Winter in Yorkshire
If the Scott Expedition had included a folk club it might have been a bit like last week in Macclesfield.
As you may or may not know, England is currently experiencing its snowiest winter in twenty years or so. Up in the northern parts where we are, it's even worse -- lots of snow and freezing temperatures. Very unusual for this normally mild moist climate.
We played a folk club gig in a little place called Macclesfield, just south of Manchester last week. The pub, The Dog and Partridge (just down the road from the Cock and Pheasant) has been the home of this folk club for many years, but, since our last visit, a new owner has taken over the place - a new owner who doesn't quite seem to grasp the concept of a 'public house' being a warm, comfortable and homey place for people to congregate and certainly doesn't 'get' the idea of a folk club.
The upper room where the club is held every week has been chilled to sub-zero temperatures for the entire week. When we arrive early and make our way to the room to set up and let the instruments acclimate, we discover that we can see our breath i the room just as easily as we could outside. ferlonda finds the landlord and gives him her best Oliver Twist smile asking for a bit more heat. Shortly afterward, an old radiator attempts the job of defrosting the space. A tough job it is too - since this room has a very high peaked ceiling. Every molecule of warmed air races up to the peak, a good eighteen feet over our shivering heads.
Shortly after, the first folks arrive for the evening. No one removes his coat and many have brought in blankets, so we know that this isn't the first frozen folk club of the season.
On a trip down to the 'loo', the 'bog' or just the 'toilets,' we discover another money saving plan of this new owner - the bathrooms have no heat whatsoever. In fact -- adjacent to the bathrooms is a wide-open door to the 'smoking area' outside. Frigid gusts of air blast through the open bathroom doorways. Not so bad for the fortunate gents who need only to unzip and zip, perhaps, but the ladies look decidedly unhappy returning from the frost-bound wastelands.
Meanwhile, upstairs, the folkies have assembled. Arthur, who runs the club, is unhappy with the turn out, but who can blame people for staying home tonight?
Everyone huddles around the heater in the back of the room, leaving us to sing at them from the other side.
Halfway through the night (we later discover) Mr Hospitality had turned off the heat again - grumbling about the expense. Apparently the half frozen patrons had not purchased enough cold, frothy beer to justify any more valuable heat. Gosh -- I wonder why not?
To finish off the evening (we were singing our version of Rolling Down to Old Maui as a bit of wishful thinking) the thoughtful new landlord sends his bar man up to collect glasses. He stands directly in front of us while we sing and reaches around here and there to grab empty pints and fill up his tray, clanking and rattling away.
Needless to say -- folkies are the kindest and most cooperative group of people you will ever find in a bar. One kind word and they would happily gather their own glasses to bring down to the bar. There was an old Victorian fireplace in the room -- filled with a fake flower arrangement. Another word to the crowd and they would each gladly bring along a piece of wood to the club to contribute to a fire if one would have been provided (there was a fire roaring downstairs in front of the big TV screen).
With no effort at all -- just thoughtfulness -- a cold, miserable experience could have been transformed into a warm, pleasant evening -- with LOTS more beer sales and LOTS more folks coming back next week.
I assume that the next time we play Macclesfield, there will be another new owner -- this genius will never, ever last. I just hope he doesn't chase away the folk club before he runs the business into the ground.
As you may or may not know, England is currently experiencing its snowiest winter in twenty years or so. Up in the northern parts where we are, it's even worse -- lots of snow and freezing temperatures. Very unusual for this normally mild moist climate.
We played a folk club gig in a little place called Macclesfield, just south of Manchester last week. The pub, The Dog and Partridge (just down the road from the Cock and Pheasant) has been the home of this folk club for many years, but, since our last visit, a new owner has taken over the place - a new owner who doesn't quite seem to grasp the concept of a 'public house' being a warm, comfortable and homey place for people to congregate and certainly doesn't 'get' the idea of a folk club.
The upper room where the club is held every week has been chilled to sub-zero temperatures for the entire week. When we arrive early and make our way to the room to set up and let the instruments acclimate, we discover that we can see our breath i the room just as easily as we could outside. ferlonda finds the landlord and gives him her best Oliver Twist smile asking for a bit more heat. Shortly afterward, an old radiator attempts the job of defrosting the space. A tough job it is too - since this room has a very high peaked ceiling. Every molecule of warmed air races up to the peak, a good eighteen feet over our shivering heads.
Shortly after, the first folks arrive for the evening. No one removes his coat and many have brought in blankets, so we know that this isn't the first frozen folk club of the season.
On a trip down to the 'loo', the 'bog' or just the 'toilets,' we discover another money saving plan of this new owner - the bathrooms have no heat whatsoever. In fact -- adjacent to the bathrooms is a wide-open door to the 'smoking area' outside. Frigid gusts of air blast through the open bathroom doorways. Not so bad for the fortunate gents who need only to unzip and zip, perhaps, but the ladies look decidedly unhappy returning from the frost-bound wastelands.
Meanwhile, upstairs, the folkies have assembled. Arthur, who runs the club, is unhappy with the turn out, but who can blame people for staying home tonight?
Everyone huddles around the heater in the back of the room, leaving us to sing at them from the other side.
Halfway through the night (we later discover) Mr Hospitality had turned off the heat again - grumbling about the expense. Apparently the half frozen patrons had not purchased enough cold, frothy beer to justify any more valuable heat. Gosh -- I wonder why not?
To finish off the evening (we were singing our version of Rolling Down to Old Maui as a bit of wishful thinking) the thoughtful new landlord sends his bar man up to collect glasses. He stands directly in front of us while we sing and reaches around here and there to grab empty pints and fill up his tray, clanking and rattling away.
Needless to say -- folkies are the kindest and most cooperative group of people you will ever find in a bar. One kind word and they would happily gather their own glasses to bring down to the bar. There was an old Victorian fireplace in the room -- filled with a fake flower arrangement. Another word to the crowd and they would each gladly bring along a piece of wood to the club to contribute to a fire if one would have been provided (there was a fire roaring downstairs in front of the big TV screen).
With no effort at all -- just thoughtfulness -- a cold, miserable experience could have been transformed into a warm, pleasant evening -- with LOTS more beer sales and LOTS more folks coming back next week.
I assume that the next time we play Macclesfield, there will be another new owner -- this genius will never, ever last. I just hope he doesn't chase away the folk club before he runs the business into the ground.