The school holiday of Christmas 1971 was a time of worry and uncertainty. Exams were looming ever closer which led to thoughts of that distant thing called ‘the future’ and planning for it by staying ‘on track’. I wasn’t sure what track I was supposed to be on, or what the future had in store for me. I wanted to write. When I was brave enough to say it out loud, I met with raised eyebrows from nearly everyone except my English teacher who recognised my potential, gave me lots of praise and used my work as an example to the rest of 5 alpha. I was bright enough to appreciate that a good, all round education was a sound starting block for anything so I did my best, and hoped for the best. It was down to me. The holiday was a good time for revision and in order to offer support to each other, friends and I gathered regularly, usually at our classmate, Ian’s house. He lived central to everyone and his mum didn’t seem to mind her front room being taken over in the afternoons by half a dozen or more lads and lasses sitting round the coal fire drinking the endless pots of tea she made for us. After a brisk walk in freezing fog to get there, it was lovely to feel welcome. My home was a place I felt the need to escape from. My mother had passed away a few years earlier, my father had quickly remarried and the whole dynamic of our family had changed. Being amongst friends was the best way to spend any afternoon.
This group revision didn’t last very long before the lid on the radiogram was lifted and the LPs came out. The Moody Blues album ‘Every Good Boy Deserves Favour’ was king of the turn-table. My favorite track, ‘One More Time to Live’ written by John Lodge was the beginning of side two. We’d try to sing along, but never got the words right. Practice makes perfect. Years later, it was included in a Moody Blues concert and I was spirited straight back to those happy days. The album is one of my most played CDs and track 6 is always repeated.
This time last year I was in Shrewsbury and slowly coming back down to earth after meeting John Lodge on his solo UK tour. It was a delight and a privilege. It meant so much.
No poem, just a gathering of my thoughts.
I’m waiting to retire
I’m waiting to re-locate
I’m waiting to settle down
I’m waiting for harmony
I’m waiting for the baby
I’m waiting to get back on track
With the novel I’m reading
With the novel I’m writing
With the poetry in my head
I’m waiting for my time, to come round again.
PMW
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