Right at the end of April into right at the beginning of this month was the Upton Folk Festival, the first festival of the year, where I tend to get a little bit drunk, a little bit frostbitten and get to play Jeffrey an awful lot. Now a lot has happened since then and I’m not sure if I’m going to remember much of what went on that weekend but I’ll try because my intention was always to keep an account of all the Stone the Crows stuff I do and, to be honest, I’ve not really been a resounding success in that department.
I do remember that I took the Friday off work and collected Greg from work when he finished at 11am. We then drove down to Upton via a couple of Motorways, a lot of A Roads and a Co-op where we stopped off to get some much needed refreshment in the form of a large packet of crisps and some gluten free biscuits. We got to Upton and I managed not to miss the entrance to the campsite and we managed to find the Crows’ patch with reasonable ease. I think we’re beginning to get used to Upton now.
I got the tent up just fine even though Greg helped and we got it furnished like a little home from home (Greg is a pastmaster at inflating the airbed and doing that “To you, to me” thing to get it into the bedroom of the tent). We were not the last ones onto the campsite and Gaynor and I helped John and Carol with the very precise job of backing up their caravan, using just our heads, when they arrived.
Sharon and Gaynor very carefully moving John and Carol’s caravan into position using just their heads
I know we went down to the Festival Office to find out where we were going to be dancing on the Saturday and Sunday and then promptly forgot again. We also had tea in the Fish and Chip shop and, because I’m a fussy eater (for that read Vegan), I had a green salad in a Pitta bread. Yes really. They fry everything together: fish, chips, sausages, mushrooms, spring rolls, meat pies, salad. Well, maybe not the salad but I can’t have chips that have been contaminated with dead animals. No really.
After tea, we went back to the campsite to get Jeffrey and set off in search of a session. After a drink in the Swan, where they tend to have the virtuosi’s session (no beginners allowed), we went off to the Kings Head to see what was on offer there. What was on offer was a couple of very irritating guitarists singing various non-folky songs, including a truly appalling rendition of Hound Dog. We soon realised that this was not the sort of thing we wanted, so we went back to the Swan, where, apparently, Stuart had found a session worthy of the name.
He had indeed and it was the session that is decidedly not for beginners. I had to elbow my way through the pub to get to the room from which all the extremely difficult and fast music was emanating – I say elbow but in fact Jeffrey in his jet pack can send people flying with one twist of my back: it probably does untold damage to my back but it gets me through crowds. There was standing room only and that was in the corridor leading to the room but I deposited my coat and got Jeffrey out of his jet pack and strapped him on my chest ready for action.
I have this attitude to playing the accordion. It goes something like this:
Person sitting next to me – “Sharon, do you know your accordion’s on my foot?”
Me – “No but you hum it and I’ll play it.”
Meaning that I’ll have a go at anything. I’ll usually try the right hand part first and if I can’t get my head round that (or my right hand round it) I’ll have a go at the chords. This has served me well in many a session and I decided to put it to use. I’m not used to playing standing up and definitely prefer to play sitting down and, when a couple got out of a couple of chairs near me and Stuart (who was stood nearby), we made a beeline for them before anybody else got a chance to get anywhere near them.
Being sat down made playing much easier and it also made staying until the bitter end (when polite but heavy hints were made that we had outstayed our welcome) much easier. At the bitter end I located Greg, who hadn’t been able to find a chair, Jeffrey’s backpack and all my coats and got myself ready for the walk back to the tent. I had been remarkably organised and brought a torch with me so we didn’t fall over any guy ropes on the way back or crawl into the wrong tent and after putting on about 5 layers, including a sleeping bag, I fell asleep.
Sharon and Greg dancing Cuckoo’s Nest outside the Plough.
Photo courtesy of Mark Brazier
I got up reasonably early on Saturday and had some muesli for my breakfast and a cup of coffee kindly donated by Pete and Elaine. All the Crows had been told to assemble at 10.30 ready for dancing and, amazingly, we all did. We walked down to the Plough near the bridge, where we joined a couple of other sides who were already there. We started off with a Ragged Crow (well, we always do, don’t we?) We did other dances, including Cuckoo’s Nest (all in a row) and when we were under the bridge I decided to give the new dance, Shambles, its first showcase. It wasn’t a resounding success but it was explained that this was the first time we had danced it outside practice and the audience appeared to be reasonably appreciative. I suspect it was 10 out of 10 for effort. We also danced Loxley Barratt and I got Barbara up to dance it. She had only learned it the previous Thursday and this was the second time she was to dance it. She did an admirable job (she’s a natural, after all) and I decided that Loxley was going to be one of our show dances for the day and Barbara was going to be in it.
We did the show dances outside the King’s Head at about 2pm. I had decided to go for the two dances that had gone best and they were both six man dances: Loxley Barratt and Black Widow. An unusual choice, I know, but the eight man dances hadn’t gone particularly well (apart from Ashpole but I had forgotten about that one) and I didn’t want to take any chances. The two six man dances went just fine and we then went back to the bridge for more dancing.
We will have finished for tea and I think we had a chinese (I definitely had bean curd over the weekend). I hadn’t been feeling very well all day. I had put it down to the cider I had drunk on Friday (and I have sworn off it since), so Greg and I went for a sit down and a brew in the King’s Head. Fortunately the irritating guitarists were not there (they were presumably practicing another Elvis hit for an appalling rendition later in the evening), so the pub was quiet. After the brew and when I had begun to feel more normal again, we returned to the campsite to get Jeffrey again and set off for the Swan in search of another session.
Mary, mystery fiddle player and Dark Morris Dancer with Jeffrey, showing those young whippersnappers they will not be beaten.
Stuart and other Crows were already there but the room they were in was so crowded it wasn’t even standing room, so we went back to the scene of the previous evening’s session and joined two fiddle players, another accordion player and a drummer. They were very good indeed and I was a little bit reluctant to get Jeffrey out of his jet pack at first but we were quickly joined by a fiddle player and he was less shy than me, so I was a little happier to get Jeffrey out. Others joined us, including Stuart with some others from the other room. I had had my doubts about one of the musicians who had been there when we arrived and he confirmed them when he said “Oh no, not bloody melodeon players, play something in A”. To those not initiated in the niceties of folk music, melodeons tend to be in G and A major is an awkward key for melodeon players.
It doesn’t really matter how good you are at the fiddle or how drunk or how gobby or even how downright bloody rude you are, you are not going to put off a bunch of curmudgeonly melodeon, fiddle, accordion or anything else players from playing their instruments if they want to, so we did not let them dominate the session and we did play what we wanted and whenever they managed to get a note in edgeways, play in A and at twice the proper speed, we sat there patiently biding our time until we could get the initiative back and start playing “Speed the Plough” or “Winster Gallop” or whatever took our fancy. The session did leave a sour taste in my mouth though, and a desire to tear a strip off the offender if I got the chance (which I did but I didn’t take it).
Well, I didn’t do too badly remembering Friday and Saturday. I’m going to leave Sunday and Monday for another time. See you again!
Dark Morris Dancer 