My Desert Island Discs…

Have I mentioned that I was at school with the composer and famous headmaster’s son Howard Goodall, and that he was on ‘Desert Island discs’ a few months back?

Well he was and I’m very jealous.

You just wouldn’t get away with coming up with a programme like ‘Desert Island Discs’ today would you? Even the programme controllers at Radio Four would have a problem - where is its edge?

I’ve been listening since I was a child; the radio was always on in the background at my Gran’s house, tuned to the Home Service, later to become Radio Four.

I remember ‘The world at one – the latest news headlines this whateverday lunchtime’, Listen with Mother ‘Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin”, The Archers, Woman’s Hour – I still listen to some of them (I’m an Archers freak) and Radio Four really hasn’t changed much since its Home Service days.

The Daily Service is the longest running programme; it’s been running since 1928 but is only broadcast on long wave these days, a ‘real’ programme is broadcast on VHF. Woman’s Hour has been running since 1946 and The Archers is a relative newcomer - the first episode was really quite recent…1951.

Roy Plomley first aired Desert Island Discs to the opening music of ‘By the Sleepy Lagoon’ on 29th January, 1942. It’s the longest running music programme. Michael Parkinson took over when Plomley died, then Sue Lawley - who was recently replaced by Kirsty Young. I don’t remember Parky doing it – he must have though; perhaps he did it when I was still young enough to have a life where Radio Four was not vital to my well being and inner peace.

The seagulls superimposed over the softly undulating theme music conjure up sea, sand and sunshine in my mind and, as the music plays in, I’m looking down on the island from far above, drifting down towards palm trees. Of course on a real desert island there wouldn’t be any seagulls, just parrots - but the sound of parrots cawing wouldn’t be quite as relaxing and this desert island doesn’t exist outside of my head anyway – so seagulls are fine.

Azure blue waves gently lap at the shore as I gently touch down. White sand – virgin and perfect apart from the occasional pink conch shell - squelches up between my bare toes. I’m wearing jeans cut-off at the knee, no shirt, no shoes - and I’m brown all over by the looks of it – well, there’s nobody to see me here, so I can be. Looking down at my feet I realise that I can see my toes - I’ve lost weight, quite a lot of weight, and I feel great as a result, there’s even a little muscle in my legs and arms.

I look around. My hammock is slung between two sturdy palm trees not far from my palm leaf roofed hut (“yes - I would be able to construct a shelter”), over a small fire a large blue fish is cooking on a spit made from sticks (“I’m sure I could fend for myself, I like the idea of cooking whatever I can find ”). I caught the fish myself in the lagoon using one of my fishing spears, I make them from the bamboo I harvest in the jungle, the walls of my hut are made from the same material (“I’m very practical and would be able to provide for myself - as long as there are fish in the sea and fruits in the jungle”).

I’ve been marooned here for a while and I’m coping pretty well with the loneliness (“I don’t need people around me all of the time. I’m good with my own company. I like routine - and space to make my own routine – I stick to it. I don’t have to be talking continually - I have the films in my head for company”).

I’ve read some of the Shakespeare – Twelfth, Much Ado, The Tempest, Hamlet, Anthony and Cleopatra (“I did that for ‘A’ level”) – but I haven’t really bothered with the bible. I’m working my way through ‘The Complete Ray Bradbury’ ("I still think that ‘Something wicked this way comes’ is the best story ever written").

There isn’t much of the Calvados pays D’Auge (my luxury) left, I’ve drunk it all almost. Good job I found that sweet apple tree and the washed-up barrel - I’ll have some cider ready for drinking in a month or so.

I walk over to the wind-up gramophone sitting on my small bamboo table besides the hammock. Carefully stacked in a pile are my eight records. Strangely there's only a groove on the 'A' side, the 'B' side has no groove - no track at all - it's completely smooth, like a round black mirror.

One - ‘Tell Me What He Said’ by Helen Shapiro. (“This was one of six singles that came with my parent’s red Dansette record player back in 1962. They purchased it mail order and on the tick. I must have been about five at the time and I remember playing the records over and over, fascinated by the ‘changer arm’ that allowed the next record to drop down when the previous one had finished playing. They had ‘Little Red Rooster’ by the Stones and ‘The Theme to Z cars’ as well – but this was my favourite of the six.”

