I first became interested on traditional English folk music when I attended a folk club in York where I had expected more music in the style of Bob Dylan. I was impressed and discussed it with a friend while we were sharing the task of supervising an amateur art exhibition in which we both had exhibits. We agreed that York was too far away and we should start our own folk club in Selby.

We started out in my bedroom, which I had fitted out as a bed-sit in my parents home. I had a coffee machine and an old radiogram that allowed us to listen to folk music and try to memorise songs. One person who attended these sessions was only 15 (I wasn’t much older myself) not old enough to join us when we officially launched a year later in a pub that has undergone several name changes since.

I can’t remember what the name of the pub was back then, although I lived opposite until I moved to Sherburn 23 years ago, but I do remember that it was popular with Irishmen who came over to do seasonal work in the sugar factory where I would later be employed. It happened to be St Patrick’s Day so all the songs were Irish, a friend had to sing Roddie McCorley twice because it was requested by a lady by a lady who wasn’t present when he sang it the first time.

I sang Paddy On The Railway, a song that has particular relevance for me as it mentions the Leeds to Selby Railway, one of the first railways in England (the World) which runs very close to where I currently live. I’ve only sung it once since. That was at a workshop I presented at Newcastle Folk Festival in NSW where I arranged for other singers to illustrate what I was talking about. I was told that a local TV were coming to record to cover my workshop but thankfully didn’t. The one they covered instead was asked to play “something more folky”. What sort of question is that to ask at a folk festival? They were told it was for people in the room, not for people watching on TV.

I did have my moment when a local TV crew caught me busking in a town where it wasn’t as common as it was in Newcastle I lived. I was camping out so I went into a department to see myself on TV. A member of staff standing next to me looked, at the screen, looked at me, and turned the volume up. Next day I earned more from music than I have in my entire life!

Getting back to Selby. We didn’t stay i in the original pub but moved to one with a back room that we could rent, which allowed us to charge admission to pay for musicians, although the landlord donated it back from increased beer sales.

I soon learned that I wasn’t the best person to present the the show. We settled on the late Mike Soar, who kept the folk club going after I emigrated. We first met following an article in the local paper and I was pointed out to him by someone I’ld previously worked with who was another member of a group transitioning from rock to folk – folk rock wasn’t a thing back then.

You know how you can see someone you think you know and find you’re mistaken? I thought I was mistaken when I recognised Mike Soar when I returned from Australia, but I wasn’t.

Mike was MC, my job was to go around the folk clubs looking for acts to book, I was allowed to book anyone up to £8 (a week’s wages for many of us) but needed the approval of the committee. I booked some singers/musicians who are well known now but welcomed the gig at the time.

I went every Wednesday to a folk session in Leeds where I found plenty of excellent local singers within my budget. My companion was the recently divorced niece of the landlord of the pub that was the venue of the folk club. I learned too late that Ann would have married me if I’d had the gumption to ask her.

I was just leaving a folk club in the same pub to catch a train when the MC announced that he would have asked me to leave if I wasn’t already leaving. His reason? I was talking to Mike Waterson while his mate, Jock Manuel, was on stage although it didn’t bother anyone else.

I booked Mike and Jock for Selby, they came as a package but not duo, and within my budget. The Watersons had split up at the time and the only other member I’ve met since they reformed was Mike’s brother-in-law Martin Carthy (just briefly in Australia). Mike wanted to play guitar but thought he was booked as an unaccompanied singer. Jock persuaded him to borrow a guitar and bridge a gap between purists and newcomers to traditional music.

A week before the first anniversary of the folk club I was in London and tasked to book Tim Hart and Maddie Prior if I could. They weren’t available and neither was Scottish singer Alex Campbell. He was polite to me but I’ll never forget his great put down of a heckler: “We should form a double act. I’ll be the front end of horse, you can be yourself.”

A Lancashire lass called Rosemary Hardman offered to give up a day she planned to take off because it was our anniversary, the committee rejected the offer because they hadn’t heard of her before. We got a local singer at the last minute, possibly Dave Burland who would turn up whenever he was free. I last saw him in Australia but we didn’t have much time chat.

During the same visit to London I was listening to a recording of Dave and Tony Arthur when they walked in! I immediately approached them about booking them for Selby. The committee agreed, but our most expensive booking coincided with a drop in attendance generally and it was the first time we had made a loss on the door.

Since I returned from Australia, Selby Folk Club has ceased to exist! Someone asked me “You started it once, can’t you do it again?” And the answer is “No I can’t!” That was 60 years ago, half them spent in Australia, and I don’t have the contacts I had back then quite apart from my lack of mobility – this gets you nowhere now 👍

I started as a bad unaccompanied singer who had tried to learn several instruments before settling on piano accordion. I found I sang better if I could find the right key to accompany myself and have learned to play several instruments – although I haven’t played since I’ve been on social media. My late mother thought, without any evidence, that I was a good musician but couldn’t sing. She had never heard me, people who have would disagree.

I once organised a come-all-ye in a pub in York (which you wouldn’t recognise now) on Bonfire Night and ever paid the landlady for the baked potatoes she put on. I was on my way to the toilet when someone he stopped and said:

“Mike, I have a blues session going in the other room.”

“That’s good, I leave you in charge.”

Coming back:

“Mike, what do you do when someone borrows your guitar and keeps on playing?”

“When he finishes a song give him a round of applause and introduce the next singer.”

“He doesn’t sing, it’s just one continuous instrumental”

“Let me organise things in the other room and I’ll get back to you “

Main room: “Bill, would you please go on next and Chris, please follow Bill.”

Back in the other room: “It’s ok now Mike, he’s handed the guitar to his mate. Come back and rescue me in 30 minutes.”

We had one upset when we arranged a song for each of us sang a verse – a girl that Chris and I were dating stuffed it up.

That was one of the happiest times of my life! I had to curtail my activities due to my job at the sugar factory – shift work 7/7 in winter, sometimes 12 or 16 hours shifts, meant I was earning good money with little opportunity to spend it. After the season ended I stayed long enough to collect my bonus then headed for Cornwall in time for May Day in Padstow. I landed a job there for the holiday season and returned the following year, I got to play in the band one May Day 😀