Ring Out The Old, Ring In The New

Birth of a Human Being

My snow soul is slowly taking shape,

Falling from heaven to inherit the earth

And the family features of God and ape,

Angel out of my element from birth…

And this is me, this helpless drop of Man,

This perfect mould of bud and mineral,

Crawling, flight, and every earthly thing.

All of it – nothing.

                                          Yet I’ll assert I AM

In time by striving upright endlessly;

Inherit here a kiss, to milk, like grist,

The love that made me, and by which I’m born;

The word that speaks its perfect mind, the fist

That grasps its imaged God; the whole torn

And bleeding womb of human history.

Note: 35 years ago today, in the Queen Elizabeth hospital King's Lynn, I witnessed my wife giving birth to our firstborn, still favourite (and only) child, Emma. Things started mid afternoon at a quiet and in my case traditionally bilious long school term post-Christmas get together with the neighbours at about 3 pm the day before and went on all night and all morning and just into the following afternoon. (I remember noticing that Norwich City won 2-1, wondering how such a remote event could register.) It was horrendous enough witnessing the birth. I am glad I never had to achieve the feat myself. But it was of course the ultimate labour of love and today, incredibly, our daughter is 35 years old. She has since extended the line by marrying our favourite son in law and giving birth at the same hospital (really nice Maternity unit btw) to two children herself, a daughter who will be four in February and a son who will be two in October.

35 years ago about now, I came home, wrung out by the experience, pranged the car reversing into the drive into a discarded dining room table I forgot we'd left there, and - exhausted, relieved, delirious - wrote , no, not this sonnet but a precursor of it called 'Animal'. A few days later, I picked my family up from QE and we started the greatest adventure, most important human activity and worst paid career of child rearing. Providentially it snowed almost as soon as I'd got them home and we were cocooned for a week, a much needed accidental paternity leave in the age before they gave you any. During that week in lieu, I wrote this sonnet.

Happy birthday Emma! XX

Being Santa

 

As I waited for our grandchildren to arrive and witness my premiere of this most iconic of roles, I shivered slightly. Not just with the damp December cold but with the responsibility. Here was Isla's encounter with the magical childhood Santa we all treasure in our memories. (Theo at a year old so as was unlikely to be find it any less strange and wonderful than his normal encounters with his grandsire)  I felt the weight of generations and centuries on my shoulders. Was my cod Nordic yodel and white beard sufficient disguise to sustain the magic of otherness in the familiar garden den Isla had helped me prepare? Would I fluff my vaguely Scandinavian up and down lines ("Ho ho ho! Have you been a good girl for your mummy and daddy?") overwhelmed by the epiphany of heaven's generosity and earth's humanity I was suddenly embodying, sotto voce, centre-stage and spot-lit in the radiance of a childhood delight? No Method actor (three months living with reindeeer in Lapland on mince pies in a thin red suit communicating only in High Elvish; then matching every word uttered to a motivation and a movement of the stuck on eyebrow so that I really 'felt' it,  - whether the audience did or not) could have felt any less charged and apprehensive. I recalled terrified moments behind the curtain at my Edinburgh fringe shows listening to the audient come in.

In the event, I needn't have worried.  "Grandpa! she shouted through the gap in the trees (top left) from the road below. The stocking hanging off the bough and the red and white through the depleted winter hedge succeeded in bringing delight but not it seems even a willing suspension of disbelief. And then it unravelled even more spectacularly and unexpectedly when she arrived at the grotto entrance and shared that sudden childhood terror of seeing a white bearded loon in the gloom.

"But don't you want your present?"

"No! it's too scary."

Ah well, maybe next year. (Theo will be two so you never know.) Fortunately our daughter, their mother, was old enough to deputise and console.

Christmas

Solstice, Saints and Sinners by Peacock's Tale folk indie duo

JOURNEY OF THE MAGUS by Peacock's Tale folk indie duo

The Only Gift (A Lynn Carol) by Peacock's Tale

Postmodern Post-man Pat's Theatrical Trailer for 'Covid's Metamorphoses'...

A tale for today... and tomorrow and tomorrow. We'd call it a panto. But we're living the panto...

Check the album out here... https://peacocks-tale.bandcamp.com/album/covids-metamorphoses-the-prologue

and here...https://peacocks-tale.bandcamp.com/album/covids-metamorphoses-the-tale

Saints and Sinners Christmas EP by Peacock's Tale Audio

 

	1.	Fring Church Bells 01:52
	2.	Saints and Sinners (with bells on) 04:23
	3.	Journey of the Magus 01:43
	4.	You Gotta Move 02:00
	5.	The Parting Glass 02:06
	6.	Down To The River To Pray 02:53
	7.	Saints and Sinners live (amps off) 04:23

about

Press Release 

‘Saints and Sinners' is a cover of a folk song by Scots-Canadian David Francey performed live to camera on YouTube from our cottage in Sedgeford. 

“We set up the studio so that everything – voices, harmonies, guitars, percussion – rings out like a bell. In case the audience is in any doubt, we’ve blended some Fring Church bells (as rung on a Sunday morning by our local vicar) into the live mix.” 

The song’s composer won a John Lennon award for songwriting in 2010. The down to earth message of the lyric is that “it’s a long way from heaven to Bethlehem”but with a deep sympathy for “the joy and the sorrow of my fellow man.” Fellow survivors of the early 70s will recognise the nod to Lennonism in the jingly jangly hippy 60s mix. 

The EP covers the 'Christ' and the "Mess' of Christmas with a sonnet set to a drum and bass soundtrack narrating the 'Journey of the Magus' and an a capello cover of the Scots folk song 'The Parting Glass.' This Saints and Sinners motif is further pursued with two gospel covers 'You Gotta Move' and 'Down to the River To Pray'. 

The whole package may be streamed or downloaded from Bandcamp (search for ‘Peacock’s Tale folk indie duo’) and the ‘A’ side viewed on YouTube from December 6.

credits

released December 6, 2021

See also - https://peacocks-tale.bandcamp.com/track/the-peacocks-talk-turkey-the-meanings-of-christmas

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all rights reserved

tags

indie alternative americana folk gothic rap Sedgeford

about

X

Peacock's Tale Folk/Indie DuoSedgeford, UK

It's all right, folks, we're married. A marriage of melody and rhythm. Indie folk, Norfolk noir, historical ballads, musical ... more

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