I haven’t said anything about Betty (see earlier posts) since I wrote the piece when I married for the second time, this happened shortly after Betty and I came to live in Herne Bay. She was very upset when I married Ken. I had been her companion and substitute daughter for so long that it was a shock to her. She had been away in Austria working withe refugees from Hungary and running their hostel when I first met Ken. Naively I had thought we could all live together like a family (after all I had already experienced it with my first husband’s family), but of course we couldn’t, there was too much tension. I could have gone to live in Ken’s bungalow in Blean, but Betty could never have managed financially, she had no money to speak of. The solution was for Betty to have the nicest rooms at the top of the house and for Ken and I to have the ground floor and the condemned basement.


Ken and Betty shared a love of music.

It was condemned because the sea came in in the great floods of 1952. The plaster wouldn’t stay on the walls as the bricks had salt in them. we had it ‘tanked’ twice by professional builders. It always worked for a while but then the plaster started to come off again. In the end we hacked off the plaster and mortar down to the bare bricks, sealed them with dilute PVA and then tiled them. The parts that we managed are OK but we didn’t complete the whole area, the plaster still comes off the rest of the walls but I’ve just had to learn to live with it. Now there is central heating down there with just a kitchen the other room is my art store and since I use all manner of materials it is very full.

I had my gall stones catastrophe (see previous post) after Ken had died (thank goodness it would have been really difficult for him to cope with) All my friends and family visited me regularly but Betty was my rock, she was there just about every day during the worst part. She stayed with friends in Canterbury.

When I had just about come back to the land of the living again, some friends asked me what I would most like them to bring and I begged for a sketch book and drawing pen. I was so delighted when they brought it. I tried to draw but there was no connection somehow between my brain and my hand. I felt quite distressed but I kept trying and my capacity gradually came back. Somewhere I have the strange little drawings I did at that time but I can’t find them..

As I have written elsewhere Betty was an extraordinary person full of energy and good will but also with a great skill at organisation. She was a talented linguist, with friends all over the world. When we lived in Stevenage she was learning Chinese going up to the School of African and Oriental Studies once a week. She went to China for three weeks.

When she came down to Herne Bay it was just too far to London on the train to continue her study…so what did she do ? She started to learn Arabic with an Arabic speaker. She just loved languages.

She was instrumental in starting both the WEA in Herne Bay and the Three Towns twinning association between Canterbury and district, Vladimir in Russia and Bloomington USA. Both these organisations still exist and both have honoured her.

In her mid eighties she became seriously ill and had several spells in hospital losing consciousness and hallucinating ( I knew where she was coming from on that one!)


Betty waiting for an eye test.

Eventually they couldn’t do any more for her. I converted the downstairs front room, my living room, into a bedroom for her and nursed her for about a year, it was hard demanding work, unrelenting because I couldn’t leave the house. She had nurses to deal with her medical needs but during those times I had to go out and buy our food supplies. I set up a baby alarm between her room and my bedroom and frequently had to get up in the middle of the night. She kept falling out of bed or off her chair and I had to get the ambulance men to lift her back. I felt apologetic but they assured me that they are quite used to it. You can get very tired and ratty, and then you feel awful that you haven’t been patient. One night she didn’t ring the alarm but when I went in in the morning I found her sprawled on the floor half naked and cold. Her clothes had come off as she fell.



When the nurse came that day she told me that I couldn’t go on like this, Betty needed to be in a nursing home. I’d known this in my heart for a while but how can you find out about which homes are suitable and also Betty didn’t want to go. I asked the doctor for advice and he said they are not allowed to give it. There you are… looking after a person full time so how can you investigate the different qualities of the homes. I had been in lots of them with the band and I knew how they varied in quality. Betty was an intelligent feisty woman, she was physically ill but still had an alert mind, I didn’t want her to go somewhere where she would be treated like a child. Then the dear nurse said to me ‘I’m not supposed to say this but I  know just the place for her, I’ll arrange it’ I was overwhelmed with relief and gratitude. I knew Betty would resist but fortunately in a way I was due to go into hospital for the replacement of my hip and we told her that she would be there whilst I was in hospital.


