From Busking around New South Wales , I had thought about going to other countries to do some busking . Sometimes an isea is like a seed and should be water to allow it to grow
Dark Nights, Dawns And Fast Twilights.
Australia in the seventies was exciting and fashionable . Girls wore platform shoes and miniskirts . Fellas had long hair and they wore bell bottom jeans with denim jackets . There were love songs with lyrics and highways that allowed traffic to flow freely . One of the things I remember in the seventies was my early morning train rides on the Sydney system . What an experience it was to travel all stations to Redfern on a Red Rattler . They were called Red Rattlers because of how they looked and felt . In appearance they were unique . Rusty red and fading fast , extremely noisy and uncomfortable . Their carriage doors were too heavy to open or close so they were always left open . The windows inside were the same . No one was ever game enough to try and open them because of the embarrassment involved when you couldn’t do it . A journey on a red rattler was a boneshaker . It filled with swaying emotions and shunted you back and forward into people around you . If you stood near a door the chances that you could fall out an open door was always on the cards . Sometimes if you stuck your head out the door it was possible to imagine you were riding on some huge metallic rattlesnake that weaved along the track .
I lived a half a house in a western suburb of Sydney called Pendle Hill . My place was near the railway station and I used the trains quite often when I went busking in town .
One morning before the sun arose, I sat waiting for the train to arrive in to Pendle Hill station . With nothing else to do but stare into space I sat there on a seat on the platform looking at the glow of taillights from the slow moving traffic that crawled across the bridge by Pendle Way . The foggy shadows that covered neon streetlights looked eerie in the early dawn . I gazed into the sky as some coloured clouds welcomed the waft of first morning light .
Suddenly the train pulled into station . I boarded and took a seat and sat beside the window of the red rattler . Thick morning dew covered the glass and as I tried to squint through the drops of water I watched two droplets race down the window . They ran into each other and the rush was gone . Apart from me there was nobody else on board but the driver of the train . I almost felt like one of those drops of dew . Alone on a train racing down the track .
I felt a sense of the blues come over me so I took my guitar from its case and plucked a couple of the strings to a rhythm of the lonely clickety clack of the train on the track . I was really getting into this twelve-bar boogie when suddenly the train screeched to a stop at Parramatta station . I quickly put my six string back into its case and pulled open the old door of the red rattler and jumped off the train . I made my way from the platform to the exit gate where a ticket collector stood wearing this green hat and grey overcoat .
As I made my way to him, I began this frantic search through my pockets for my weekly train ticket . On the platform there were three other people besides myself and I was the only one carrying a guitar case . I seemed to attract some of their attention .The ticket collector sharply blew his whistle and the red rattler departed the station . I made my way to the exit gate and the ticket collector gave me a wave . I smiled and left the station .
I strayed down Argyle Street into Church Street . At this time of the morning Parramatta was like a ghost town . The busy buzz was silent . The hum and the hustle of had not yet begun . That’s just the way I liked it . The trick of successful busking was catching an unsuspecting audience . I had a special time and place where I busked . It worked for me . Getting there before the early morning commuters made their way through the bottom level of the entrance ramp underneath Darcy Street . The natural echo of guitar and voice reverberated off the walls in the tunnel sound . The natural deep acoustic sound always provided a nice presence for your audience . I was aware also that where I stood, was the main thoroughfare and the only way in and out of Parramatta station .
Each morning before busking began, I made sure I had a good breakfast . The routine was a walk to City Extra having a talk to the street cleaners in Phillip Street . Over the years I got to know some of them . As I wandered down through town, I saw Robert busy up-ending the council rubbish bins into the back of his truck . He gave me a wave and said .
“G’day mate , how’s it going ?“
“Ok . What’s happening mate ?” I said .
He took his hat off and replied .
