Life is a song , love is the call , lets all try and sing along
The music of a street serenade , lives inside my heart on the streets of the soul , or on a freeway, in an alleyway , on in some corner of the world they I’ve never been before .
Where ever I want to go to sing my songs , every word is a cry for love . Who can deny the soul , who can stop the wind or say to the sky go away and leave me alone .
The street serenade is free and it sounds like a little rock and roll to me. Any day or night , anytime when the feeling is right .
Loves not a cul-de-sac where you just turn your back and walk away. Its a street serenade where the rent is free and thats where the busker lives . Hear the busker sing the street serenade , it will come to you someday in a market , its on a bus or a train .The busker is out there looking for you in the rain and cold , the sun and shade .
Listen to his story , lend him your ear . He outs there for you on the street singing . Have you got the time to listen ….
The snow clouds filled the sky that hung over the English countryside. Little parlour houses were lined up like Lego blocks from Lilliput land . I was on a train from London to East Anglia with no idea where I was going what awaited me there . The sun was coming up and I felt ok in this new experience .With the thoughts of sharing musical moments busking in an unknown place excited me . I looked out the window of the train as it moved along the track . My mind drifted between shadows , that covered the fields like corrugated sheets of grass . Now and then a glare of light shot through the soft white clouds that welcomed a warm waft where I had awoke .
I wondered about life and how doing something different brought new inspirations . I felt a new flame starting to burn and the lonely sunrise was not as empty as before .
No raindrops fell on my parade because I had the promise of love in the sunrise that glistened in my eyes . I was slightly blinded by romantic thoughts but it was hard to hide how I felt .
I got off the train in Norwich and saw the snow fall soft upon the faces of all those who like me had ventured out on foot into the village. Both my feet were numb and my hands and face burnt with the coldness in the light of a winter's day. The fingers of my right hand were almost frozen and my grip on the guitar case began to falter. I could no longer hold the guitar so I stood inside the doorway o9f a shop that was still closed .
I heard the clock in the church tower began to ring out every note in the octave including each flat and sharp along the way up and down the scale. Suddenly the church bells rung out old melodies of Christmastide. It was nice to hear and stopped me from worrying about the cold . After a half hour some of the shops opened and I went to have breakfast in a café that was still silent and empty of customers . I asked the waitress if she knew of any good bed and breakfasts and she gave me a list of places to check out Already I had marked some busking spots in the town . From the window of the I watched the traffic passing by on the road and thought about those who were sitting at home in front of the fire or others who might be still under the blankets in their bed . All the cars passing by had their windscreen wipers going to push the snow from the front screen enabling the drivers to see their way along the road. It was that time of the year, good cheer and all that. I thought about Christmas trees, fairy lights, turkey and ham . The aroma of a cooked breakfast went up my nose as the waitress brought my plate on a tray . She placed in front of me , a good serve of bacon and eggs with a hot cup of tea and toast. After I had finished eating I raised my arm to signal the waitress to bring the bill . I took out my wallet and paid the amount owed . The waitress suggested that a should get a taxi to the bed and breakfast on the top of the list . Before leaving I gave her a tip for her kind service and then opened the door of the café . There was a taxi rank nearby and I got in to the cab .
"Where to?" He said and I gave the driver the address of the bed and breakfast .
"oK . I know that place . ." The driver said and took off along the snowy road .
We must have hit every red light in the entire town but its always like that when you’re watching the meter tick over . We slowly went along the road then he turned into a side road and another side road . I looked at the driver who seemed to be taking his time .
“Nice place this." I said .
“Its very popular here especially in the summer , but a bit quiet this time of year .“
He pulled up on the side of the road and said ,
“We’re here . "It's a good address here . There’s public transport outside the door that will take you to the town centre in five 5 minutes . Enjoy your stay , I hope you like our town .
"Ok, thanks for that driver " I said.
He reached out his hand and we shook . I went insode a booked aroom for a weekl .