The nursing home was St. Benedicts on the sea front just beyond St. Georges Terrace. She had a room of her own at the back and I tried to make it homely with her own things around her. I had my op. then she kept saying ‘When am I coming home?’ I felt such a traitor as I knew she was never coming home. She had more spells in hospital and I always went with her. I visited her every day for nearly two years, she also had visitors from all over the world including ten of the choir from Vladimir. She soon got a room at the front so that she could look over the sea which pleased her. I read to her most afternoons. One afternoon she said ‘Could you read me some Harry Potter?’ I was amazed that she had heard about him, she had heard a programme on her radio!


Eventually my dear friends invited me to go and stay with them for a few days in Malvern for a respite period. On the second day we received a phone call to say that Betty had died.

When she was in hospital I did make some drawings, I feel a bit unsure about it but I’m going to include some as they were done with love and respect for a remarkable person.


It wasn’t the end of my experience of hospitals. In my early seventies it was discovered that I had gall stones. I needed an operation to remove them, it was set for January.

Just before Christmas I met my friend Peter, he was tucking into a piece of Christmas cake, he had had the same operation the week before. ‘No problem’ he said ‘Easy peasy with this new keyhole surgery, you’re in one day and practically out the next day’ The specialist that I had see was a lovely man, full of humanity, Mr. Heddle. He also assured me that the operation was an easy one. I had every trust in him as I thought he would be doing the operation himself.

I went in with no fears, but it was six weeks before I came out again and even then I had to convalesce. People told me what had happened because I was ‘out of it’ for a lot of the time.

The surgery was performed and I was put in the recovery ward but I was not recovering I was getting worse, no one could understand why. It was a student doctor who solved the problem. The surgeon wasn’t Mr. Heddle but was a new man, he had cut into my duodenum by mistake. It was rumoured  (though I am not sure of the truth) that it was the first time this surgeon had done a keyhole operation. It is difficult because you are operating looking into a screen, I believe it is a little like a mirror,

I was seriously ill, they thought I might die. I had sores all over my face and my mouth and throat felt completely dry all the time. My lips had to have water dripped on them, they were all cracked and white. I was in a lot of pain therefore on morphine. My breathing was difficult and I had to use a nebuliser. The nebuliser was like heaven, suddenly you could breathe clean air and it made a comforting bubbling sound like a hookah. I felt disgusting because my blood soaked bandages were dirty. Why didn’t they change them? I learned later that disturbing the wound and exposing it to the air by continually putting on new bandages, is often more harmful. I had the dreadful agony of bedsores.

I was hallucinating in a completely surreal parallel world. Even when I came out of hospital the alternative world that I had lived in seemed more real than the actual one. The hallucinations were very archetypal. I was on a lonely beach, behind me were sand dunes and a large grassy hillock. Two women with shawls over their heads came to me offering two keys for a wooden door in the hill. They seemed to be offering two choices, one that I would live but have a dreary life or two, that I might die but that if I lived my life would be fulfilling. I felt emotional and terror but I chose number two. It took me ages to differentiate between the reality and the hallucination.I couldn’t find the drawings I did for this one, if I find them I will add them later. I’ve done so many drawings in my life that it is difficult to keep track of them all.

In another dream I thought I was in charge of a storm that could overwhelm the Hebridean Islands. I kept hearing the words of the weather forecast. I knew I was on a bed but behind me I thought there was a glass case containing ancient tools and knives with leather thongs attached to them. I somehow knew I was on a bed and that people were looking at me.


The Hebridean hallucination was all tied up with Celt imagery too. When you think of my travel history to the crosses and the islands I suppose they all came together in a mish mash in my mind.


When I left hospital I was haunted by thoughts of what might be going on in the other world that I had inhabited. This went on for months and was disturbing, in the end I got rid of the hallucinations and ghosts by drawing the main incidents. I found that I could deal with them then. I think I am still affected by them.


I had some terrifying ones too. I thought I was being attacked by birds and having to swallow the feathers. Possibly the strangest one was Oriental (where did that come from?) I was in a room with Buddhist looking men, one of them was praying.  They were breeding some kind of insect/worm in glass cages and I was sure they wanted to put me in one.




On another occasion I was in a maze of boxes and I couldn’t get out.