“I’ll tell you what mate and I’m fair dinkum about this . I reckon they should put padlocks and chains on these bins . So far, I’ve only found three where they should be . There has been rubbish everywhere else except in the bins that are provided for the purpose . I’ve found empty bins on top of traffic lights . Another was hoisted up on a flagpole . I’ve had others stacked up on top of each other . It’s the devil’s bloody playground around here at night .“
Robert loved to have a chat .
I said ,
“You know what mate , sometimes I think they have filled their heads with too much rubbish mate . The problem is they never empty them .“
That always did the trick for Robert . He loved to hear stuff like that . He said ,
“I’ll tell you what mate I don’t know what the kids are coming too these days. Maybe their parents should put padlocks and chains on them .“
“Padlocks wouldn’t keep them in mate . “
I said and he replied ,
“You’re probably right mate . You know what I reckon . They should be locked up in prison mate and only let out once a day to do my job . That would soon change their tune .“
The conversation was interrupted by a strange noise that was getting closer and louder by the second .
“Wait on mate “ Robert said .
He went over to the truck and grabbed his brush from and looking slightly perplexed he went over beside the automatic teller and leaned on it . Somehow it seemed to give him a kind of security . Roberts intrigued me change of demeanour and t was then I saw what was behind it . There it was . Grating and grinding its way along the gutters of Church Street was this large yellow mechanical sweeping machine . Complete with flashing lights and hoses that spat out a chemical spray from its water tanks on to the side of the road . Robert stood like a man under pressure and spat on the ground . Then he pointed to the machine and said ,
“See that mate , that’s my arch enemy mate . I was here long before that machine ever swept up . these streets and it’s slowly taking over . Soon it will be after my job .“
“It’s getting late Robert , I’ve got to go , see you mate .“
I said and he in response lit up a cigarette and shouted in clouds of smoke , ,
“Hooray then “.
I made my way to City Extra, the twenty-four-hour joint in Church Street .I took my usual seat opposite the overhead TV screens . I loved the way they always allowed you to settle for a while before coming to take your order . It must have been about twenty minutes later when the waitress came over and smiled as she took the menu away .and said ,
“Good morning, sir “
I replied . ‘ It’s bitter cold outside .“
“Yes sir . Would you like to order now .“
She said and I looked at my watch and said ,
“Do you have Darjeeling ?”
”Yes sir .“
“I’ll have a pot of that .“
The music of Fleetwood Mac was on the radio softly playing in the background . The tone was friendly . The joint was empty bar three .
“Do you want anything else with the pot of tea sir ?”
“Some toast “ I replied .
“Brown or white .“ came the speedy reply .
“I’m not racist in any way . Why don’t you choose the colour for me .”
“I think brown bread is much better for you .“
“Does that pencil work ?.“
She almost started laughing but somehow held a tight grip on notepad and pencil in her hand .
“Will that be all sir ?”
“I’ll have two eggs fried with two sausages in between the brown bread .“
“Sunnyside up ? She asked .
“Yes please .”
“Will there be anything else sir ?” She asked .
“Could you keep an eye on my guitar for me while I use the bathroom .“
“Certainly sir .“
She left me with a smile and I went in to freshen up before work .
I washed my face combed my curly hair and returned to my seat where breakfast was waiting for me . I took to it like a four-legged friend with a nose bag , ready to run down the last furlong of a hungry mile to the post . I enjoyed some new inspiration and scribbled down the lyrics of a song going through my head . The melody was the same one I had found on the train to Parramatta a little earlier on .
I called the song , The Day Dropped In and the lyrics went something like this.
The clock on the counter said a quarter to four , I walked into City Extra like a hundred times before . I sat myself down and I had a pot of tea , I watched Good morning, Sydney on the colour TV . The day dropped in and said hello nice to see you . I thought I’d bring you a song to sing now that the night is through .
I poured my thoughts down on paper and my tea in a cup the I got up to my feet as the morning sun got up . Within my heart and soul, I played this new tune and the waitress she smiled as she walked across the room .
