

[sadly] decadent business class. can i ever travel again without complementary lounge, champagne on boarding, choice of dinner wine, four course meal, cheese, port, flat bed etc etc? guess i've worked long and hard enough to merit it but...................

the politeness and helpfulness in hong kong

the spectacular scenery in new zealand. just when you think you've seen something special there is something better around the corner

franz josef glacier

cessna flight over the southern alps

the [fast] history of a young country - discovered only 160 years ago. trying so hard to do so much right

queenstown - is there a more scenic and exciting town anywhere?

san francisco was all it's made out to be. loved it!

lowlights -

hong kong pollution

san francisco begging. didn't expect to find it on most streets. a sad reflection in the self proclaimed land of democratic freedom!

would i do it again? oh yes!

name that tune.....

another quiet week in worthing following my birthday celebrations. i think i survived. nice family meal (both nice, the family and the meal) and onwards for some musical diversion. knowing that i like the odd bit of music (yes, very odd sometimes) my family got me an ipod with the capacity to put a man on the moon - undoubtedly more than enough to hold my eclectic collection. anyway it got me thinking about what music has meant to me over the years. why do i like certain types of music? some people go for technical ability, or the words, or the mood or simply the moment. it’s not about “genre” whatever that means. surely you just listen to music you like but maybe that’s my defensive response to being defined as a country fan. i confess to liking some country music but i defy anyone to sit through a steve earl or wilco concert and not feel the walls shake. even allison krauss (an excellent though relatively refined bluegrass musician) has recently achieved acclaimed album success with an old led zepp stalwart. besides; how many rock legends pay homage to the influence of hank, gram and the man in black amongst others on their music? but where did my love of music start?

mid 50s: my sister olga and brother john loved music and sang in local halls. i remember and could still sing ‘singing the blues’ by guy mitchell, ‘last train to san fernando’ by johnny duncan, “rock island line” by lead belly (later lonnie donegan). and then there was ruby murray (remembered for the wrong reason today); who remembers wink martindale’s ‘deck of cards’ or ‘who’s sorry now’ by connie francis. frankly i’m surprised at the tunes and lyrics that are flooding my brain as i sit here, late at night, in front of blank screen with a mind that can’t remember what it had for dinner. must move on quickly or this could be the longest blog in history….

the 60s: we all remember, or know of, the music of the era. beatles, stones, dave clarke, manfred mann, marmalade..... the list goes on and on. but the music that is etched in to my psyche belongs to the mamas and papas, simon and garfunkle and in my college years, leonard cohen - a much maligned writer. a rare poet with a wry sense of humour. if you cut your wrists to his songs you missed the point! i didn’t go to much live music in those days – there wasn’t too much to go to in norn iron but i did get to see taste with a young rory gallagher, nina simone, woody herman and his herd - still remember that gig vividly although we didn’t use the word “gig” then. what does it mean literally? the best brass and woodwind musicians i have ever heard! even went to see our cilla, englebert and herman’s hermits live. englebert kindly did requests and someone in omagh asked for “the cow with the crumpled horn”. sadly , he didn’t do it.

just realised how long this blog could be. it could become a serial to run through the 70s, 80s, 90s, 00s to include neil young ...ryan adams.....dylan....van....nanci griffith....emmylou....kristofferson.....morrissey....elvis costello....cowboy junkies....iris dement....gary moore....john prine....moody blues....joan baez....jeff finlin....roger mcguinn...bob woodruff....suzy bogus...billy bragg...thea gilmore....tom russell....jason downes....bruce springsteen....brian wilson....chip taylor...josh ritter....richard thompson and many many more. who? i hear you ask. you don’t know my favourites any more than i know yours but that’s the joy of music. it’s what you like and when and where you liked it – loud, quiet, meaningful, subversive or simply nonsense. it doesn't matter.

finally leo - keep singing the blues. it still works for me. we’ll get our free bus pass together.

you are old, father william, the young man said……….

another quiet week in worthing so time to reflect –

what is “old”? can you see, feel, smell, taste or touch it? i hit 60 tomorrow and i still don’t know. is it in the body, the mind or the soul?

is it simply the perception of others or is it within me? when my dad was 60 i was 11. that seemed old then but he was a survivor and he hung around long enough to become my best friend. my mother too. neil young said it best “once an angel, always an angel. you’re as close to heaven as i will ever be”. whatever the family crisis, she simply said “och”. there is no word in the dictionary to adequately describe the calm that expression conveyed. it came straight from the heart, nowhere else, and said everything we needed to hear; sympathy, remorse, pain, rebuke….. but that doesn’t answer my question. am i old?