They then had to cut my stomach again and this time I lost my belly button! Finally I was allowed to go to a convalescent home. I chose a rather luxurious one, the Old Rectory in Ickham , the rooms were comfortable with fine furniture. I thought I deserved nice food and a lot of comfort after my ordeal. Sadly it wasn’t to end there. I had to go back to the hospital for a routine check after a few days. I was taken in the hospital transport and brought back afterwards to my beautiful room, so calm and quiet after the hubbub of the hospital ward. The next day the home received a phone call it had been discovered that I had a bad infection. Only people dressed in protective clothing were to come near me and some of the sheets had to be burned. I had to go back to hospital for further surgery. I felt like a leper, unclean and apologetic. It was awful.

Afterword………. The husband of the owner of the convalescent home was a lawyer. For some reason or other I was reluctant but he persuaded me that I had a case and that I should sue. He knew that I wouldn’t be able to look after myself for a while. I needed paid help for the cleaning and the gardening for nearly a year. The case took about a year and in the end I got £15.000. The rather funny thing is you get nothing for the suffering and pain and the lawyers have to find a precedent case. The precedent was a case where a woman successfully sued because she could no longer wear a bikini, they also cited the fact that I had no belly button.!!! How ridiculous. Plus of course the expenses that it had incurred.

Can I write this? It’s all part of the story so I must try.

This will be the hardest thing that I have ever attempted to write. I’m a Quaker, I’ve been one since my early thirties. Why? Because through my own personal experience of the transcendental (albeit very fleeting) I have come to believe that there is more in life than just the material world. It is very difficult to describe something that I feel in my inner being.

Almost accidentally throughout my life I had come across people that had impressed me. The first two were at art school. Jake Nicholson, son of the painters Ben Nicholson and Winifred Nicholson, came to give a talk about his time in America. In some part of his talk he must have given his favourable views on the Quakers he had come across during his time there and for some reason the memory of his words stayed with me.

The external examiner for Education at Corsham was a man called Robin Tanner who was a Quaker, educationalist, artist, illustrator and etcher. He was in the William Morris mould, a socialist and poet. He sympathised with the Austrian Professor Cizek and his views on the paramount importance of art for children. Tanner said ‘We are all born with the attributes of the artist, the designer and the craftsman. We have the power to select, to transmute the ordinary into the memorable, to see the world imaginatively or as the poet Rilke expressed it, to re-enkindle the commonplace’ To make the ordinary extraordinary. I read some of his writings and it chimed with what I was feeling. Robin Tanners own work has the same kind of lyrical quality as Samuel Palmer in his early days.




Etchings by Robin Tanner

Letchworth, where I lived during the first two years of my first marriage to Robin had been founded by the Quakers and lots of them still lived there. They founded the Settlement for further education that I have spoken about in an earlier part of my blog. I came to meet Margaret Harvey, a Quaker who was a great and influential advocate for the arts. She was a friend of Mary Hoad the principal of the nearest art college at St. Albans. She was interested in the personal work of the local art teachers and encouraged us to have a collective exhibition in the town gallery.

When I moved to Stevenage I found that behind a lot of excellent social initiatives there were Quakers. I went on peace marches and of course the Quakers of all ages were there too

Now I am not a person who would ever join an established church. I couldn’t subscribe to a creed. I am suspicious of most ‘religion’ OK for those who have ‘faith’ and ‘believe’, maybe I wish that I could, but I can’t. Having said that I am a seeker, and it seemed to me that the Quakers were also seekers. It is very difficult to pin down Quakerism, there are as many views as there are Quakers but the one thing that they would probably agree on is that they seek the ‘inner light’ and that’s what I seek too. That part of us that can experience and recognise the transcendental. The same light that impels us to make art. A meeting happens largely in expectant silence and that suits my personality.


New Forest. This natural circle of grass at the bottom of the wooded hill path is called the meeting place.

This seeking could be a rather selfish ‘in turning’ but the experience of the search has led to  social action of all kinds including the peace testimony. Just one example, the Society of Friends published the forward looking ‘Towards a Quaker view of Sex’ years before the current reforms. There are Quaker Buddhists, Quaker Hindu’s, Quaker Cof E’s and even some Quaker Catholics. When I went to live with Betty she was already a Quaker and I soon joined.

Just before Easter some years ago, the C of E church at Blean invited all sorts of different denominations to come to an evening meeting during Holy Week to give their churches views on the Resurrection. They invited the Quakers too and I was appointed to do the impossible. There is no specific Quaker view. I put a lot of work into researching the views of early Quakers. Eventually I decided that the best thing to do was to take my recorder and interview a wide section of Quakers and transcribe what they had said. In the face of the confident beliefs of the other denominations I think most people in the congregation thought that the Quakers were ‘wooly’, we are often accused of that.

nov25forestsun                     The New Forest. I drew this one evening as the sun was setting.