Lyrics of songs would come like that , inspired by everyday life . With a new song I sat and watched the day start to drop in . People arrived at the café and I listened to the clinking of china cups and the tinkle of tea spoons on saucers and for a brief moment I chanced to look into the faces of those other patrons in City Extra .
There they were . Aloof to me watching them sipping down coffee and eating raisin toast . They looked like a crew of known suspects in a line up for some who done it show on TV. Writers like me often sit back and observe life a little different to most people who are busy with their jobs or their catching up with the gossip of love and other possibilities in their lives .
After I had eaten and tuned up for the new day, I walked out of City Extra to the bright light that brought shadows before my feet . It was always there ; my shadow and it followed me all the way to the overhead railway bridge near Argyle Street where I made stood on the corner and opened my case and began to play a few of my own songs . I had an instant reaction and money was placed into my open guitar case . I played without a break until lunch and I used some of my cash to grab a burger before returning to my spot . A lot of times I was able to take in a lot of what was happening as people went about their daily duties . Life was an interesting parade of people passing by .I remained until twilight before packing my guitar away .
I headed to the platform and took a seat and waited for another red rattler to bring me back . A train rolled in as the day dropped out and I fell into a seat and relaxed for a while before departing the train . There was no one there to check for my ticket at Pendle Hill which was just as well because I didn’t have one . I walked up the steps and walked back to my half a house in Burra Street . Nighttime had come to whisper hello and I passed the remainder of the day putting together some new melodies and lyrics . I was pleased about my new song The Day Drooped In and recorded it on an old ghetto blaster in my bedroom . I had a coffee and drew back the curtains . To my surprise the night had left and dawn had already arrived . I quickly put my six string back into its case and walked out the front door down Bungaree Road where I walked down the steps to the railway station .
Once I got on the train, I realised I didn’t have my weekly ticket again so instead of going to Parramatta I got off at Westmead as I knew no one would be checking for tickets there at Westmead at this early hour . It was a nice walk along the pathway that ran through the park to the city streets .
Parramatta Park with plenty of space that would invade your thoughts with sounds and images of nature with shrieking cockatoos perched on branches of Jacaranda trees that overlooked their kingdom abode , like kings or queens upon a tree branch throne . Their bright yellow feathered head dresses stood tall on their heads that proudly adorned them with a look of nobility .
Other residents of the park stirred about to welcome you to their abode . The geese near the picnic areas by the river gathered around in a circle gossiping in a gaggle as they do just to stir you up and tell you a story of who and what life was all about . Ducks glided in to quack their way through a new day . They played hide and seek with their friends, diving under the water and then resurfacing somewhere else a few minutes later . In a special way all the inhabitants of the park welcomed the regular visitors and the tourists . Along the riverbank rats scurried for cover into their holes . Water bugs hovered over the muddy surface of Parramatta River . Now and then they disappeared as small fish leapt out of the water and swallowed them . Both sides of the riverbank were covered with weeping willow trees .
In the middle of the park, beyond the cover of tall conifers the ground was littered with acorns that scattered themselves all around the mossy barked pathway . Lurking in the foreground was Parramatta Stadium, the home ground of The Mighty Eels rugby league team . Along pathways in the park, you were met by regular early morning joggers who pounded their way into another new day . One must admire the routine of joggers who rise to each day with a personal fitness attitude to life . Whenever I met joggers I felt some camaraderie with them . My own routine was similar to theirs . Maybe what I was doing had a sense of ritual attached to it . Even thought my everyday existence was different to most people I saw parallels to it . I made sure I had lung filled with fresh air to breathe and enough space to keep a clear head . Each day was a kind of pre planned map to make a musical contribution to the larger community where I lived .
I approached the gate out of the park that stood beside the ex-service men’s club and saw a helicopter high in the sky making its way across the blue sky where it hovered like cloud gazing down at the traffic that was at a standstill on Lennox Bridge . Horns were tooting in trucks and cars, engines were roaring and exhausts were spluttering out fumes into the air .
