DIARY 07/01/10
My Auntie Gertie comes to mind whenever snow falls. She was childless. She was my dad’s older sister, one of several, and maybe 15 years older. Dad is the youngest of 9 survivors. Two now survive, Uncle Cyril and dad. Auntie Gertie was a favourite. Childless, she was, but a kind nanny to me and a sibling or so of my own.
She brought sweets every Friday evening, walking along Musgrove Road, down Troutbeck and 100 yards along New Cross Road to Fairlawn Mansions, to our door. Auntie Gertie and Uncle Vic brought Mars bars or Kit-Kats. They sat with my mum and dad in the back living room of number 37 and watched television. And chatted. I sat and listened, until bedtime. And as I grew, Gertie would always think of me, she said, when the snow fell. She knew it meant house-arrest. She understood that my natural leaning toward football in the back yard or in Telegraph Hill Park, top of Pepys Road, would be curtailed indeterminately. My mates would not be calling for me. They knew, too, that the first, and any, snowfall would mean I couldn’t dare leave the flat, at least not without an arm, a human crutch to grasp for safety. Couple that with the real crutches, and you get the picture of an awkward situation here, one beyond solution. And, anyway, you can’t play football attached to another. Late 50s, and far into the 60s, we’re talking here.
And snow falls here, now, here in south Suffolk. Cars, even occasionally 4 x 4s, are in ditches here and there, so what chance the country stroll? But while the roads (there are no pavements here among the cornfields, and that’s fine) are glass, the woodland stays navigable, so we can plod, diligently of course, and poke with heavy cherry sticks, to breathe the cold air and check on the damage done overnight by the voracious muntjac to the newly planted hedge (none discernable, as it happens). I look at my itinerary, and Inverness appears. May 1st. Yes, it’s a way off, but with the airport there closed a few days ago, the imagination drifts. May 1st. Outdoors. Could be a case of mittens on, guitar fingering awkward. But then if the “gonged up” Francis and Rick can do it, well.......for now the snow keeps falling. Here, there and everywhere. It’s January. It’s cold. The snow falls. Tell me what’s new? Severe and serious this cold spell may be, but it is winter. And I have a ticket to Rome in 10 days time. Have to catch the Caravaggio/Bacon exhibition at the gorgeous Villa Borghese before it closes on the 24th. Air flight. January. Snow maybe. I’ll be safe, because at any sign of serious delays, I’ll turn and head home. Caravaggio and Bacon could well improve my life considerably, and I believe they will, together and contrasting in the most wonderful gallery on earth, but I don’t want to slip and fall and I won’t hang about at airports for needless hours. Like football when I was a kid, art is important, but not life itself.
My Auntie Gertie comes to mind whenever snow falls.
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written by Drew McAdam , January 08, 2010
This piece reads wonderfully.
I particularly like: “There are no pavements here among the cornfields, and that’s fine.” Somebody should write a poem based on that.
Well done, Mr Harley. Take your books and go to the top of the class.
written by Kay Fisher , January 08, 2010
I loved this piece! Very sweet, very touching. You have added a lot with your words and music. Thank you so much, Steve Harley!
written by Lee Richardson , January 10, 2010
I know the area Steve was brought up in well. I lived in New Cross for a while. My first girlfriend lived in Brocklehurst Street not far from Fairlawn Mansions.
Jeringham Rd, Musgrove Rd and Pepys Road were a big part of my younger years as was Waller Road.
New Cross Bus Garage is huge.........
written by Craig , January 11, 2010
Steve's primary school was Edmund Waller , Waller Road.
written by Sue Whitehouse , January 30, 2010
Hi Steve
We love you to in MANCHESTER, so when will you be visiting.
written by John Belam , February 02, 2010
I had a friend Steve Harley "Charley" from Dagenham that said he was your cousin, big guy played rugby for Romford. Many a beer together. Was he indeed your cousin and from the same side of the family as Auntie Gertie and Dad?
I am looking forward to seeing you at shepherds bush, your show at the O2 indigo was fantastic.
written by Elaine Gaffney (nee Houpt) , February 04, 2010
Hi Steve,
My lovely mum left a message on here the other day about Aunty Gertie (well I believe she did but she may have hidden it as I have).
Mum is Betty Houpt and my Grandad was Albert Nice (God love him)! Mum & dad came back to live in the UK three years ago (from Canada) and I know she is sad at having lost touch with so many family members. She always had a soft spot for your dad (as did I he was always lovely to me). I know he lives in Spain but we would love you to pass on our thoughts to him and maybe get in touch? I keep in touch with Aunty Betty and I would love to know how Ian is as we were pals in another life!
Keep up the amazing work, my hubby and I will be trying to get to one of your gigs this year (my fav was always European maids by the way)!!.
Very much love
Elaine
written by Geoff Frewin , February 04, 2010
Loved the story ,Steve you often make your writing seem like something that belongs to all our pasts, I relate so much to the enclsed during Snow...football and family. My Dad played for Millwall as a lad ! So he told me many stories ...when he was there from 49' to 51' . So often a tingle of remembered times in all of us....thanks
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