Now the very difficult bit.

I was tired when I got home, Ken and I were sitting at the table having a cup of tea and talking about the evening when he suddenly stopped in mid speech and slumped sideways against me in danger of falling on the floor. I realised immediately that he had had a stroke. I tried to hold him up whilst reaching for the phone and dialling 999. We were downstairs and it seemed like ages before the ambulance arrived though it was probably only about ten minutes. They carried him up the stairs and into the ambulance. My heart was pounding again and the familiar feeling of cold trembling was creeping over me. I gathered essentials and tried to follow the ambulance in the car. By the time all this happened it was about midnight. Going down Sturry Hill I was overtaken by a police car which pulled in front of me and signalled me to stop ‘Do you realise that one of your tailgate lights isn’t working. It is a punishable offence’ at that stage I just broke down in tears. They thought I was being over dramatic until I told them the circumstances. They then drove in front of me clearing the traffic until we got to the hospital. At this stage Ken was still conscious but it was clear that it was a bad stroke. I phoned the family. He was put into a small side ward. We congregated around his bed, I held his hand and the family spoke about the good times that they had had. The hearing is the last thing to go. He lasted a day before he died. It was a bleak and sad time. I can remember coming out of the main door of the hospital after his death and being offended that the sun was shining and that people were talking, laughing and going about their everyday business. I was going to illustrate this part with hospital drawings from other occasions but I think it would be inappropriate. Another of my drawings from the New Forest might just do.


Difficult Times (not much about art, you might want to leave it but it is part of my journey)

Ken still had a yearning to spend holiday time boating, I wasn’t that keen but he had had two heart attacks and he was ten years older than me so I wanted him to have the best time that he could. I drew the line at hiring a cruiser. I found an advert for a converted boat house next to the broads with the possibility of hiring a small boat for a week. I thought this would be a good compromise. We arrived at the main house and the owner John, took us down a very long garden path, rather wild to the boat house.


The flat was upstairs. The river was about thirty yards away and there was a beautiful little dock at the side of the lawn. From the upstairs window there was a great view of the river in both directions. The entrance  to the hire boat firm was just across the river.


I felt a bit ambivalent about the atmosphere of the place, I had an uneasy feeling. We had taken the canoe with us. The first day that we were there the hire boat firm brought the little boat and tied it up in the small dock. In the afternoon we had such a good trip in it to Wroxham Broad, it looked as though we might have a good week. I always have my sketch book with me of course and I made some interesting drawings of  twisted tree roots half in and half out of the water, and other boat houses at the edge of the Broad.



The little dock at the side of the garden with the small hire boat brought from a boat yard just across the river.


Ken in his element on our way to Wroxham Broad on the first day.

About half way through the night Ken started to cry out in agony, at first I thought it might be his heart, but it was his prostate, it had blocked off. Another night time panic, very like the first one. Somehow we managed to negotiate our way up the long overgrown garden path with Ken in some distress. There were no mobile phones in those days. The hospital was in Norwich. I had never driven in Norwich and didn’t know my way around. My heart was pounding again just as it had in Cornwall. All the time Ken was getting worse. With some relief I found signs pointing to the hospital and headed in that direction. We got there and went in the foyer with only to be told it wasn’t the right part. We had to get back in the car and eventually after some anxiety we were in the right place. They took him to a ward and put in a catheter. I slept there for the night, deja vue. They said they would operate the next day. In the morning I went back to the boat house to gather some necessary things, I’d been told to go back in the evening. I spent the afternoon trying to draw but I couldn’t settle down enough to do anything of any value.


River bank.

To my dismay, when I got there in the evening I found that they had not done the operation.  They said that they had discovered he didn’t come from the area and that he would have to go back to Canterbury. I remonstrated but they wouldn’t listen. We had a hideous journey back. The specialist in Norwich had phoned Canterbury and I naturally thought he would go straight in. Then even more bad news they couldn’t do it, he would have to wait his turn. So he was at home with the catheter. He got infections (as you do when you are using one for a long time) I had huge arguments with the hospital and so did Ken’s children. In the end I had to appeal to Roger Gale to intervene on our behalf.