Suddenly the song of birds singing and the gentle presence of park life had been blasted away by the cacophony of the morning rush hour . The calm stillness had been broken and now I was captivated by the hustle and bustle of this crazy motion of life . There was a song there begging for words . There was melody screaming to get out . Somewhere there in this orchestra of life the busker was begging again to be heard . Lingering on the sidewalks , looking for an audience , time was almost right . One never likes to keep the audience waiting too long so I made my way to my usual spot .
The walk through the city streets was fast and furious . I was caught up on the sidewalk with sound of high heels hoofing along the pavement . Office girls who strutted their way like a parade of pretty flamingos dancing to the same tune . Behind them came the bunches of brief case wielding barristers and their broad stepping swaggers that bounced them along the footpaths like human medicine balls looking for a set of ten pins to bowl over on the way to their office for another day . Students with the fever of academia pushing them towards their graduation day , mothers with babies in strollers , tourist with back packs , this way the usual audience who came along each morning to the stage of life and very soon all of these would be at my mercy . My busking spot was in view and most times I never knew what appreciation would come but whatever came along I was hoping to bring a warm affectionate welcome to their day .
I took my guitar out from its case and began to play and sing . Somewhere between the bars of blue suede shoes , a fellow busker friend called Chris came and said ,
“How’s it going Mac ?”
It tricky trying to talk between singing the lines of a song but every now and then
I let the six string do the talk as I spoke to Chris .
“Going good . How’s things with you ?”
“Tops , take five Mac .“
What he was really saying was lend me your guitar so I can do a few numbers Anyway before I could answer him he grabbed my six string and played a Johnny Cash song . I sat down on the ground and counted how much money I had made so far and listened to Chris for a while . After he finished playing a few songs he gave me back my guitar .
“Welcome to my spot .“ I said .
It was the place where I busked everyday and in my mind it would always be my place . I took back my guitar from Chris and he said to me ,
“Hey Mac what about us doing a few gigs ?”
” Lets grab a bite to eat . I’d like to talk things over .“ I replied.
Chris used to be a member in a band called Thin Ice . They had been the support band for Mike Oldfield when he did a concert at the Capitol Theatre . That was the biggest gig Thin Ice had ever scored . They never really got the big break . Thin Ice were a good blues band but maybe they should have chosen a better name for the band . The reason being was the band eventually broke up in the end and some people got hurt in the process . When the band broke up I met Chris as I was purchasing some new strings for my guitar . He listened as tried out a few guitars for sale and came over to have a chat Chris . We had something in common as buskers and musicians .
That night he invited me over to his place to meet a few of his friends . We did some tunes there together and ended up busking together for a little while around the Sydney harbour . After a while we wrote a few songs together and did a few gigs for private functions .
We were like two weeping sticks of dynamite ready to explode with a melody or lyrics without any warning, in fact it was part of the passionate lifestyle writers are used to. Our appearance was deceiving with an unshaven face and clothes not ironed .
That was due to many late nights and threadbare patches of times we spent at home . Chris was very tall and slim, his legs were like two beanpoles with hinges in the middle . I called him Stretch which he liked . At six foot four and under 60 kilos he was all skin and bone . Our friendship with music had brought us together .
He was the kind of person who would really exhaust you with demands but it was great to have him around . I lived in a half house in Pendle Hill where he often called to visit . After each visit my weeks supply of coffee would be gone . .
As struggling musicians and songwriters we couldn’t get a break into the music business so that’s the reason why we started busking our songs . In order to share them with people . There were good times and bad times . With music there would be a mixture of feelings which either brought friction of harmony . Bottom of the barrel stuff that sat on the doorstep begging for acceptance in a world where some people made money and some people made music .I always counted my blessings and so far on this particular day my blessings counted up to thirty dollars which was just enough to grab something to eat . I headed over and bought two return tickets into the city centre and handed one over to Chris . Lets go in the city for a while .
