Things did not bode well when my carriage joined a queue of mechanically propelled vehicles that crawled from Chorley to Preston at 15mph. Passing the Blackpool turnoff we picked up speed to 20 mph, but there was still another 20 miles to Lancaster and just 20 minutes to go. I abandoned the carriage in a Permit-Holders only bay (hey, I’ve got a permit holder - just haven’t got a permit) and ran towards the ticket-checker shouting: ’Make way, make way, I am a celebrated and esteemed Talkawhile Reviewer and this is an emergency.’ Crept into a seat as the chaps took to the stage, sat back, and let the cares of my journey on the blimmin’ M6, wash over me.
Tonight , young Knightley unveiled a brand new song. I shall say nothing more about it because I don’t know the title. Perhaps it’s so new that it hasn’t got a title. Perhaps the title was given, but I’m as deaf as duvet and missed it. Let’s just call it ’Finished at Biddulph.’ Here we have an atmospheric adventure story that is exciting, dramatic, sounds personal, reflective, and at the last verses, intensely moving. Ah yes, a demn good song if ever I heard one.
The first set started off with one of Peel’s top 10 Show of Hands songs - three cheers for the 'Bristol Slaver'. If there’s one song that can showcase the style, song-writing skills, and musical talents of Show of Hands then this is it. And it’s a terrific horror story, too. The rest of the set was largely a celebration of their influences and heroes. The set List had been posted on the Longdogs, Show of Hands fansite but there were quite a few changes to earlier set-lists - more of that anon.
We finished the set with a rousing rendition of 'Cousin Jack' and the lights went up. It was my first chance to take a good look at the venue. I had been sitting in a warm, light space with rich acoustics. It was an Anglican Chapel made of seasoned wood - almost in-the-round like an amphitheatre, with huge floor-to-ceiling windows, surrounding us. Simply divine.
A terrific bar and provisions stall had been set up in the foyer, with well-organised young women dealing promptly and efficiently with the queues. All proceeds were being given to charity, so it seemed like a good idea to quaff both a can of Coke and a Sprite to wash down a packet of Bombay mix, and stock up on the chocolate covered peanuts. The peanuts are threatening to break my dentures as I write - but no matter, a Longdog overcomes the pain to bring his friends all the commentary and news as it breaks. So, let’s get back into the chapel for the second half.
The seat beside me had been vacant, but was now occupied by a mature student with a very heavy cold. He looked like Ross Kemp’s fatter, younger brother and he said that he was taking a break from revision. I reminded him that mobile phones had to be switched off . When the set resumed he shifted uncomfortably in his seat - snorting, sniffing, scratching parts of himself that he oughtn‘t to in good company, yawning and looking constantly at his mobile phone, which, mercifully was switched to silent. To be frank, I wanted to snot him,
as we say in Manchester,#
but he was doing a good job of drowning in nasal fluids by himself. Young Beer came to the front of the stage and introduced Cyril Tawney’s Wide Funnel. Ross stopped scratching his three piece suite.
The verses alternated between Beer and Knightley with the audience singing the chorus most beautifully. Kemp Junior joined in. I smiled at him: ’You liked that one, didn’t you?’
‘I suppose I did.’ he smiled back, ’I’m not really into folk. Don’t know much about it, really. But that was good. Yeah, that was OK.’
Steve K. sang 'Romeo and Juliet' and Ross didn’t think it was as good as Knofler’s.
’Blimey, so you’re an expert now, are you?’ I said, ’Have you heard Knofler sing his version live and acoustic? No, I bet you haven’t, boy. I’m telling you that this is better.’ He shrugged and started scratching again. I looked away and sighed heavily.
He wasn’t sure what was going on when Beer and Knightley returned for their Widecombe Fair spot, into a gloomy hall without benefit of microphones and electric accoutrements. He applauded enthusiastically at the end though. ’You liked that one, too’. I said ’We’ll make a folkie of you, yet.’ He gave me a funny look.
I remained in my seat with the rest of the audience and we clapped as the chaps walked out. ‘Hey,’ I said to no-one in particular, ‘what happened to 'Country Life'. What about 'Country Life'? Aren’t we going to get 'Country Life'? It's on the Set-list, and I demand a rendition of 'Country Life'
I was obviously not on the set-list.
It had probably been squeezed out by some other number, and quite frankly, there wasn’t a weak song/instrumental that I would have discarded. I stopped clapping and protesting when people starting stacking chairs and gathering rubbish, around me.
Highlights of the night? There were three for me. The first was the song ‘Finished at Biddulph’ or whatever it’s called. The second was the superb ‘Courting is a Pleasure.’ S. Knightley has a voice that delivers traditional songs most mellifluously, while P. Beer provides a stunning slide guitar arrangement. The combination of the two provides a sound that breaks one’s heart. The third was the spectacular venue of the Chaplaincy Centre within Lancaster University, and the hospitality and unrivalled service provided by the organisers. Yes, top marks to organisers.
Sir Robert Peel
Talkawhile's man on the spot, Lancaster.
