Every year, Sidmouth has a folk music festival. I managed to get there one time on a whistlestop tour of East Devon.
I've given a narrative description of my brief sojourn in Sidmouth. Writing poetry or stories is an art that may take years to perfect. I've just started the journey - these past fifteen years!
SIDMOUTH FOLK
On a whistlestop tour of East Devon
with an Explorer ticket: Dawlish, Torquay, Totnes, Buckfastleigh Abbey, Plymouth and the river Tamar,
and finally back to Exeter
and a nightfall return
to Sidmouth, sleeping in a lane
beside a church in Chapel St.
or a chapel in Church St.
Wake up to a sunny morning, roll up the sleeping bag, on with the rucksack
straight to the seafront to lie on a bench,
long black scarf a makeshift pillow,
pebble beach a stone's throw away,
salt tang of the sea,
guitars and accordions all round,
old Crusties in Robin Hood hats,
young internationals
walking the Prom,
a 'gathering' no less.
The 50th Sidmouth Folk festival
including English dance band, Wapweasel,
Ralph McTell
and the long-limbed summer girls.
The Mother hen of a family trio
sings Dream a Little Dream of Me
while her lad and lass, on ukelele and banjo,
give us George Formby's
When I'm Cleaning Windows.
A few yards further along,
a blind man sings Walking in Memphis...
This is delightful! …such an authentic atmosphere
is conjured up for our entertainment…
what could be a better experience on a sunny morning…
than the music of Wapweasel no less, a salt tang in the air and strains of When I’m Cleaning Windows?!
Wow: a fantastic festival and a great poem to prove it! I get the feeling the whole world should have been there but gladly accept these lines as a good enough consolation prize.
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