Once, (long ago) I sang in a Tribute concert at The Gosford Park Hotel. This inaptly-named red-brick pub was never residential, as I remembered it. It was at the top of the street I grew up in- Northfield Road, in Coventry. From outside this pub, as a kid, I could hear steam locomotives shunting in the yards just across the road. In bed at night, I could still hear the freight engines whistling, and their wagons clattering as whole trains got under way. Once all courtyards, cobbles, factories and terraced streets full of workers' houses, the whole area is now Bedsit Land. Last night, for the first time since childhood, I walked these pavements again. Ones I had not trodden for over half a century. I was en route to The Tump Folk Club-now residing at The Humber Hotel in Coventry. For (yet another!) debut of a re-vamped Black Parrot Seaside. No Buzzards, no Grit Trays-a three piece version this time. Welcome back, Mick. So chuffed you're back with us.
Because of the Humber's location, and the memories it held for me, I decided not to drive, as I usually do when visiting the Tump. Instead, I caught the bus into “Cov “ and paused first to take sustenance in the 14th century Whitefriars Alehouse. It would have been churlish not to have sampled the Salopian Lemon Dream on offer there, but having done so, I plodded on downhill and past the Halls of Residence of Coventry University, in Gosford Street. When one of these buildings was The Ministry of Pensions offices, I would wait outside at lunchtime, to meet my mum. During her dinner break we'd have something to eat in the Rendezvous Cafe, and I'd window-shop, browsing the latest Dinky Toys in Davies's, or the secondhand comic books in Luckman's.
I turned left, and walked past my old primary school, All Saints. Although virtually intact, it has been a Nightclub for many years. But there, still, was the cloakroom where I used to hang my mac. There was the playground,still ashphalted. No more coke heaps, no dustbins, no more outside lavvies.Still in use, but as a car park now.
I then followed the same route home as I did for seven years as a post-war Coventry schoolkid. No dairy to marvel at now, but as I turned into Gulson Road, I smelt the familiar whiff of a Fish and Chip Shop. Ma Coopers-same name-same shop-very different menu. No queues like there used to be, as I waited for my sausage and chips. Through the shop window I saw that opposite, what used to be my Grandad's local-the Hare and Hounds-was now a Mini supermarket. Chewing pensively, I wandered up Charterhouse Road, named after the religious order who owned land thereabouts before the housing came. Past houses which were once shops. Past Grandad's old house, and into Northfield Road itself. And there was my old house. Where I once played with my Bayko set and read my Davy Crocket Annual. Now a Student Let. No longer were there factories at the bottom of a hill I'd forgotten was so steep. The River Sherbourne undoubtedly still slurped along down there in the darkness, but on the valley side opposite, no massive Parkside complex, with its Armstrong Siddeley silhouette on the skyline. Wheelie bins, road signs and bus stops cluttered the old street now. I'd never get a clear run on my scooter, down into the yard of Curtis and Beamish at the bottom of the hill. The bomb craters were all filled in, too. Post-war housing infilled where I used to dig up shrapnel.
I lost my sausage in Terry Road. Not in the historical sense, but last night, as it rolled out of the chip papers and into the gutters. I was too busy gawping at a house where one of my friends used to live, to catch it. Turning left into Humber Avenue, I felt a little pang of guilt. Forbidden territory, this was for me, because of its proximity to the railway and to Gosford Green Goods Depot. The huge metal footbridge across the tracks has long since gone-as have the tracks. The bridge was so long it would shake as pedestrians walked across it. A footpath has replaced it. And yet I paused-midway, as I used to-just where the points used to shuttle loaded wagons bound for The Rootes works nearby. Above the roar of distant traffic-was that a whistle? No. It wasn't. But of the six songs we sang last night, Dave Goulder's "Requiem for Steam" had to feature: " The whistle is silenced:the coal is all burned/the ashes are buried for good. "
The Humber was warm and welcoming. This was also the last pub I had a pint in as a single man, so I have great affection and nostalgia for it, and for the area. We performed "The Odeon", "Albert Balls," "Over The Hills" and " Courting is a Pleasure." All songs we'd aired at The Tump previously. And halfway through-an old face from our electric days turned up-good old Aral, who I haven't seen for decades!
We finished with a version of "Bedduth Bank," which turned out to be a little longer than originally intended. Partly because of the funereal pace we set off at, and partly because we tried out a few extra verses to those featured on the last CD. This song mentions my other favourite town-Nuneaton. Our family had moved from there to Bedduth and then on to Northfield Road. Now we have roots again in all three towns. What would my Grandad have made of all that I wonder?
I then followed the same route home as I did for seven years as a post-war Coventry schoolkid. No dairy to marvel at now, but as I turned into Gulson Road, I smelt the familiar whiff of a Fish and Chip Shop. Ma Coopers-same name-same shop-very different menu. No queues like there used to be, as I waited for my sausage and chips. Through the shop window I saw that opposite, what used to be my Grandad's local-the Hare and Hounds-was now a Mini supermarket. Chewing pensively, I wandered up Charterhouse Road, named after the religious order who owned land thereabouts before the housing came. Past houses which were once shops. Past Grandad's old house, and into Northfield Road itself. And there was my old house. Where I once played with my Bayko set and read my Davy Crocket Annual. Now a Student Let. No longer were there factories at the bottom of a hill I'd forgotten was so steep. The River Sherbourne undoubtedly still slurped along down there in the darkness, but on the valley side opposite, no massive Parkside complex, with its Armstrong Siddeley silhouette on the skyline. Wheelie bins, road signs and bus stops cluttered the old street now. I'd never get a clear run on my scooter, down into the yard of Curtis and Beamish at the bottom of the hill. The bomb craters were all filled in, too. Post-war housing infilled where I used to dig up shrapnel.
I lost my sausage in Terry Road. Not in the historical sense, but last night, as it rolled out of the chip papers and into the gutters. I was too busy gawping at a house where one of my friends used to live, to catch it. Turning left into Humber Avenue, I felt a little pang of guilt. Forbidden territory, this was for me, because of its proximity to the railway and to Gosford Green Goods Depot. The huge metal footbridge across the tracks has long since gone-as have the tracks. The bridge was so long it would shake as pedestrians walked across it. A footpath has replaced it. And yet I paused-midway, as I used to-just where the points used to shuttle loaded wagons bound for The Rootes works nearby. Above the roar of distant traffic-was that a whistle? No. It wasn't. But of the six songs we sang last night, Dave Goulder's "Requiem for Steam" had to feature: " The whistle is silenced:the coal is all burned/the ashes are buried for good. "
The Humber was warm and welcoming. This was also the last pub I had a pint in as a single man, so I have great affection and nostalgia for it, and for the area. We performed "The Odeon", "Albert Balls," "Over The Hills" and " Courting is a Pleasure." All songs we'd aired at The Tump previously. And halfway through-an old face from our electric days turned up-good old Aral, who I haven't seen for decades!
We finished with a version of "Bedduth Bank," which turned out to be a little longer than originally intended. Partly because of the funereal pace we set off at, and partly because we tried out a few extra verses to those featured on the last CD. This song mentions my other favourite town-Nuneaton. Our family had moved from there to Bedduth and then on to Northfield Road. Now we have roots again in all three towns. What would my Grandad have made of all that I wonder?
