Sunday 19th May 2013
Maybe this post should be on CyKlopps..
This post is a dedication to my friend John Cook. On Thursday his mother passed away, she had been suffering recently. It was few months ago she was put into a care home. Although this was the right thing to do, most close friends knew that she was not to come out and this would be her last action in life. Now the Spirits and Universe can care for her.
I did not know her very well, myself, I had not seen her for a long time, way in 1989. But is John himself I worry for. He is now 63 and he is very lucky to be alive. Back in 1975, age 22, he had a stroke and some other attack that rendered him disabled in so much as unable to talk properly and unable to do things that most of us take for granted. At the time he had just started a job as a lecturer at Newcastle University. He was given approx. five years to live, and here he is still going. His only disablement he really has is talking. his brain is ahead of his words. So this post is for the good times.
In 1971 the summer at Brockenhurst in the heart of the New Forest, my friend and I sat in the Rose and Crown, we both had our acoustic guitars. While enjoying a pint on a nice warm evening, playing our guitars quietly in alley part of the bar. Three guys came into the bar and after purchasing their beers they came into the alley and sat just along from us. The long wavy haired guy also had a guitar. It did not take us long to start chatting. They were from Gateshead, Newcastle. George the guitar player, John was the the poet.
The song below was written by myself and great friend John D. It was inspired by our new found friends. And still are. However do apologise for the quality, it was recorded in 1973, and has be re done several times over the years. But it is what it means and represents that matters.
After this first meeting, we all started to hit it off, and get on great. Having many things in common, guitars and music, John C [geordie] both into poetry and lyrics. For two weeks they remained here on a camping holiday, and met up daily. And when their holiday came to an end we had a fabulous last evening, on ‘Waters Green’ a nearby piece of grass area. Here we all had a sing song, chat and drinks. By the end of the evening there were about thirty of us, and the finale’ was ‘auld lang syne’
Although now the only one that has survived the years is John C, the one who was not supposed to see the years past 30. So this little piece is my way of remembering and thanking him and all others from Gateshead.