We never had to wait long for a city circle train . We took an upstairs seat on the silver R-set where we sat silently for a while . Two buskers deep in the same thought, chasing after the same dream with the sound of the train on a track and in their heads a constant beat of music and in their gut a hunger that could not be satisfied . Waiting patiently for the chance to play again , on the street , or a ferry or on a bus . Where ever we go there was always a presence of passion that existed and it kissed everyone with a positive energy that was hard to resist . The music of life is busking about the love of music and its a journey out there to meet people who just happen to be passing by at that moment in time .
The never ending chase for appreciation on an escalator to heaven’s door or the pursuit of kudos crying out for more , the busker climbs that winding staircase step by step until he stands alone under the light of the moon with stars in his eyes and the day is done with the final song sung as the guitar put away for another day . Every song is like a prayer waiting to be heard . I broke the silence and said ,
“I ’m thinking about going back to Ireland this year Chris .“
He seemed shocked and replied . “Where ?”
‘Ireland and all around the U.K.”
‘Why .“ He asked
“I’m considering busking my way from place to place . Seeing new places and meeting new people as I go . What do you reckon ?”
He sat and thought for a moment before giving me an answer .
“Sounds really exciting Mac . Its really out there and if I didn’t know you as well as I do, I’d probably say you were crazy . Really , you know what , I must say that must be the craziest thing you’ve ever come up with and I’d love to come along with you Mac .“
I smiled and said ,
“Well if you can you get the air fare together you’re welcome to come along .“
“Are you going to your home town in Belfast ?
He asked .
“Sure and I must warn you you’ll be asked a few questions in certain areas about how tall you are . You’ll be a stranger in their midst .“
Suddenly I noticed saw a change in his enthusiasm .
‘Do you think I’d be a target for assassination ?”
He asked with a worried look . I laughed and replied ,
“Don’t be silly mate . Just look at you with that innocent face and your army style hair cut and your anxious attitude . No one would ever mistake you for an undercover spy .“
Now he looked really anxious .He started yanking his thumb and fidgeting .
“Do you think I’d not be safe Mac ? ”
He said with a jagged edge to the question . I had to deal with it accordingly .
“Get a grip and take the trip Chris . Let me know if you can come . I’m thinking about leaving soon .“
He thought about that a while as the train continued to make its way to the city by the time we got to Circular Quay he had decided against coming with me .
“Send me a postcard Mac and have a good time Ok .”
He said as we made our way to another platform . We decided not to do the City Circle thing and made our way to the Basement instead to see who was playing there .
We stepped off the train at Circular Quay in Sydney. It was almost evening and already a brief twilight hall fallen . The lights of the Sydney Harbour Bridge began to twinkle against the winter evening sky. It almost could have been captured in the words of a song but I had to put away that thought for another time .
The crowd on the street were an interesting mix of city workers heading home Late night shoppers out for a bargain and tourists mingled with night life steppers like ourselves . We hurried along to the steps that bring you down into the Basement , one of Sydney’s best live music venues,
Tonight a blues band were playing . Chris knew some of the people who ran the Basement and we got in for free . It was mentioned that we could possibly get a gig there on evening . We sat and soaked in the atmosphere as the band began to play . The Basement was buzzing.
Although I had been here a few years ago there was a different feeling about the place The Basements soft lights filtered across a sea of faces as its patrons jostled for their seats. People’s voices filled the air as the music added a kind of static backwash to it all . Maybe I felt a bit lost there in this sea of faces and in the mix of the music but whatever it was it fuelled the fire in my belly . Now more than ever I wanted to do my overseas busking trip . I wanted to strum my way through the streets of Ireland and beyond .
I sensed the six string in my case was itching to leave .
Suddenly the cross-talk on stage shrieked out all around the room.
With feedback problems I gave Chris the nod and we went over to grab some potato wedges and a drink . We returned to our seat near the stage and enjoyed a nourishing moment .
