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In a never-ending attempt to escape the scourge that is known as The News, I convinced The General to join me in a random sampling of radio stations from around the world this week. We were looking for different. And, unapologetically cheering.
This led to reminiscing about my teen years spent on the Isle of Man (sandwiched handily between England and Ireland) and specifically, Christmas 1974 when I received my first transistor radio.
My father watched the unwrapping solemnly, telling me that this was a special radio with only a very few stations and since he had already set it to the best one, he strongly hinted that it was not to be changed. This Very Special Station was currently airing the Queen’s speech. Afterwards, I learned that I could rock out to the BBC World report and maybe even catch a few overviews of the Middle East later on. My dad seemed unusually pleased with himself.
I have to say that I did not believe any of this from the start. My dad’s Victorian tendencies were already well documented. He would tolerate my watching ‘Top of the Pops,’ but then ruined it for me every week with an unrelenting commentary from his chair disparaging the guests’ hair length and unnecessary ‘gyrations.’ But, as Christmas evening fell, like a skilled safe-cracker, I quickly located the scandalous Radio Luxembourg, well known for boldly playing tracks that the BBC (not unlike my father) found offensive and had swiftly banned from the airwaves. On Radio “Luxie,” one could hear Donna Summer’s unedited moans on Love to Love you Baby as well as the full version of anything by the Sex Pistols, a few years later – which was vital listening at the time. I was thrilled and stayed up late, listening under the covers with my single piece-of-popcorn-meets-old-school-hearing-aid firmly in place in order to avoid possible detection.
I’ve also been experiencing a overwhelming sense of yearning lately; a true homesickness for a time period or more often a particular landscape. It’s a slippery feeling, very difficult to articulate and although the Germans have a word for it (as always!) their translation of “fernweh” will not suffice here. And so we go to the Welsh who offer up “hiraeth” and this is it: a longing; a sharp keening for a sense of a place that felt so right but can never really be attained again. For me, it is all about the sea; the sheep with their foolish faces; craggy headlands; the encouraging smell of a proper pub; walking in soft, warm rain and eating a floury bap filled with egg and cress and smeared with golden butter that tastes like cream.
ANYWAY – when we tuned into Belfast 89.3 FM today, there it was. The playlist we didn’t even know we wanted. A steady stream of hits from the sixties and seventies (good ones too, mostly forgotten today, even by us) and a series of hilarious, clever and earnest DJs who made us feel that they were playing them just for us. As well as the full on ‘hiraeth’ (I remembered being able to dimly see Ireland from my Isle of Man bedroom window …)
I also immediately and unexpectedly felt ANCIENT. As much as I was enjoying these songs, I realized that this was just the kind of radio station we used to mock builders for listening to as we passed by: disdainful, smoking teens that we were, sporting too much eyeliner and not enough eyebrow and only listening to our own revered canon of Bowie, T. Rex, Elvis Costello and The Buzzcocks.
Today we were listening again, this time delighting at the local ads, that singsong dialect (perfect for the rapid-fire one liners) and The General shouting down from upstairs every few minutes “When was the last time you heard THAT one?” and then an unexpected Roy Orbison ‘B’ side that united us on the landing with similar joy.
It was so wonderful to not feel devastated and sad about the state of the world – even for a short period of time.
During this pandemic, I have spoken with several friends who agree that music is so much more important to us now. I walk 2 hours each day listening mostly to Mahler’s 9 symphonies or anything by Arvo Part. CBC radio’s ‘Choral Concert’ has become my own personal Sunday morning eucharist. I limit my time on the book of faces, and the mostly grim, angry and bored individuals, arguing with people they don’t know about anything and blessing me with photos of what they are eating, pandemic-wise. Yes, music and music from the radio is the beacon during our Covid winter.
Always so eloquent you are bflyguy!
I read this out loud to you-know-who this morning as we relished a quiet, no rushing to work morning. Played the YouTube video and we both had smiles on our faces. Thank you! What a brilliant idea. I am surrounded by garden planning books and very happy to take my head out of the absolute despair it seems enmeshed in more and more these days.
Thank you Sue for sharing your special memories. It is the same for me as an expat especially in January as it is Summer at home in Australia.
I knew of course that you would understand 🙂
That was so lovely to read. Just what I needed to think about… yearning and remembering. I lived in the bush, no electricity, and someone loaned me a transistor radio for a couple of days. It was so thrilling to listen to music from Seattle. The reception was perfect at night.