Let’s hope that 2021 is the start of we humans getting things right, allowing nature to heal herself, realising that to move forward we have to co-operate rather than argue, compromise rather than stick rigidly to our preconceived ideas, love rather than hate, and help those less fortunate than ourselves.
Happy New Year to everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, even those I disagree with, even those who are bigoted, even those who hate.
Jim Adams’ Song Lyric Sunday gives us the chance to share familiar, and sometimes not so familiar, songs. Jim has given us Odor /Scent /Smell /Taste this week to be included in the title or lyrics.
If you fancy sharing one of your favourite songs you can find out how to participate, and also listen to all the great entries, here.
This week I’m pondering on the final concert, and the final public performance, of The Beatles, Paul and Linda McCartney’s move to the Mull of Kintyre, and the beauty of that part of the world. I was fortunate to live in the Outer Hebrides for two years, based in Ballivanich, on the Isle of Benbecula. Wild, sparsely populated, enduring some tremendously strong winds and wild weather but beautiful, captivating, and instilling a sort of desert fever in those who are lucky enough to experience it.
The Beatles’ final paid concert of their career took place on 29 August 1966 at Candlestick Park in San Francisco, California. The band played to an audience of 25,000, leaving 7,000 tickets unsold. They had become disillusioned with live performances, singing the same songs time and again, unable to hear themselves playing. They had upset many fans with John’s statement that The Beatles were more popular than Jesus.
The Beatles’ rooftop concert on 30 January 1969 marked the end of an era for many fans. The group did record one more album, Abbey Road — on which work started the following month — but by September 1969 the Beatles had unofficially disbanded.
To save some money from the taxman and as a bolt hole from Beatlemania, Paul had, encouraged by then girlfriend Jane Asher, bought High Park Farm in Campbeltown, near Argyll’s Mull of Kintyre in 1968. But it was only when newly married to American Linda Eastman in 1969 that he decided to make it a home.
He said: “Going up to Scotland was real freedom. It was an escape – our means of finding a new direction in life and having time to think about what we really wanted to do.”
The farm, which was rustic to say the least, would become home to Linda’s daughter Heather and the couple’s first child Mary. Stella, now a top fashion designer, arrived in 1971.
But it was also the place where Paul’s next music project was born.
The new expanded editions of Wild Life and Red Rose Speedway include never-before-seen pictures of the McCartneys’ life in Campbeltown, which in time would inspire his love letter to the area – Mull of Kintyre – a 1977 Christmas No1.
They released the album ‘Ram’ together in 1971 and formed the band Wings in the same year. The couple were also nominated for an Oscar for their song ‘Live And Let Die’, the theme tune for the 1973 Bond film of the same name.
“When she came to Britain and we got to together the greatest thing about it was we both wanted to be free. We did what we wanted and she took pictures of it all.”
Linda McCartney died after a battle with breast cancer on April 17, 1998. She was 56 years old.
The video shows some great examples of the free and easy life in their dream home. A great place to raise their children, grow their own food, ride in deserted areas (UK horseriders may note they use American style saddles and tack), and generally enjoy life.
The song aint bad either!
If you want to see more then there is some lovely pics, and music, at the bottom of the lyrics.
In my final Lundi limerick yesterday I used the hamlet of Acton and linked it to the fact that it played a large part in my Dad’s life.
In the process of digging out a bit of real life background, rather than the normal wikipedia, or google sources, I rummaged through the suitcase that I brought away from Dad’s house after he died at the grand age of 96.
Mum had died nearly 11 years before and everyone expected Dad to follow fairly swiftly after. He was, after all, a hard working farm labourer, who had relied on Mum for meals, clean clothes, and a welcoming home. We had all, of course, forgotten his hard upbringing, his determination, and his adaptability.
Within a couple of weeks he had bought himself a microwave. “I’ve always wanted one of these but your Mother would never have one”, he said.
He went on to cook his own meals, wash, dry, and iron his clothes, vacuum the house, and thoroughly enjoy the whole new leaf that he’d turned over. My little sister (three years older than me), who lived a few miles away, kept an eye on him, had him over for Sunday lunch and, over the coming years, gradually helped him more, according to his needs.
Anyway, this isn’t meant to be a definitive history of Dad, purely an extension of the information about his link to Acton.