I hadn’t really seen a live blues band perform for a few years and was amazed at the high level of musicianship and sound quality we were hearing from the people on stage . A live performance for me always reflects the heart of your talent. So mush plastic things can be produced in a studio with over dubs and mixing and arranging but when its live you can feel the emotions from the very heart and soul . This kind of music is what speaks to us . Anticipating the ups and downs of a performance creates presence that brings a warm glow . Its warms us like a comfortable coat on a cold winter night .
It can also challenge and change an audience moods .
Playing a guitar and singing a song is very much a spiritual thing . It can be personal as well as visiting the audience around who have come to share the experience .
At the end of the performance the band received a warm reception from the crowd around the room . The audience showed their appreciation.
After the gig Chris and I made our way up the steps to the pavement, then back down the streets to Circular Quay where we made our way to City Extra for a cup of coffee . We sat just where the Manly Ferry comes in and talked about my trip to Ireland . After we finished we walked down along the quay and took in the backdrop of Sydney harbour . It was aglow with twinkling lights, shinning stars and a special sprinkle of magic called night life .
The pier was thick with people on an escape from the daily grind . There were buskers with flutes and guitars . Some even played saws and fiddles . Some angrily disputed who owned the spot where they played .
I still had enough small change for a bucket of hot chips and bought us one each . Chris burst out with a sudden left field though and said ,
“Hey I know this guy nearby . I can borrow his guitar and we’ll do some busking in town tonight . Eh what do you reckon Mac ! “
The cash kitty was a bit low and so I said ,
“ Sounds great Chris . Lets go and get that axe .”
Some people call a guitar an axe or a gun . I like to think an axe sounds deadly artistic and very dramatic even . Anyway Chris asked me for a coin to make a phone call which I did . He disappeared into a phone booth and rang his contact . He was talking for about ten minutes . Finally he came out from the phone box and said .
“ He’s home for a little while and says its ok to use his axe .”
“ So Where does he live ?” I asked .
“Up the Cross .“ Came his reply .
I nodded in agreement and we made our way to Opera house steps then marched double time to the Domain .
“Are you on speed or something ?”I asked .
“No, I’m straight . What do you mean “ He answered .
“The way you’re walking you must be on something .“ I said .
“What do you mean ?” He answered .
“Well I’m running to keep up with you and you seem to be taking the scenic route to Kings Cross that’s all . ” I said .
“Oh no , I just take good care of myself Mac and I’m trying to remember the best way to his place . I haven’t been there for a while and I’m just getting my bearings . Are you on speed ?“ He asked in reply .
“No. I do look after myself I’ll tell you , I am straight .“ I said .
“I used to do that .“ He said as he lit up a cigarette .
“Do what .“ I replied .
“Look after myself “ He said .
“What was it happened that made you give it up ?” I asked .
“Rock and roll I suppose .’ He replied .
“How did that affect you ?“ I asked .
“Being mixed up with the music business is not the what I’d call the healthiest lifestyle around .“
I nodded to the affirmative and said ,
“It does tend to get its hooks into you .”
“Sure does Mac.” He said .
We took a moment and sat on a seat there and watched life passing by .
‘Before I leave Sydney , I’m going to go busking across then harbour . I said
“Hey man that’s so cool “ Chris said .
‘Kind of a farewell .” I replied .
We jumped a bus and got off a Kings Cross with some nine to fivers making their way home . It was prime time for most going home to have dinner and watch TV shows .
As the bus departed we walked along William Street where scantly clad girls stood outside shop fronts seeking attention . Their were crowd pullers trying to persuade punters to come inside and see the greatest show on earth .
“Not far now “ Chris said.
We turned into and a side street and swaggered along for a few minutes until he stopped by a wrought iron gate to a parlour house . We stopped at a wrought iron gate and went into a doorway where black and white tiles were laid on the ground in front of the front door with an opaque window with lead light coloured glass .