my body has seldom been good. rugby, athletics, cricket, football, volleyball…. all quite useful in my youth with awards to confirm a modest prowess. once scored a try at ravenhill and trod the same hallowed turf as the great mike gibson, the all blacks, the springboks and even my brother roy who did so in a much more distinguished way. played rugby in dublin on the day they blew up nelson’s column. shook hands with nick faldo, chris eubank, terry neil, lawrie sanchez, sven and nancy amongst others and watched the hurricane play snooker in a dingy hall in belfast before he blew out the lights all over the uk. transient!

my mind has never grown old. i still see myself the way i was and sometimes the way i would like to be. but what of others? mary was, is and will always be the best person i ever met. david, tony and iain give me equal pride and reason to go on. remarkably, i still have some good friends who walk with me, talk to me and tolerate my ramblings.

what of the soul? inherent guilt! an old prayer too often rattles round my brain “i have done those things i ought not to have done and left undone those things i ought to have done…...” true: but i really hope i have not hurt anybody along the way.

hey, ho. still time to put things right. lots to do. normal service resumed tomorrow….

i was alright for a while

yet another quiet week in worthing so what should i write about? really don’t want to write at all and had resigned myself to the fact that nobody read this nonsense. it is my confessional. but it seems a few disconsolate souls await the next instalment. sadly i could name them – you know who you are. this is for you.

what have i done, where have i been? donegal again - if you die without seeing it you haven’t lived. elsewhere billy connelly was outrageous but predictable. cowboy junkies were magnificent. the producers was the best musical i have seen. but there has to be a highlight - don mclean? “we love you, don” someone shouted from the floor [who, why?] but he was gracious enough to reply “i know you do and that’s why i come back”. call me sentimental but that meant a lot to some of us old softies.

i met a girl who sang the blues
and i asked her for some happy news,
but she just smiled and turned away.
i went down to the sacred store
where I’d heard the music years before,
but the man there said the music wouldn’t play……

or –

flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
swirling clouds in violet haze,
reflect in vincent's eyes of china blue.
colours changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
weathered faces lined in pain,
are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

that’s life!

oh ireland

another quiet week in worthing so went back to hibernia. the main attraction was to see stephen rea [great actor in my opinion] in a new play, specially written for him. frankly, i had never heard of the playright but surely he must be good to be in the famous abbey. don't ask! had absolutely no idea what was going on. rea was the only person on stage apart from a dead horse (and a young girl who emerged too briefly from the grave wearing very little - o/k there were some good parts) but it was absolute nonsense. thoroughly agreed with one reviewer who said "despite the celebrity appearance in this play, the one star rating goes to the horse". what a waste. could have been watching ireland getting hammered by france – it made more sense.

but things got better. thoroughly recommend a visit to kilmainham gaol. lots of history and, despite my "loyalist" background, i was moved by the sacrifices made by people who feel strongly enough to die for their country. but why? taking a cold war analogy would you rather be dead than red or red than dead? i think i prefer life. is that wrong?

next: went on a literary pub crawl. great crack. lots of clever quotes and anecdotes but the one i remember best is around brendan behan [look him up on google]. apparently, in the early 50s, the catholic clergy decreed that women shouldn't be allowed in to pubs because they corrupted men and encouraged evil thoughts. behan disagreed saying that an irishman is the only person on earth who would climb over 20 naked women to get to the bar. good man!

ted crilly remembered

another quiet few days in worthing, the calm only being disturbed by the delivery of our new recycling bins. don’t know why but it made me think of writing a song for europe.

My Lovely Bin

I’ve just been given a lovely bin.
It’s great for putting my rubbish in
It’s much bigger than the one I had before
and sits proudly outside my back door.

Chorus:
My lovely bin, oh my lovely bin.
It looks so pretty it makes me grin.
And when I gaze at my lovely bin
I think of all the nice things that I put in.

The council’s kind, they gave me two
One for food and one for news-
papers, plastic, tins and glass.
And you’ve got to say, they look really class.

Chorus.

I’ve had to put my number on
In case one day I find them gone.
Now it sits outside number 55
with all my detritus inside.

Chorus.

So when I die, don’t grieve for me
Just place me there, beneath that tree.
Decomposing slowly amid all my sin
Snugly inside my lovely bin.

Chorus.


Harry Gregg
September 2007