Main Street to Mongolia.

Following the Canterbury festival, three days with Cousin, Mike Nicol and his wife Elaine in Burnside, Christchurch was exactly what the doctor ordered. I loved every minute of their company and of my time there. 

Shipping containers now used as retail outlets in Christchurch city centre.

A chair for each of those lost in the 13/06/2011 quake 

A mural illustrates the spirit and imagination of the people.  

Thursday, and I’m on the final leg of the NZ shows. Whilst here, apart from the lifts I’ve been offered, I’ve become pleasantly accustomed to travelling by bus, but on these last few gigs it wasn’t going to be practical. I was about to head for the wild west, and to areas where the bus services are sparse; the only solution was car hire.    

I’m on my fifth visit to New Zealand, and only now am I beginning to appreciate how diverse the place is. The west coast could almost pass as a different country, both in landscape and in the character of its inhabitants. The road that takes you across from Christchurch to Greymouth, called Arthur’s Pass, is a route that takes you through yet more glorious settings. Once on the other side, the clean and prosperous look of the east coast is replaced by something a little more earthy and rustic. 

My final destination that day was the tiny settlement of Barrytown, about 20km north of Greymouth, in fact the evening’s venue was the Barrytown Settlers Hall. Now, back in the UK, through the years, I’ve performed in many a small village hall in many a small village, some smaller and more remote than others, but here was a town more remote than any I’ve had included on a gig list before.

This evening's venue.

When I stepped from the car onto the one street that runs through the town from Highway 6 down to the sea - aptly called Main Street - and as I looked over to my right at the hall - not exactly dilapidated or ramshackle, yet obviously not the recipient of recent lottery funding - an inner belief that a concert would successfully take place on this day was hard to locate.

A view along Main Street.

Without going into too much detail, in truth, I’d travelled to an event that had not been well organised at all - much of the business end of things having been cobbled together at the very last minute, and just how “last minute” I would discover later. I’m afraid this has become a theme running throughout almost all of these NZ shows. I’ll expand on this at some point, but for the meantime I shall leave it at that.  

Where Main Street ends.

Almost directly across from the hall was my Backpackers accommodation. I noticed an envelope held by a clip on the front door of the building. It had the name Ken written on it. Inside were instructions that told me where my room was, and the fee, $60, that I needed to pay. “Room number two”, it said, and sure enough, there was a key in the door of No 2. It seemed a strange paradox that one would need a key for a room in an area where it’s obviously safe to leave a key in the door. 

There wasn’t a soul to be seen, not in the Backpackers hostel, the street, or the hall. Still, I’m learning not to anticipate imagined outcomes so much these days; this is New Zealand, the land of surprises. 

So it’s 7:55 p.m. and one person has turned up - Clint, the sound man. In darkness we stand outside the venue waiting … waiting for someone to unlock the building. According to the information I have, the show starts at 8 p.m. which means I’m due onstage in five minutes. I’m ready to call the show off … but wait … another car is pulling up … we have an audience. Now three of us are standing outside the hall. 

Things start to get decidedly busy when a fourth person arrives, and it’s the man with the door keys. First thing he says is, “Didn’t anyone tell you, the side door is open? … we told your agent”. “No, I’m afraid the information wasn’t passed on to me”, I replied without the slightest hint of surprise. We proceeded to carry the PA equipment into the hall … Clint, myself and our audience of one.   

I feel certain that in following the story so far, the projected sense of something akin to futility in the reader probably corresponds quite closely to that which pervaded my thoughts at the time.
          

Clint assembled the PA, we did the most briefest of sound checks, and one-by-one an audience gradually materialised before my very eyes. I had been informed earlier that that was how things worked in this neck of the woods, reliably informed - by the evidence in front of me - but I did have to see it to believe it. I’d also been previously warned that “those people over there on the west side would probably have a knees-up”, and yes, a certain element at the back were definitely in the mood to party. It was OK though, and the evening, though not a huge success, fell far short of what had looked a certain failure.

The staff were great, very generous and friendly - as most are here in New Zealand, nevertheless, at the night’s end they spoke the ever familiar words to me, “We didn’t receive the posters until a few days ago” … “the gig wasn’t confirmed until the last minute” … “please give us more notice when you come next”, etc., etc. It would be way too easy for me to feel a little dispirited about these repeated sentiments expressed at almost every venue I’ve turned up at, but to be honest it’s too late for despondency … I’ve taken the decision to enjoy the positives, and believe me, there are plenty of them.

The drive north along the west coast north towards Nelson, is, quite frankly sensational, some of the most colourful and dynamic terrain you could ever wish to see. 

I was heading to my next stop: Havelock, with a house concert arranged at the last minute at Liz and Tom’s there. Lord knows how she did it, but Liz managed to fill their sizeable front room with only about 24 hours to get the word out. It was a good night, and they were great hosts. 

Saturday, and the first time I’ve ever performed in a yurt. No, I’d never heard of one before either. It’s Mongolian, a bit like a big tent but made of wool, and it smells a bit. I had a great night inside it, performing to a decent and appreciative crowd, many of whom seemed to be drawn there by the Steeleye connection, in fact I was asked if I could play “All Around My Hat”, not for the first time I might add. 

Earlier that Saturday afternoon I drove over to the Nelson suburb of Richmond, and visited my Aunt Grace, the last surviving relative of my Father’s family. She recently turned 90, and it’s hard to believe just how sharp and on the ball she is, astonishingly so. She and Cousin Alan filled me in on all that’s happened in their lives since the last time we saw each other back in 2011. 

My final NZ gig took place on Sunday afternoon at Salvador Diego’s house in Blenheim. Salvador, from Argentina, is a great music enthusiast, and one of the first things he did was wave a Steeleye Span CD in front of me - the last one I worked on with the band: Cogs, Wheels and Lovers. Signing the album “To Salvador” was obviously in the terms and condition of my appearance there. 

This was a house concert unlike others I’ve played in the past - a real family affair - with children … quite young ones who ran back and forth from one side of the room to the other as I manoeuvred my way about the fretboard. They then ran round my legs; if I'd stood legs apart, they’d have probably gone through them; I tried to look unperturbed, but really, this was not the desired performance scenario I’d spent years working towards. I have to admit, the gracious smile placed on my face belied that which lay behind it.    

During the process of events that afternoon I also uncovered an important piece of information; it concerned the accommodation for that night … I hadn’t got any. Just another minor detail missed! Luckily, Tina and Paul, who where in attendance that afternoon came to my rescue, and I couldn’t have wished for a more congenial outcome; they were great company and I most definitely landed on my feet.   

Monday morning, and the ferry I boarded in Picton took me back across the Cook Strait to Wellington. The farewell curry that evening with Mary, Peter, Sarah and Robin was the perfect finishing touch to my New Zealand tour. Next stop: Australia ... again!