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home / early years / big time / NZ INTERVIEW / pressures / enough is enough / AFTER THE PRETTIES / later years |
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One weekend in August this year (2005) I was lucky enough to be attending a Harley Davidson rally at a farm in Sussex. The hosts, (Badname)Mike, who runs the farm and his lovely wife Kim, provided about 50 of us with free camping, free home-brewed cider, catering, a disco and a live band. Before leaving home I had e-mailed Mike explaining that I would be disappearing for a few hours on the Saturday morning as the weekend would be giving me the opportunity to do something I had been desperate to do for some time. No problem, Mike said, most people would be going out for rides during the day, mostly South to the Sussex Coast. But I would be heading North in the opposite direction. You see, Mike's farm is only 25 miles from Maidstone. I was going to see the town where Brian Pendleton lived, played guitar and died. The Saturday morning (August 13th) dawned dry and bright. My husband Chris, acting upon my instructions, tipped a bottle of cold water over my head so I could wash and tidy my hair, making me yell and causing some mirth among the other bikers, but I wasn't about to pay my respects to my musical hero with messy hair! In fact only about half a dozen of my closest buddies knew what I was doing that morning. Just after 9am we set off, me on the back of Chris' Roadking (I own a Sportster but at the time had not passed my bike test) clutching a street map of Maidstone. Just before 10am he was dropping me off a little south of the town centre with an arrangement to meet him later. I had just crossed a busy road when my heart leapt into my mouth. There was Waterloo Street, and Waterloo Street led to Kingsley Road. The street where Brian lived and died. I hadn't realised I was so close...
Outside I rolled a cigarette but did not light it. Trying to keep it light I began to hum “I'm on the street where he lived”, my version of the My Fair Lady song which leapt into my head as I walked slowly down the road. Seeing how the numbers ran I deliberately crossed away from the side of the road I wanted to get a wider view. I counted the numbers down, it didn't take long, the houses were extremely narrow...and then I was there. I stopped. My first impression was that it was so tiny. From my research I knew that three other people had lived in the house with Brian so presumably it had been divided into four 'flats'. It wasn't big enough. As I later found out they were actually one-room bedsits. My second impression was that the building had been “done up” and had reverted from flats to a house. There was no row of bells next to the door, no grimy net curtains, none of the shabbiness one sees in many multiple-occupancy houses. However I now undertand that the house is still divided into bedsits but has received a 'lick of paint' since Brian lived there. Steps led down to the front door. I crossed the road. Dividing the house from the one next door were some iron railings following the steps down to the tiny doorway. I let my hand rest on them for a second. Conveniently there was a low wall outside the front of the house. I sat on it and lit my cigarette. I was aware of hearing a woman talking, through an open window, inside the house. I thought about knocking on the door, asking questions... ...I couldn't do it. For this occasion, seeing the house was quite enough. I smoked my cigarette as people passed me by, unaware of my reason for being there, probably unaware of Brian and the fact that he ever lived there. I sat with my thoughts. I got up after a few minutes and slowly continued down the street towards the centre of the town. I had only spent a few minutes in Kingsley Road and might never go there again, but I would never forget it. I met my husband in a department store enjoying a hearty breakfast, having found my way to him after asking directions (more curious looks courtesy of my accent “can you tell me where the shopping centre is to?”) and then we proceeded to Sainsburys, where Chris had left the Roadking, to get the flowers. For some reason it was always going to be yellow roses. I found them easily enough but here was a problem; Sainsburys didn't sell the little cards or holders I wanted for the flowers. I had to have them and do it all properly, so I persuaded Chris to enjoy an expresso in the cafe there while I found the nearest flower shop. They clearly didn't want me to buy a card without flowers and I had to persuade them. In return they charged me £1 for a tiny card and 50p for a holder on but I didn't care, to be honest I would have paid anything, I was on cloud nine that I had them! I ran back to Sainsburys and bought the flowers. We rode to the Crematorium. It is known as both Vinters Park and Grove Green, the names seem to be used interchangably. In the car park Chris laid down on one of the benches, his dark glasses shielding his eyes against the (by now almost) midday sun, while I wrote the card out for Brian. My hand shook, it wasn't my normal confident handwriting. I ripped away the cellophane, made a clumsy attempt to pull some of the excess leaves off the roses and fixed the card to them. Telling Chris I would try not to be longer than 15 minutes, I entered the Garden of Remembrance. It's a lovely, peaceful place. Almost all of the walls there are covered with little stones remembering loved ones. I walked around slowly, reading every one. Nothing about Brian. I then entered an indoor area with more memorials, two small rooms full of them. Nothing there. Finally I went over to another room which was devoted to personalised floral tributes. Still nothing. I had been warned this would be the case, that there was nothing there for Brian, but I still checked. It took me more than half an hour. Finally I went to a little side area where the vases were kept, selected one and filled it with water. I walked over to a part of the wall which was free of memorials. This would be the place where I would lay my flowers and pay my respects to Brian. There was one other person there, a man, reading the inscriptions. I knelt down and carefully put the vase in position, then attempted to tidy the roses after my previous clumsy attempt at pruning. I wished I had bought a bigger bunch. Finally I placed them in the vase, my little card there for everyone to see. I sat back and looked at them. ...the moments that followed I will keep to myself. To thank Chris for his patience I said I would buy him lunch at a pub, so we headed for Barming next, and the Fountain Inn where Brian had given his only interview, to Terry Coates. I almost missed it on the main road as I had been expecting Barming to be a little villagey place. To my disappointment the pub was closed that lunchtime! We carried on, unfortunately missing the turn for East Farleigh. Had I realised that the Victory Inn was there, where (I later discovered) Brian had done much rehearsing with So What!, I would have got Chris to turn back. In the event we were back across the border into Sussex before we finally stopped to eat.
By the way the message I left for Brian, as you can see, was “Never Forgotten”. If I have anything to do with it Brian, that's just how you will stay. |
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