John, the very kind owner of the boat house insisted that we should have a free holiday in the flat the next year. We did go but I really didn’t enjoy it there were too many bad memories about the place. There was one big plus however John had bought a large traditional Broads sailing boat, he had restored it and he took us out for a couple of trips.It was not easy under sail as the river is not very wide, you are tacking every few minutes and avoiding inexperienced skippers of holiday cruisers. It was a beautiful old boat. Although we had hired lots of fibre glass boats on our holidays Ken’s heart was in love with wooden boats especially of traditional build.



John’s traditional Broads sailing boat.

I didn’t know at that time but it was the beginning of some bad years. I have so many drawings of hospitals from those years. Drawing was a consolation and a way of distracting myself from pain and worry.

Nov24hospital ward

At least you had a comfortable place to sit. I certainly wasn’t capable of drawing standing up any more.


More Musicians ( I promise that these will be the last ones for a while)

I could see when I look at my collection that I haven’t drawn any contemporary pop and rock musicians and I wondered why. Then I realised that I don’t know much about new developments any more and the reason is because I don’t hear it, not because I don’t want to or that I don’t like it but I have come to love the spoken word even more. Radio 4 makes the background to my day, so much of the output is thought provoking or incredibly informative. I’m a huge fan of the dramas and stories. Life simply isn’t big enough for all the things you want to do and the places you want to go to. I don’t seem to want to watch TV any more, I prefer to choose a film or a TV series and watch it on my lap top. I admit it does cut you off from certain conversations. Can you believe it I have never watched Come Dancing in spite of my love of dance.nov22sagaguitar


nov21 2guitarists




When Ken and I started playing we played lots of folk music, we belonged to a folk music group in Canterbury and twice a year we went to stay for the weekend at Springfield House near Rye. The food was fantastic and we were often up most of the night playing (no change there then) What made it special for me was that it was that it had been the home of Edward Burra and I’d always loved his paintings. Everywhere I went in that house and garden I could imagine him being there. His family were well off, they had eight servants. The house is elegant with a beautiful staircase as a kind of centrepiece. As a child Edward developed rheumatoid arthritis, this meant that he had to leave his boarding school and be taught at home. Apparently he said to his mother one day ‘I’m just going out’ and more or less left home just like that. Paul Nash encouraged him and introduced him to surrealism, but his work doesn’t fit into any ‘ism’ it is unique and personal. A bit like George Grosz or Otto Dix.

novv24burrablackwomen He loved to observe the seemy side of life wherever he travelled and he travelled a lot. Most of his work is on paper, his hands were very twisted with arthritis and he couldn’t cope with oil. He was just unfortunate that he lived in a time when abstract impressionism was king and figures almost non existent. He might have preferred it that way as he never went to any of his private views, fame might not have suited his personality. During the latter part of his life he made quirky rather dark landscape paintings, another unfashionable subject at that time.

Valley and River, Northumberland 1972 by Edward Burra 1905-1976

He described Rye as ‘a duckie little Tinkerbell towne’ but who could help liking a man who also said ‘always join the minority’ So Springfield was full of his spirit for me.

At Springfield the two guitarists shown immediately above were brilliant song writers about everyday subjects. I wish I had the words to some of them. a lot of them were funny wry observations on life, Cockney in style, slightly Chas and Dave. I can remember one of them was called ‘Sunday Tea with my Gran’ The chorus being a repeat of all the food she put on the table.


There were various jazz clubs, mostly trad jazz, the one I went to most often was at the retro Walpole Hotel, in Margate. You could order food and drinks and listen to the band.  It was held in the basement, you had to use this incredibly old fashioned iron fretted lift to get there. I guess there was a staircase but I was already finding them a bit difficult.nov21bernardbest

I couldn’t possibly leave this page without mentioning one of Ken’s favourite musicians, a local, born in Canterbury, sax and clarinet player Tony Coe. Ken knew Tony’s father, I think he was called George, they knew each other from dance band days as George also played the sax. We saw Tony play on lots of occasions but the one I remember with the greatest pleasure was a master class he did for the Canterbury Fringe Festival. He inspired them and taught them so much in a very short time. He is such a sensitive inventive player, his whole life is in his music.

nov23tony coe.jpg                    Tony has the kind of hunched back that a lot of sax players develop.