My guitar and me moved into the room and I waited until after midday before going busking . Later in the day me and my six string and a small bag on my shoulder made our way in the pouring rain over into the town . I went to a spot where I noticed earlier in the market place . I had noticed earlier there was a few large umbrellas that were there with shelter underneath and lots of people passing through . That’s where I set up and began to busk . I counted at least twenty people who stopped to put coins in my guitar case . They were all working class people . What a surprise it was when a well dressed lady stopped to talk to me . She worked on the local radio and asked if I would be interested in talking to her listeners about busking . I told her I would love to so I followed her to the radio station and we pre-recorded an interview for the breakfast program the next day . For ten minutes I shared some of my experiences as a busker . The people and places .I had been and seen . Children were a great asset , if one child donated a coin another child would see and ask the parent , “Can I have a coin for the busker” the there were the people with a heart who always donated something and you knew to look at them they never had much .People who ignored the busker were the well to do and busy people wrapped up in the hustle and bustle of life . People who were abusive were few but usually they were young ones ibn small groups out looking for cheap kicks . At times they would pass by and throw something at you or call you names . The busker had to be aware of the desperate who would grab the money you had earned and run off with it into the crowd . During the interview I shared about the different places I had been busking and the journey I had began in the UK . I often wondered what people would think about that kind of thing . Travelling around the world with a guitar and a dream then I was reminded by a littler inner voice , it didn’t really matter what anybody thought of what I was doing . It was my dream and if they didn’t appreciate that it would not change anything . I believed in what I was doing and that was all that mattered to me .
The following day I listened to the interview on the radio and hoped that it might inspire someone else out there to have a go at busking on the street . After the program was over I took my guitar into own and set up in a spot near the shopping centre . As I stood there strumming my guitar I watched a young girl rushing past screaming. Her voice shattered the presence of where I was busking . Then six other girls followed her , accompanied by a dozen young lads who had a lot of drink on them. They all wore leather gear and even though they seemed to be together they were far from being friendly with one another. They gathered around me like sharks before the feeding frenzy . I continued to play my guitar and sang louder that before . After a few moments one of them said,
"Yeah , he’s ok "She said .
"Could you play us something punk or a pig rock song ?"
"Yeah." I said and started to play something called The Fairytale Of New York and the whole pack of them stood back and stared into space . One of them came over and looked right into my face . I could smell the cocktail in his breath . A few more moments passed by . One of the girls started to cry and another in the group tried to comfort her with a hug . I kept a tight grip of my guitar . Some the lads had flashed a knife in front of me as I stood there. There was some tension in the air but I kept playing and singing.
Two of them approached me and looked menacingly in my direction. They slowly made their way around my back . I could feel their eyes on me like poisonous arrows . I let go of my guitar and turned to face them and the danger poised. The closer they came the more I could see the glazed curtain of delirium that covered their eyes. Eyeballs , red with fury looked back at me. Suddenly another group walking through approached . They had orange spiked hair-do’s and a few dogs on choke chains .
“Give us a song ." One of them said . I took out my guitar and played a blues rock song called Blue Suede Shoes and they all loved it ..
“We have respect around here “ They said and all of them walked away .
I took a break after that and bought a coffee . I found a place to sit down on a bench seat until my composure returned . Afterwards I went another spot and continued to busk away. During the time I was playing I saw two lads with spray paint cans start tagging and defacing posters on a wall. Their work was colourful and creative. Graffiti is an art form screaming out for attention .There is a message there and between the lines it says , " Life doesn't love me anymore." I was reminded by the words of a song called The Sound Of Silence that spoke of the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls . People in past times either feared or respected prophets . The same can be said for writers and poets . they are loved or hated , feared or encouraged . Life is just like that. I saw that similar kind of thing for the busker . I played for a while and started to think about leaving East Anglia for another place .
My plan was to get to Edinburg for Hogmanay . I heard about the street party there and buskers were always welcome . The timing was perfect so I bought a train ticket to Edinburgh . There were two changes to make on the way to Edinburgh but I was looking forward to the train trip to Scotland which took over seven hours .
On my last few days in Norwich I did some sight seeing . I loved the old cobblestones streets and the charm of the buildings . The Cathedral and Museum’s were sitting there like windows to the past or waiting rooms to the future but screamed out aloud at the present with sorrow at the rush of time passing by and the ignorance of people who hadn’t got the time to spend an hour or two inside and appreciate what was there .
Once again, I really enjoyed your accounting of your East Anglia. Those street gangs you encountered there work quite scary. And the songs that you were singing are fondly remembered by me.
I really get to see street buskers because I have to go to touristy places to see them. But when I hear one I'm drawn to listen to them. And, knowing how hard their life is, I make sure that we give them something before we walk away.
I hope you are putting all of these personal stories together in a autobiography.
