Bingley WMC
The men beer
in hand
Thumb tucked
in belt loop
Trousers
slung below bellies
Shirts and
sports shirts, shiny nylon.
Polo shirts
with ancient embroidery from the 1950’s.
Tan slacks
made for men of a certain age.
And the raffle…
Arthur
reads, “number 650 - the road to Leeds”
The band
white shirted, white haired
Survivors
Surviving
heart bypass, divorce, WWII, conscription, rationing
Boom and
bust British economy
The wax and
wane of Trad Jazz
And wane
And
Wane.
Until all that
is left is this WMC in Bingley
A barmaid
with blue plaits
A scattering
of older people
Sitting in
couples and groups of three
A
semi-circle around the guys.
Trombone,
trumpet, clarinet, double bass, drums, banjo
Most sit.
The songs croaked
And cracked
in brittle beauty
In fragile
filaments
Saw tooth
songs.
The audience
takes up the refrain
“Down by the
Riverside”
“Lilly of
the valley”
It’s an old beaten drum
patterning the
blues and New Orleans
Rhythms over
and over.
I opened a
draw and there was a box
I opened the
box and there was an old battered book
A Set List
book
Written in
copperplate fountain pen
My Father’s
book
“Down by the
Riverside B flat”
Lists of
numbers, chords, keys
With dates,
jobs played when and where.
Not everyone
pleased to see us
People are
territorial
Have you
paid your dues in beer and nights of your life?
Dad’s fans
imagine scenarios of Bohemian fantasy
A carefree
life of beer and wild music.
This is not
our reality
Not our
world
Ours is the
world of silence and imposed quiet,
“shhhhh
don’t wake Dad
He’s been
playing all night."
Key in the
door
The first
sound of it and I’m off
Like a shot,
upstairs don’t get caught by Dad
Unpredictable
Angry,
aggressive, interrogative
Or is it
just plain bothersome?
Best keep as
far out of his way as possible
Avoid
interaction
Avoid
stilted conversation
Blurred
chats
These people
in the room – what do they know
They just
see what they want to see
A beautiful
illusion
A fantasy
Make believe
jazz band
Every day
it’s Student Rag
A Bohemian
Ball
Re-live those
student memories and make them last 50 years
I give it
back to you - grey couples
It’s yours -
not mine
This image
is not my Father
It is
someone else
Keep him yourselves.
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