Little Donny: “Father, I cannot tell a truth. I did not chop down the cherry tree.”
Old Fred: “Well done, son. How much did you get for the wood?”
[Yes, I know that the six-year-old George Washington is sometimes said to have damaged the cherry tree with his hatchet, and by other sources to have actually chopped it down. I also know that the whole story is usually assumed to be a myth, perpetuated because it was included in a biography by Mason Locke Weems and subsequently in McGuffey’s Readers by William Holmes McGuffey, as well as an engraving by John C. Macrae. But the dialogue above is a parable, not historical fact.
What I didn’t know is that Trump’s father was actually named Frederick Christ Trump. I have no further comment to make about that, but Woody Guthrie might have… He wrote at least two songs about Fred Trump, and was definitely not a fan.]
It was close to midnight when Ralph had the idea. At first, he thought it was just an attractive fancy, a vision of a golden future for mankind that would end all the superstition, the greed, all the lack of empathy and humanity that was driving the human race into the blackest of tunnels. He didn’t think it was actually achievable.
Yet, after several sleepless hours, he had unearthed the barest bones of a way in which it could actually be made to happen.
Over the next few days, he cautiously disclosed his idea to a very close friend. George, a little at a time, and eventually persuaded him that the plan could work. That same day, George took him to the White House. Ralph was astounded: he’d had no idea that George moved in such elevated circles, or could pull such golden strings. Nor would he have believed that it be so easy to get access to the most powerful man in the world. Yet, apart from the pair of marines who accompanied them, all the gatekeepers and barriers seemed to melt away at their approach.
Were they really standing outside the Oval Office? Yet before one of the marines opened the door, his courage deserted him, and a horrible realization began to dawn.
“Look, George, it was just an idea. Perhaps it would… Couldn’t we just pretend I never thought of it?”
With just the barest, saddest shake of the head, George pushed him gently through the door that did not lead to the Oval Office, closing his ears to the muffled suggestion of a scream from the inside.
“If only you really hadn’t had the idea. Or at least kept it to yourself, rather than infect anyone else with it…”
The six-foot-something marines parted to let him past, and George followed Ralph through the door that did not lead to the Oval Office.
‘Keepsake Mill’ from the new ‘Farewell Reunion’ album by myself, Dave Higgen and Nancy Higgen (masquerading as the New Prize Silver Jug Band) is scheduled to go into the ‘Here We Are’ section of Stuart Green’s show ‘The Folk Club’ (on various platforms as shown below) on and after the 5th of February.
By David Harley, Dave Higgen, and Nancy Higgen, masquerading as the New Prize Silver Jug Band.
There’s a certain amount of genre hopping here, but no actual jug band music. Come to that, no brass/silver band either. Next time, maybe.
Back at the end of the 60s at college in North Wales, Dave and I, among others (including Sally Goddard, better known more recently as part of the Canadian band ‘Atlantic Union’, and Paul Dunderdale, last heard of teaching music on the Isle of Man) occasionally gigged under a name that cheekily parodied that of a local silver band. When Dave and I started (via the wonders of internet connectivity) to record together, it seemed appropriate to resurrect the name (but dropping the name of the real band!)
Farewell Reunion (name taken from one of Dave’s songs) is currently available only from Bandcamp, though it may get streamed at some point. No hurry for that, since it’s unlikely that any of us will live long enough to make the threshold for payment from Spotify etc…
Dave Higgen: engineering and production; bass, drums/percussion, keys, guitars, vocals**, any instruments unaccounted for.
David Harley: octave mandola, most of the guitars and impersonation of other things with strings (but not the harp), vocals*.
Nancy Higgen: vocal on ‘Mad as the Mist and Snow’***
Here’s the tracklist. You don’t have to buy anything to listen to tracks.
Taking off my musician’s hat to masquerade as an author, I’m very pleased to be included on the Cornish Writers site. (To be fair, the bio does include a link to my book on Nashville tuning, so not entirely music-free.)
However, what I really liked about the whole thing was doing this interview, which was a lot of fun. (Mostly, but your mileage may vary.)
…not mine, on this occasion, but perhaps of more interest than mine to people with a Cornish connection.
The first is a new novel – nine years after the last one! – by my neighbour (and Allison & Busby’s author of the month!) Deborah Fowler. I haven’t read it yet, as it’s not out till the 24th of October, but I expect it to be well up to the standard of her Felicity Paradise novels.
I shall certainly be following the Cornwall Writers site with keen interest in the future. Especially as I’m now registered with it! (More about that later, hopefully.)
Please note that while I used to contribute articles occasionally, I no longer have any connection with Infosecurity Magazine, never worked for them, no longer know anyone there, and can’t help you place articles with them.
“Buller, buller, buller” is reportedly the Bullingdon Club rallying cry with which Boris Johnson greeted fellow ex-members before the reputation of the club became so toxic that even he claimed to regret it.
“Little Britain” is less a reference to a TV show that I’ve never actually seen than to the myth of “plucky little Britain” standing alone against its enemies during two World Wars.
Thames House and Vauxhall Cross are the headquarters of MI5 and MI6 respectively. I don’t believe that either organization is unequivocally evil, but clearly both are tainted by political pragmatisim. Sanctions against Russia since the invasion of Ukraine have been selective, and the UK government is even more selective when it comes to criticizing the activities of political allies.
I prefer not to go into detail about the unspeakable far-right agitators and politicians, or the so-called patriots who seized upon the deaths of innocent children in Southport as an excuse for rioting and looting.
‘Perfidious Albion’ is a term that’s been used to describe Britain’s duplicitous political behaviour at least as far back as the 19th century.
Anyway, I’m too old and feeble to be much of an activist nowadays, but at least I can still vent my spleen in song. At least, I don’t think it’s illegal yet, though another four years of Tory repression might have changed that.
This song was finished today, so it’s obviously an imperfect performance (and one word has already been changed since this recording). ‘Castles’ is now ‘apartments’.
Or:
Little-Minded Britain
The flags are out in Downing Street to show that we’re the best
The Buller Buller Bullies take it all, and sod the rest
The greedy ones unmasked in the corridors of power
Still claim they’re just like us, in their apartments and their towers
Please don’t make me live in Little Britain
With the bullies and the liars without shame
I don’t want to end my days with those who say that it’s OK
To spit on anyone who’s not like them
Thames House is taking tea, and so is Vauxhall Cross
With the traitors and the ones who pull their strings
The oligarchs still thrive, money still has the last word
Whichever way the pendulum swings
Don’t make me live in Little-Minded Britain
Where the racists pose as patriots and devils pose as saints
Please don’t let me die in Little Britain
Among the hopeless victims of the rage that knows no shame
David Harley Words & Music & Pictures &... 
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