Chris pressed a buzzer on the wall .that whirred with a soft buzz . A voice on the intercom asked .
”Who there ? ”
“Hi Russell its Chris .”
‘Ok come in.”
The unbroken sound of a electronic latch was heard as Chris pushed the door open .
We walked into a cold dark hallway that begged for a drop of disinfectant . I followed him upstairs to the second floor to door 7A where he knocked loudly three times .
A harsh voice behind the door called out .
“Who’s that .”
“Andy .“ Chris replied .;
“Andy who ?” The voice answered back.
“Andy sat , Andy watched , Andy waited till his billy boiled .“
The door opened and the guy started singing .
“You’ll come a waltzing Matilda with me .“
We all started laughing .
“G’day Russell , are you going to ask us in or what ?” Chris Said.
“Come on inside .“ He replied .
We were welcomed into a small bedsit with dog poo on the floor and a cat sitting on a sofa .
“ This place always looks and smells the same every time I call. “ Chris said.
“Sorry I’ve no air freshener . Take a seat . “ Russel said .
“It’s ok mate . We’re not staying long “ Chris replied .
Russel lit up a cigarette and said ,
“So what’s happening?”
”Russell , I’d like you to meet Mac . He’s a fellow Muso and Mac meet Russell “. ”
He reached out his hand .
“Nice to meet you.” I said .
“Likewise, Mac “
“The thing is we're going to do a bit of busking for the late night crowd in the city . “
“ Hang on a sec .“ Russell turned down the volume of the portable radio that sat on top of the bar fridge . Chris continued .
“ Can I borrow your guitar Russell ?“
Russell walked over to a side table and lifted up a framed photograph of a dark skinned girl in a bikini . He held the photo before Chris and said ,
“You know that guitar means a lot to me Chris . It’s a memory of her . The first thing she bought me before we split up . So what’s going on with you anyway . . Weren’t you going to get a band together after Thin Ice broke up?”
Chris held the photo and replied .
”Sorry about that Russell , well you had a few good years together . Like me and the boys in Thin Ice . We just couldn’t get along .” He handed back the photo .
Russell put the photo back where it had been and went and got the guitar .
He handed it over to Chris and said .
“You know I wanted to smash this after she left . Look after it for me please .“
“Thanks Russell . I’ll bring it back tomorrow “ Chris said .
‘Push off then, I’ll see you later.” He said
“Love you like a rock .“
Russell replied . ‘Rocks have no feelings Bro.”
“You know what I mean “’ Chris said .
‘No worries . Good luck .“
We mad our way to the main event on George Street . The city lights were aglow and we sang and played to passers by . I had played my fender and Chris played Russell’s six string lender for a while and the music blended in to the night with the right echoes across the street . People threw money and cigarettes into the open guitar case . A few even brought us a hamburger which was really brilliant . Some stopped to listen and talk .We had drawn a good crowd and then a crowd of Hare Krishna’s arrived chanting and playing with their drums and symbols . They took over our spot and our audience . We couldn’t drown them out and our show was over .
We packed up and made our way back to Town Hall station for the last train to Parramatta .
Sometimes it’s more than the money and it’s not just a show , it’s the life that only busker knows . To share music with others until the next time comes around .
Chris and I played our guitars on the train and some of the passengers enjoyed our jamming session and fired in some requests . After we pulled into Parramatta station I said goodbye to Chris .
“Send me a post card from London .“ He said .
‘If I’ve got time . What’s your address ?’”
“Well , I’m having some hassles at the moment and let’s just say I’m between places at the moment with no fixed address . Do me a favour Mac ,l go knock them dead over there.”
We shook hands and he walked off .
I grabbed a taxi back to Pendle Hill and started packing a suitcase . My mind was made up . I was going busking . Never got much sleep as the neighbours were arguing with each other . I couldn’t wait to get out of that place .
I opened up my piggy bank and the next day withdrew all my savings from the bank for my trip .
The big issue was I was venturing out into the unknown .