Above… Tony with renowned jazz pianist Stan Tracey.


With a student at the master class held in the Old Synagogue, in Kings Street.


Above… a group of students playing as an ensemble at Tony’s master class. He taught them so much in a short time. I have enough of these musician drawings to make a book of anecdotes….but I won’t!

Musicians (again)

Going through these drawings has brought back so many memories, more than I could ever imagine. Before I started this blog I had no idea what a resource I had to evoke instant recall. It has been a pleasurable experience so I really can’t leave it behind yet. It will be a shorter blog than usual because I have spent a lot of the day designing my Christmas card and sending it off to the printers for Black Friday. I did it last year and made good savings on the money I usually pay for cards. It’s been bugging me for a week. The only thing that I realised after it was all approved and paid for was that I had put an e where there should have been a c. My eyesight is poor these days and it was only when I saw it very enlarged that I realised. In the middle east they always leave a small mistake on their woven carpets on purpose…only Allah is perfect so you are tempting fate trying to emulate him. That’s my excuse.


The year after Ken had been so ill, I decided ‘no boating’ We both needed a holiday so I devised a trip to the West country using hotels that had heated swimming pools both he and I needed relaxation and exercise. The first hotel was a very expensive one on the banks of the Thames at Caversham. It soon became obvious that the swimming wasn’t for him. He couldn’t swim very well and it made his heart pound in an alarming way.  Each day in our various hotels I usually had the pool to myself, great luxury with a robe and big fluffy towels. We had paid so much for the hotels that we couldn’t afford to eat in them, apart from breakfast which was included. At Caversham we sneeked off to the greasy spoon across the road.

The drawing above comes from a hotel that we stayed in in Torquay. It had a pool, very run down but I didn’t mind. The rest of the hotel had seen better days too. There was a small ballroom with a balcony all around it. In the evening we went to hear the band, we were there having a drink when they came in. It was almost like a joke, they were old and worn like the hotel. They shuffled in. We almost left. Then they started to play and they were absolutely terrific, full of life, inventive in their rhythms and improvisations and fun. They got people dancing almost straight away. Not many bands can do this. The music brought them to life and at the end they went back to being shuffling old men again.

nov22lederhosegood.jpgOn another night they had a Bierkeller Band, definitely not my cup of tea, or my pint of beer. I stayed because I knew they would be interesting to draw. The sight of grown men in leder hosen reminds me of Nazi’s and the Hitler youth movement. Here was another cigarette smoking musician, it shows how long ago it was.


Almost by accident, (more later on in the blog) I joined a Keyboard and Organ Club. It is a very strange little world of it’s own. There are specialist musicians who make their living doing the circuit. They are hired by keyboard clubs as entertainers and travel miles to earn their crust at village halls and clubs. I have never been to one where alcohol has been served. Tea , biscuits and a raffle are more the norm BUT there are some wonderful players well able to utilise the immense range of sampled sounds that these instruments provide. In my drawing, you can see the remarkable jazz player Steve Lowdell, who has had a lifetime of experience in the jazz world. Because some of the audience also play keyboards the musicians often brought  huge mirrors on stands to allow the audience to see their hands, you can see it in the drawing. This is a great opportunity for drawing, very unusual. Nowadays they bring a movie camera and a screen. A lot of musicians look down on music played on keyboards, wrongly I think, it is a special skill of it’s own. This strange world also hosts conventions in holiday camps and hotels, not a world that I want to join.


I like to use a sepia pen in my drawings but I have huge trouble finding a decent fibre one, if I used pen and ink it would be easy to get the brown colour. I actually would prefer to use a dipping pen(even better a reed or bamboo) pen and ink… I like the flow and the way you can easily get a living line, alas it just isn’t practical.

nov22violingoodone When you draw musicians you realise how important their posture is, on the other hand the body always being in the same position for hours does impose awful strains. You can sometimes tell what instrument a musician plays even when they are without their instrument. A lot of sax players, including Ken have one shoulder higher than the other.


Peter Donohoe playing at the Bath Mozart Festival, great to hear beautiful music being playing in my old art school haunts, the Assembly  and the Pump Rooms. I would like to have included the setting but there is never enough time.


Above…in the cathedral.



Above.      Playing the ‘pans’ in the Kings Hall.