Two - ‘Sumer is icumen in.’ (“A traditional English folk song that we used to sing at primary school in the original Middle English – ‘Sumer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu! Groweþ sed and bloweþ med And springþ þe wde nu, Sing cuccu!’ Fantastic! It reminds me of May Day and the Maypole dance at the village fete. I never danced, but there was something earthy, almost pagan about it. Perhaps that’s why I never really embraced my Church of England upbringing. I think I prefer the old ways, I’m a pagan at heart - and when I hear this tune played on the recorder I feel happy, a child again. It makes me smile"
http://www.pteratunes.org.uk/Music/Music/Lyrics/summerisicumenin.html

Three - ‘Band of Gold’ by Freda Payne. “I remember listening to ‘Pick of the pops’ with Alan Freeman in my bedroom on a Sunday afternoon. One day this track blasted out of the radio and I liked it so much I went out and bought it. It was the first record I ever bought. Listening to it now I wonder why a thirteen year old boy was so taken by a song about penile dysfunction and unconsummated marriage. I don’t think that I really knew what it was about at the time. I was just taken with the sheer energy of Freda Payne’s delivery. After ‘Pick of the pops’ it was ‘Sing something simple’ – how I hated that - homework still to do and school in the morning – groan!

This track was almost 'Double Barrel' by Dave and Ansell Collins, a great and groundbreaking reggae track that I think is closer to rap than ska. Maybe it was the first rap track - I loved it. Dave and Ansell weren't brothers, they never even met - they were brought together from Jamaica and New York by the magic of the studio mixer. They were very close, but in the final analysis Freda just beat them - after all, she was my first single.”

Four - ‘Get Down and Get With It’ by Slade. “I’d heard a single called ‘The Raven’ by a group called Ambrose Slade on Radio Luxembourg. Some time later the group renamed themselves Slade and this was their first hit single. I was a teenager and, as were a lot of teenage boys at the time, going around it an Abercrombie overcoat, two-tone tonic trousers and tasselled brogues. Slade were THE band. They were the first group I saw live - at the Oxford Playhouse - they were supported by Suzi Quattro and Thin Lizzy – what a great concert…sorry, gig!”

Five - ‘Virginia Plain’ by Roxy Music. “What did Bob Harris say about Roxy on Whistle Test? ‘If that is the future of rock music I don’t want any part of it.’ How could he say that? He was so wrong! I thought that they were the most astonishing thing that I’d ever heard, so retro, yet so futuristic at the same time. Ferry’s hair, McKay’s white boiler suite, Manzanera’s shades, Eno’s eye liner, and Thompson’s drumming – what a band! ‘What’s her name? Virginia Plain?’ What a song! And one of only two where the title is also the last words of the song – the other being ‘Up the Junction’ by Squeeze.”

Six - ‘Tinsel town in the Rain’ - The Blue Nile. “Someone I worked with gave me a compilation tape he’d made up and there was a Blue Nile track on it, not ‘Tinsel town’, but a good track, so I went out and bought the album on tape and played it until it wore out. I saw them live in Manchester years later. The audience was full of middle aged musicians – they were still great though. This track sends a tingle up my spine and I’m thinking of having it played at the start of my funeral, it's very uplifting. I wonder who'll be there?”

Seven - Erik Satie, ‘Gnossienne No 1’. “I don’t know where I first heard this. I think it may have always been there in my head. I seem to know it well, but don’t know why. I think I may ask it to be played at end of my funeral – it calms me down – not that I’ll need to be calmed down on that particular day.”

Eight - ‘Cloudbusting’ by Kate Bush. “What can I say? I’ve always been in love with Kate and I always will be – it’s just a pity that my love hasn’t been reciprocated. This is just the best track. It has everything – a story, weird science, magic. I even had a yo-yo that glowed in the dark like the one mentioned in the song. I’m a proficient yo-yo’er. I can do all the tricks - around-the-world, walking the dog, damn your eyes – everything…And Donald Sutherland in the video…What more could you ask for? Apart from maybe Kate Bush for company on my island – Oh I can’t have that? Pity.”

“And my favourite Kirsty? The one I’d save if a big wave washed all the others into the sea…now that is tough…let me think.

The Satie I guess, or is it Kate?
Yes, definitely the Satie… No Kate.
Definitely Kate.”

Howard…EAT YOUR HEART OUT!