I've just been down to stay with my parents as I always do between teaching terms. They live in Canterbury while I'm in Newcastle and as I've taken to travelling down and back by coach in recent times, those stays are bookended by a considerable journey across the best part of England which takes twelve hours door to door.
My mum and dad are both of considerable vintage now. Mum is 88 and Dad turned 89 while I was down in the last fortnight. They've lived incredible lives which set off on the thirties and the wartime years. They met in Oxford somehow, in the mid fifties. My dad went to university there and I think my mum was doing some christianity related work there. Perhaps it was actually in Edinburgh where she was at university. Maybe he made his way there. I'll have to check. They fell in love, largely because they made each other laugh. They still do, although my father has used up his five jokes now and won't be learning any more.Five jokes is generally enough for most dads.
They married in 1957 and took a liner to South Africa with suitcases packed with virtually all their worldly possessions. To explore new territories, end the Apartheid mindset that occupied white minds and start a family. They succeeded in the latter if not the former design, having five children in South Africa and Rhodesia over the next 15 years before returning to England in 1972 as civil war between blacks and whites bubbled to boiling point in Rhodesia and it eventually became Zimbabwe.
We lived in Nottingham, then West London, before mum and dad retired to Canterbury in 1996. I've spent a lot of time with them since, never having married myself. I worked abroad for many years before returning to England in 2008 and settling in Newcastle now which I think of as my permanent home.
I love being with them. Despite the issues which advancing age naturally brings with it, they still clearly love each other very much and make the most of their days together. This last fortnight was a particularly pleasant and memorable experience for me; helping them with houshehold chores and shopping and joining them in the living room for their evening televisual feasts as well as catching up with friends and spending my days walking around Canterbury and visiting shops and public houses. It's a great city for that.
As this blog attests, I'm never happier than in a record shop. I have a couple of regular haunts where I always make my way in town. Vinylstore Jr. at the end of Castle Street, which has been around for about 10 years now, where Nick the affable propietor is always happy to pause and chat at length. This time I didn't buy vinyl, but did purchase several boxes of Robert Forster's excellent muesli Spring Grain. Nick invested in several and deserves to have his entepeneurial purpose recognised. He's doing this so we can enjoy it rather than just for monetary gain.
The other shop I frequent is Sound Records in the high street. The owners are record store's odd couple. My mate Paul who can best be described as taciturn. Downcast but deeply funny. Like me a hat wearer , but unlike me, I suspect someone whose glass may be half empty. Lovely bloke anyway. The other guy's a professional Mancunian who tends to call me 'bro' much to my discomfort and regale all and sundry with non-stop tales of how well he knows Paul Oakenfold and the like.
On Wednesday I ventured further afield than I generally do. I didn't have any shopping to do for mum and was free to wander where I chose. So I decided to walk to Canterbury Rock which is some way from West Gate Tower, tellingly on the Whitstable Road, past the station.
I'd only been here once before. A few years back when I'd coveted a copy of Jilted John the album which I found there, and not bought. A word to record collectors. If you see something you want, buy it. You'll only regret it otherwise. I imagine you know this anyhow.
I'm immediately pleased I've decided to come here. The shopkeeper Jim is getting on and has an unkempt beard and very unkempt hair. Of indefinite age. I'd say he's in his 70s. I say hello and give a brief background story. How I've been in Canterbury and not been here as much as I should down the years. I know of the shop's reputation. How long have you been here.
He immediately turns suspicious. Why do you want to know? His brow furrows. Fair enough. What is it to me. I smile and say fair enough, turn to browse. I immediately fall for the place. I've been before but it had felt a bit messy and unloved the previous time. Now its shelves are orderly.
And I'm immediately sold. There are lots of records I could buy immediately. A Melanie album I haven't seen before. Several others by different folk. A cared for soul section with Four Tops and Jr Walker albums that take my fancy.
I realise my cuteness but I'm a certain breed. It's important which records you choose to buy on these occasions. Not that I'm trying to impress Jim but the conversation you have when you buy a record in places like these is important. Buying records for me is an act of downpayment in memory as much as a purchase of songs and sounds.
We have a great chat. He realised he was a bit snappy earlier. I say it's no problem. He had every right. Anyway he's recognised me as a kindred soul by now as if I've passed some initiation test. I'm a fellow traveller. Not a tourist. I asked about the wonderful knick knacks which decorate the wall and shelves behind him. Fabulous original Beatles merchandise, a Hendrix coathanger with Jimi's face and chest on cardboard. I wish I remember more. They're not for sale he tells me. Any more than he is, the unspoken implication.
For the record I bought a Duke Ellington album And one by Buffie Saint Marie which Ry Cooder and Neil Young play on and Jack Nitzsche produced. Buffy and Nitzsche actually got married a few years down the line.
I'm back in Newcastle now and have played both my purchases and they were both good buys, For the experience as much as the objects I bought to remind me of it. I'll be back to buy another memory next time I'm down staying with my parents again..
No comments:
Post a Comment