Kent Youth Wind Orchestra.


I’ve been in and around music of all kinds since I was a child. My mother was a good pianist and my father played the violin very well by ear. I often wonder if it was the music that brought them together, it seemed to be the only time that they got on well.  They argued a lot and I used to go and sit on the stairs with my hands over my ears.

The kind of music that they played would probably be called light music. They played music from the shows of the thirties, especially Ivor Novello ‘We’ll gather Lilacs’, and ‘No ,no Nanette’, songs of the day and ballet music. The first present I ever bought for my mother from my own money was the sheet music for The Sugar Plum Fairy. I have always sung and played, not very well but I have inherited a good sense of rhythm, and pitch. I am not afraid of singing anywhere, it comes naturally to me. I can play the keyboard using my knowledge of the chord positions. It’s known as fake music but it doesn’t sound bad and I enjoy it. If I have the melody line and the chord symbol, I can play just about anything. There has never been a time in my life where music hasn’t played some part

I have always drawn musicians…Ha…I thought, for this Post I could gather my musician drawings together, I had absolutely no idea of the hundreds that I have made over the years until I started to find them…there was no way I could get them all gathered together in a couple of hours. These are just a few, not necessarily the best. As with the museum drawings I’ll sprinkle a few more in later posts.


Hassan Erraji a blind musician playing the Kanun. The instrument makes a beautiful sound. His hands are  so sensitive on the strings. Plucking with one hand and stopping with the other. I’m a big fan of world music.


I love rhythm of any kind and these are the Taiko drums, The great thing about the Japanese Taiko drums is that they combine music and movement together. I first saw them at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. I had gone to do a textiles course at the Edinburgh College of Art. I was staying in a student hostel close by. The rooms were cheap so there were lots of fringe participants staying there too. I used to look out of my window and see my next door room neighbours juggling and doing acrobatics, they were from China. I usually finished my course around 5pm so I was free for the rest of the evening. I spent the time going to all sorts of brilliant and way out performances in church halls, garages, indeed anywhere that provided space. I was already, all those years, ago finding it difficult to walk. When folks realised that I was a bit disabled I was treated like a queen and often ushered to the front seats, or helped in through a different door. I had such a good time but the two things that I remember were both Japanese, the Taiko drummers and dancers and a Butoh ritual dance group. They danced naked but covered in white mud, it was so elemental and beautiful, very sculptural. There are fierce critics of this type of dancing, they say that it looks as though it were being performed by zombies.  I have a drawing somewhere but I can’t find it. I will add it when I do. It was also the first time that I ate sushi.nov21 2violinsThis couldn’t be more different, very European, a Bach recital in a church in Prague. Wonderful to hear soaring music in a Gothic building. We were taken there by our Czech friends. When they heard we were staying in a tent they immediately invited us to stay in their flat in the middle of Prague. Four memorable events, this concert, a visit to the interesting Jewish cemetery, (all the headstones had little stones left on them, it is a tradition,) a performance by the magical Black Theatre, and a walk around all the places associated with Kafka.


Closer to home, the Charleston Chasers in the Kings Hall, complete with potted palms (not in my drawing) This is such joyous dance-able music, and so redolent of the age. They take great care recreating the exact musical style . It really is a kind of historical record. I loved the huge ridiculous instrument, I think it might be a Sousaphone.


I heard these three musicians at the Broadstairs Folk Festival. There aren’t many people that like the bagpipes, but I do. I think they were Breton. It is no mean feat to smoke a cigarette and play the banjo at the same time. How did he do it? We often camped there in the official camp on the school field. I did a very memorable song writing course there with Dave Goulder. We used to go to the jamming sessions, in the pubs  I was playing on the accordion and melodeon and Ken on his flute. We used to come for a shower.

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Two bass players, you must be dedicated to carry the bass round with you. You wonder if bass players started on violins, then cellos and finally on the grandaddy of them all, the mighty bass.nov21bassistwoman.jpgI think this is pretty unusual a woman bass player. I remember that she looked extremely elegant and straight backed as she played.nov21harpistThe sound of the harp is so special. The hands are interesting but difficult to draw. I never worked out what the doll was doing on the back of the chair, my guess is that it was her good luck talisman. Looking back at these drawings has brought back so many memories that I am going to have to continue with them. Time to sleep. 2.30am. Yawn!