---

Hatfield Forest (Woodfest) Festival of Woodcraft
Takeley, (Near Stansted Airport) Essex,
Saturday 6th Sept, 2008
On Stage at 1pm
Small Intimate weekend festival set in the heart of the Forest
Fun for all the family and chidlren's activities including wood modeling and face painting. 10am to 5pm (arrive anytime) Free entry (small charge for some activities). Further details from: 01279 870678

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

William Dewy, Tranter Reuben, Farmer Ledlow late at plough,
Robert's kin, and John's, and Ned's
And the Squire and Lady Susan, murmur mildly to me now
THOMAS HARDY

---

To comment on any of these blogs or any other subject on this page:
The Apache John Blog
or
Visit Apache John at Myspace

---

Busker Brian & The East suffolk Coast 1973

 

Busker Brian May Be Located On http://www.buskerbrian.com

 

I'm not sure when I first met Brian. It was almost as if he'd been there forever. He was a year or so behind me at school. So I was aware of him then. When I was in my late teens and early twenties we used to hang around The Star Inn in Bishop's Stortford, the market town on the Hertfordshire - Essex border where we lived. He kind of became family for quite a long while when he became the boyfriend of  my sister Effie. I remember during that time in the early Seventies when eleven of us (including Brian, Effie and myself) set off in a mini bus one February morning to camp out on the cliffs of Dunwich in suffolk. We took it in shifts to go to the pub that evening so that people could 'watch' the mini-bus and equipment, as the locals seemed a little bit hostile at the arrival of a bunch of lively hippies upon their peaceful shores. Later, suitably drunk and endeavouring to pitch the tent, we found that we'd forgotten to take the poles! Some of us slept in the mini-bus whilst others (including myself) slept out on the cliff. I awoke the next morning covered in frost and the handle-bar moutache I sported (which was fashionable at the time) felt like it could be snapped off as it was frozen solid. Later, when we went down onto the beach and looked up to the cliffs we shitted ourselves to see  the mini-bus  parked so precariously upon a jutting overhang about thirty feet or so above the endless Eastern sand and shingle. I have a lot more memories involving Busker Brian, both before 1975 when I left Bishop's Stortford to go and live in Leicester and later, when I returned in 1989. These I'll write down in the near future.

Buskerbrian comment:

That night in Dunwich is something I'll never forget. It's one of those things that spring out as a highlight of your life, because it was so crazy. What were a group of late teens and early twenties headcases doing by going to camp at an exposed beach on the coldest night of the year? It was a beach where, a mile or so out, an entire village had been swallowed by the sea. It was said that you could hear the faint bells of the swallowed church ring beneath the waves at times when conditions were right. We preferred to believe the beach was haunted. It made the experience more compelling. It was a glowing example of a communal spirit, cemented by the guitar and voice of John and the practical efforts of those in the group who had readied provisions and the means to cook them.
It was a night I'll never forget. That makes it brilliant.
Buskerbrian

top

---