The Collection

The portraits I gifted him are also at his home. The smaller of the two, above (centre), has since been removed to his the darkest corner, along with some Ted Dyers, as has another portrait. Arthur appears in others, notably Hello, Goodbye and Arthur Seated, plus several more, all oil on canvas.

His domestic collection (photographed by Arthur himself and therefore his copyright) now follows:

 

This almost concludes Arthur's collection on display and exhibited at his home, as of August 2020.

"The two portraits of myself are in the bedroom, I omitted them as you have seen them before. 'A' was after the smaller one but settled for a facsimile which hangs framed at her mother's house."

"Located in the darkest room in the house (north facing), so excuse the use of flash, not my favourite accessory. There is one other that you may like to see that I am sure will bring Johnny to mind, it is in the loft somewhere so I will search for it when I next have to venture into the maze of junk." - Arthur

Portraits (oil on canvas) of Arthur that remain in my own collection and are available for exhibition:

Arthur

Sideburns Howe

There was this one occasion I recall when Steve decided he'd like  some sideboards. We all wanted them. It was triggered by Elvis Presley's 1956 (Love Me Tender) look. Now everyone wanted a pair.

I offered to cut Steve's hair in order to produce the look. We set him up on a chair in the kitchen area while Phil, his brother, made some egg-bread (bread soaked in egg. finished in a frying pan with condiments).

Steve was about the age you see him in the photo above (taken near where he lived), and obviously was not yet able to grow hair down the sides of his face. I didn't let that put me off, however, as I snipped away with hairdressing scissors provided by sultry Stella, his sister (without her knowledge). Stella liked to listen to smooth jazz, smoking cigarettes. Slowly. You couldn't avoid Stella.

My technique was to shave an area above Steve's ears, so as to create the appearance of sideburns, but further up the head where, at least, I had some hair to work with. Snip! Snip! Snip! Job done! I created some sideboards on a very young Steve Howe who was quite pleased with the outcome. Phil was mortified before becoming convulsed with laughter, as were Cyril and Ada, his parents, when they returned home.

Yoss Posthumously

Yoss

There you are Yoss with your comb-defying cowlick

Solved by long, much longer, hair complimenting

One day a Fender Stratocaster. For now you'd stick

To the one I loaned you when Barry Reid sang.

The one that would end up in Steve Howe's hands.

The one that would feature in all those rock bands.

I watched as a kitten ran up your leg in Penn Road

And caused you to cry as its claw bit in your head.

We joined Boy's Church together where you gave

Reverend W A F Lea the wonderful name "Flea."

He was anything but as he rode his 28" wheel bike

Along Penn Road where we also rode and raved. 

We went with scouts and choristers on fun days

Out — like Rupert and his Friends — and then

Rock 'n' Roll arrived along with everything else.

And you clevery picked strings while I blew reeds

With the Barry Reid Five.

Wearing a bottle green military coat on stage

With a fag stuck on the end of your E-string

While seated on an old chair beneath where

A large pint of frothy ale sat silently amidst

The gale force sound of twang and dirty sax.

You smiled your unique Yossel smile while

The rest of us danced a merry dance on the

Stage before the throng of bobbing rockers.

Those were times that stick in the memory.

Of youthful ebullience, craziness and sweet

Faced girls with heavy mascara and fun.

So much fun — where has it all gone?

You were my chum.

Now you're dead,

And I feel like lead,

Yoss. 

Atlantis

Siren sea sounds — oboe squawks,

Aroused, nay awakened, by Mort

(Is that a string quartet I hear?)

More especially the tapping beaks

Of birds that invite the opening

Of windows that creak and speak.

Turn off the turntable and hark

The far away sonnet of the sea;

Breathing, heaving — in and out.

(Could that be a distant shout?)

Or are the varied gulls' mixed bark

Adding the grunt of a bassoon?

I hear you — I hear you. While

Waves ripple, roll, heave, stroll;

I see you waving; I see you smile

In the sea at me — you sing a song.

Sonorous sounds of sweet lullabies. 

It is to you ... to you ... I belong ...

The Storm

The storm has passed; its fury spent

No more for me the punishment

Of darkened view; of helpless terror

Of knowing my time was spent in error

The storm has passed; it could not win

Though I do know that I have sin

The storm has passed; it did not break

That which it sought to unmake

Helpless in the face of its might

Living through one long night

But now, my love, I stand with you

And watch the bright new day anew

The storm has passed; it failed to shake

I could not let it dictate

Its fury did rend my tortured soul

Its claws now dragged back to hole

But now the sun does shine on earth

And once again I feel my worth

The storm has passed; failed; in defeat

And in its place there now stands peace

No place for me on gallows hill

Set down for me is life’s pure thrill

This wind of change blows pure and clear

And music I can once more hear

Awakening

The awakening from the anaesthetic was a wonderful experience, to say the least, as was the entry into an alternative region induced by the anaesthetist.

She was a lovely Irish girl who kept using the term "craic." I told her the craic was good in Cricklewood. Or, at least, it was back in the day. Probably before parents were born.

The Irish anaesthetist laughed at everything; especially when I enquired about serious matters, ie  pain etc. "You'll be alright; just enjoy it," and "I'd love to have heard you blowing your sax."

That's what they all say, I thought. I'd told her about my playing for a couple of showbands in Kilburn, Camden Town and, of course, The Gresham in Upper Holloway. All, of course, in London.

These were Amor Alcis and The Showlanders under the management of Mrs Eileen Wagstaff. Then I was permanently booked under the Clayman Agency and the fantastic So Much Straw (later The 1879 Potato Famine) with Chips Vallely (lead guitar) and Nick Harrison (electric bass and electric violin) who went on to arrange for The Soft Machine. He ended up with a chauffeur driven Rolls Royce on the strength of his period with us. We played everything from rock 'n' roll (revival), modern (plus avant-garde) jazz, pop (Hendrix etc) and, oddly, ballroom (strict tempo). What an experience! I really learned on the wing, rather like my art, theatre, film work, and most everything else.

Who could ever forget The Gresham? That was the showband where our rhythm electric guitarist with the mad look in his eyes, staring out of a really red face framed by black hair, accompanied by a curious head-shaking mannerism, almost had me walk off the stage in case the men in white coats arrived. But I never did, and they never carted Dave Blackburn off. I liked him enormously, really.

"We really need you, †Seán, to play on these dates. The lads are depending on you," Dave said on the telephone when I had double-booked my dates. Thankfully, that particular conversation was taped, as anything concerning professional work always was. I was listening to it only recently.

The visual and the audio yesterday, as I drifted back into consciousness, matched what I experienced in the moments before the anaesthetic took over initially. A most pleasant experience.

There was the sound of Trane's Giant Steps, melding with waves lapping a recognisable shore, as Village Blues superseded, bringing a sense of slow motion, as I went under to a familiar vision.

It was Sarah playing on the seashore in the shallows, as she does. Dancing. Twirling. Laughing. 

Her presence is the most reassuring of things. I surely could not get through any of this without her. 

I bless the day I found her.

On 19/03/2020 13:51, Arthur Hill wrote:

> I have been catching up on my post and Email. So pleased to hear that

> all went well at St.Georges and how fortunate you were to get it done

> before ops were shut down.

> The results sound very positive and hopefully the news in two weeks

> will also sail in with a fair wind. So great news and isn't the first

> cuppa you get in recovery absolute bliss.

> Let me know when you buck up enough to have a jaw on the dog, best

> wishes to Sarah, it must be reassuring to have someone so supportive

> by your side.

> art xx