The suitcase I mentioned earlier has quite a few Bibles, and other books, in it, each one has a story to tell. Dad was a Methodist Local Preacher from the age of 20 until failing hearing, and health, caused him to retire, although he remained ‘on the books’ until his death, and received several certificates of Long Service, even up to 75 years service! It just could not be done nowadays!
Dad was a marvellous preacher. Inspiring, knowledgeable, plain speaking, always linking to everyday life, articulate but never verbose. In everyday life you would never dream that he was a gifted and effective preacher. He was a quiet, mild mannered man whose goodness shone out for all to see, always willing to help, support, and encourage all that he encountered.
There is not a lot to be said about Acton, a small hamlet in Staffordshire. You could so easily drive through it without knowing and yet, without its existence, I may well not have existed!
The one building that is there, an old Wesleyan Methodist Church that closed in 2003, is where my father, Charles Matthews, went to Sunday School, then to Chapel. Where he met my mother Irene Lily Matthews, née Talbot. Where they first started courting, all very prim and proper in those days. Where Dad first qualified for his 75 years as a Methodist Local Preacher.
I will add some photographs to a later post, and give a little more detail. I thought it appropriate that for the last of my two years worth of Lundi limericks (Lundi being french for Monday, for those who hadn’t noticed!!) I should write about somewhere extra special.
Bridget had a few things to finish in order to find her inner peace.
She found it!
I heard a Doctor on TV saying at this time, when we all are forced to stay at home, we should focus on inner peace. To achieve this we should always finish things we start. Now or never! Time to finish old projects and calm down by doing so.
I bought this album and, until very recently, it was still hidden away in a drawer, complete with all the original inserts. I took the very difficult decision to donate all of my vinyl to charity. I’m glad that I did but, my goodness, it hurt!
Most of the songs on the album were written during March and April 1968 at a Transcendental Meditation course in Rishikesh, India. This particular track has had all sorts of speculation about its true meaning with, as usual, suggestions that there was a sexual connection, a drug connection, and many other thoughts.
Whatever it was, or was not based on, why not just sit back and enjoy it just for the music. I do!
Happiness Is a Warm Gun
She’s not a girl who misses much Do do do do do do, oh yeah She’s well-acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand Like a lizard on a window pane The man in the crowd with the multicolored mirrors On his hobnail boots Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy Working overtime A soap impression of his wife which he ate And donated to the National Trust
I need a fix ’cause I’m going down Down to the pits that I left uptown I need a fix ’cause I’m going down
Mother Superior jumped the gun Mother Superior jumped the gun Mother Superior jumped the gun Mother Superior jumped the gun Mother Superior jumped the gun Mother Superior jumped the gun
Happiness is a warm gun (bang, bang, shoot, shoot) Happiness is a warm gun, momma (bang, bang, shoot, shoot)
When I hold you in my arms (ooh, oh, yeah) And I feel my finger on your trigger (ooh, oh, yeah) I know nobody can do me no harm (ooh, oh, yeah) Because
Happiness is a warm gun, yes it is (bang, bang, shoot, shoot) Happiness is a warm, yes it is, gun (happiness, bang, bang, shoot, shoot) Well, don’t you know that happiness is a warm gun momma? (Happiness is a warm gun, yeah)
Well, I didn’t expect to be back so soon with this, but I so enjoyed the first Smile time that I had to discover just where those children lived.
They are from Podersdorf am See, a small market town in Austria with a population of only about 2,500. They are very near to the Slovakia and Hungary borders, so my guess at East European was pretty accurate.
They have what appears to be a fantastic primary school with a fine musical tradition, and here they are, with my Smile time #2, singing “Good Morning, Did you sleep well? I love the anticipation of the percussionists!
There are many things in life that make me smile, and I like to smile! It is so much easier than frowning, or grimacing.
I have decided to, occasionally, pass things on that I happen across that have made me smile. The first is something that I included in a comment on Colleen Brown’s lovely blog, The Chatter Blog. If you’ve never read any of Colleen’s words, or seen her delightful drawings, I can guarantee that you will find many a smile amongst her wise words and insightful sketches.
It’s a gibberish song, widely spread around the world and popular among Scouts and Girl Guides as a campfire “round”. Originally Scandinavian. Sounds as though these are East European children. I bet you smiled!