I’m feeling a bit better today than I did yesterday, thank goodness. I collapsed in a big wet heap in my husbands arms and ranted and cried myself silly while he cuddled me. Good man. He then went to the shop and bought me sticky toffee pudding, custard and my favourite ice cream. Ah, comfort food – it brings such, well, comfort. Felt much more like a hooman after that.
Today I was searching through some work by other bloggers, in particular Endicott Studio which will unfortunately be disappearing, along with its wonderful mythic art, from our viewing pleasure very soon, and found a clip of Kate Rusby singing in her wonderful folky way, ‘Who will sing me lullabies’ . Well, this got me to thinking about another of my favourite folk singer, Nigel Mazlyn Jones, whose vinyl has been long since extinct and whose music I’ve been desperately trying to track down for these past many years. Well, I typed in his name, half jokingly, truly not expecting to find anything and buggar me if I didn’t find a whole raft of YouTube videos of him singing some of my favourite songs. I keep trying to figure out how to add the video for ‘Sentinel’ on the blog but its not working so far. So, if you are interested go to ‘Whats on the Toob’ and click on the vid that comes up Sentinel when you scroll over it and it will take you to the place. It’s one of the most hauntingly beautiful songs I’ve ever heard. From this snippet on YouTube I then found his website and consequently have ordered myself a copy of the wonderful Ship to Shore album and eagerly await the remastered to CD version of the album Sentinel. I can’t tell you how happy I am to get my hands on his music again after all this time. My tape of it is so stretched and warbly now it sounds like Pinky and Perky are doing cover versions.
Unfortunately, with the lovely must come the not so lovely. All his singing about cliffs and sentinels and ships to shore and his wonderful, wonderful song The Man and the Deer, sung from the point of view of the Hunter and with a response from the Stag, got me feeling completely homesick for Ye Olde Englande and in particular the South West where I lived for a good long while. Its Summer over there now and I know that there would be a lush green carpet of goodness waiting for me if I went over there now. I long to walk the ancient ruins of my homeland.
I yearn to sit on the cliffs and listen to the gulls and the crash of the cold, cruel sea. I long to visit again despite the fact that I went home only last December (cold Christmas – yummy!) and it was a disappointment due to illness, the stress of seeing everyone after 4 years in Australia and the frustration of dealing with family. In truth, I don’t miss my family as much as I miss my country. It sounds harsh I know and its not to say that I don’t miss them at all, I do and I love them very much but they are, like most family’s, difficult and trying to get a word in edgeways? Forget it. My family know how to talk. Hoh yes. But listening is an art they have no time for. Sadly this means that we rarely get, or give, the support that would be most nourishing for us.
So now, I sit here listening to Nigel on the toob with a soul feeling all windswept and longing for the forests of the land of my birth – the monstrous Cypress – guardians of the dead, the Kingly Oak, the slender Willow – and feel all the sighs rolling over me like a cool breeze. I guess we always romanticise the places and people we leave behind but I know instinctively that though I live and love in Australia, I will never be truly ‘home’ until I am home – on English soil – up to my neck in irritating British people who don’t know how to pick up litter.
I’ll leave you with some beautiful images of beautiful Cornwall and will disappear into my living room with a cuppa and nice bowl of steaming hot sticky date pudding and custard to soothe my Midlands soul.
It’s my scary Fogou! I have walked right to the back of this deep, darkness wading through the ancient freezing waters barefoot and I have snuggled in the darkest of its antechambers and immersed myself in the still dark womb of the mother.