The Spawn of the Swinging Sixties Chapter Ten Ice Spoke of the Spells of Calm

Chapter Ten  Ice Spoke of the Spells of Calm

A Leftfield Narrative 1

Ice Spoke of the Spells of Calm is the second in a four-part series of writings inspired by my time at Leftfield College. It was created out of modified versions of three previously published pieces: Ice Spoke itself, West of the Fields Long Gone, and She Dear One who Followed Me, which first saw the light of day at Blogster on the 10th of August 2006. From Ice Spoke I lifted A Leftfield Narrative 2 and Nice Guy on the Sidelines, while A Night in Scorpio's and One of the Greats were taken from West of the Fields, having first served as its introduction and main body respectively. She Dear One who Followed Me and its intro, now known as A Leftfield Narrative 3, have been reproduced in their entirety. The  “definitive” Ice Spoke was published at FaithWriters in August/December 2007.

A Night at Scorpio's

Thanks to the large quantity of notes I committed to paper while at Leftfield, this long vanished college can live again through writings I've painstakingly forged out of them, such as the poetic piece below. It was based on several conversations I had with Jez, a great Leftfield friend. He was a tough-talking kid with a rocker's quiff from Liverpool who I think had been around during the Punk days at Eric's, but whose heart was pure gold. I'm sure these talks took place late one night in late 1982 in Scorpio's, a Greek restaurant opposite the college on the Finchley Road following a performance at college of Lorca's Blood Wedding in which I'd played the part of the Bridegroom.
 The previous summer Jez had played Malvolio in a production of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, the play's action having been transplanted to an Arcadian swinging sixties.
 And while Jez interpreted Malvolio as a brooding relic from the previous decade, I as Feste was perfectly of my time as a wandering minstrel in flowing hippie clothes. When we re-performed it at the college the following winter term we were like returning heroes, at least that's how it seemed to me. I was young then...that's my excuse anyway...

I think you should be
One of the greats,
Carl, but you’ve
Given up and that’s sad...
You drink too much,
You think, ____ it
And you go out and get _____,
When I’m 27 I’d be happy
To be like you...
In your writing,
Make sure you’ve got
Something really
Unbeatable...
Then say...'Here, you _______!'
You’ve got the spark of genius
At sixteen, you knew
You were a genius,
At nineteen, you thought
You were a failure
& now you think...
What’s genius anyway?

A Leftfield Narrative 2

The piece featured below begun as diary notes written on spare scraps of paper, only to be shelved for more than two decades. They refer to a single evening at Leftfield, almost certainly taking place in 1983, but perhaps '82. It gives some indication of my social hypersensitivity and unceasing need for attention, affection and approval within a social setting, and the way it affected those who cared for me.

Nice Guy on the Sidelines

Those sad faces
My soul was
in knots
I couldn’t speak!
I felt like the nice guy
On the sidelines,
Gentle
but strong…
I spoke
Of the spells of calm
And the hysterical
Reactions
Psychic
Exhaustion
Then anxious
Elation
I’d only approached
The latter
By my third
And Gill said
Your eyes are
Sparkling
You must be
Happy…
Sally said: “I’m afraid…
You’re inscrutable
You’re not just
Blase,
Are you?”
I spoke
Of the spells of calm
And the hysterical
Reactions
Psychic
Exhaustion
Then anxious
Elation.

A Leftfield Narrative 3

On and off throughout the 1980s, I catalogued my days through notebooks, cassette tapes, odd scraps of paper, and so on. Some of these rough diary entries produced She Dear One Who Followed Me which is featured below. It first existed as a series of scrawled notes based on conversations I'd had in 1982 or '83 with a very dear friend, Madeleine.
 One of these resulted from an incident in which I'd made a fool of myself by storming off during a gig featuring myself and fellow singer-guitarist Denny after I'd caused something of a scene by breaking a string.
 The first section begins with “It was she”, and ends with “you could hurt me, you know”, making use of extracts from several separate conversations, all of which were also edited; while the second, taken from a single edited conversation begins with “You are a Don Juan” and ends with “there's something so...so...your look”. The final section, also taken from a single conversation, was reproduced word for word. Portions of the piece were translated from the original French, Madeleine's native tongue. As a whole, it provides something of an insight into how my friend saw me in those days...as a far more complex individual than my good time guy image might have suggested. She was not alone in doing this.

She Dear One Who Followed Me

It was she, bless her,
who followed me...
she’d been crying...
she’s too good for me,
that’s for sure...
“Your friends
are too good to you...
it makes me sick
to see them...
you don’t really give...
you indulge in conversation,
but your mind
is always elsewhere,
ticking over.
You could hurt me,
you know...
You are a Don Juan,
so much.
Like him, you have
no desires...
I think you have
deep fears...
There’s something so...so...
your look.
It’s not that
you’re empty...
but that there is
an omnipresent sadness.”