A Facebook friend, Nick Richards, a radio presenter of almost as many years standing, posted this earlier and on playing it, it brought back a host of pleasant memories, virtually all connected through my radio career. Funny that, isnt it. Well, not that funny, more pleasing and heart warming than funny. It was released as a B-side to the successful Gaye which came out in 1973. I love that song for being so simple, melodic and laden with almost melancholy lyrics pulling at the heartstrings. Just the right formula for a very shy pubescent youth, longing to find romance, even at the tender age of, well, not so tender age of 15. Elton John, Rod Stewart, Harry Nilsoon! Take your pick. Each artist encouraging you to die from a broken heart, never quite giving you the direct instructions as to how to get your heart entangled in the first place. Nightly my secret rendevouz was with Radio Luxembourg as we snuggled close together, it one side of my pillow, my yearning ear mere inches away, swimming in imagination on every sound. Radio, especially late night radio was the elixir of my youth, the educator of my soul, the master of my world. It wasnt really any great surprise, that I would eventually gravitate and grow into that same etherial radio space and make a career within its magical walls. Home Thoughts From Abroad raised itself well above the other romantic classics of the day. What song had ever combined a poem reference to William Wordsworth, Robert Browning or Worcestershire, suggest homesickness and tell the girl you loved her, all in 3 minutes and 20 seconds. So poetry wasnt just for English class! Fast forward some 20 odd years, a few hundred miles south east from my initial hearing, to the very county of Clifford T Wards beloved Worcestershire. I joined the staff of BBC Hereford & Worcester, two of the most beautiful rural counties in the British isles. Herefordshire was famous for its apples and cider, Worcestershire for its cricket and.....Clifford T wards masterpiece. At least that was as much as I knew when I arrived in early 1996 as a programme assistant to the stations afternoon show. On that basis, I suppose it was quite remarkable that they let me through the door. Apparently, even then, I had an Irish accent Who knew! I loved the place, the people and the job instantly and for the most part, I believe, they loved me. My job took me across every inch of the two counties, from the beautiful Wye Valley in the South to the industrial urban areas of Kidderminster in the north, near Birmingham. It was one of the most creative and fruitful times of my life. And every so often something magical would occur. A chance conversation, a colourful interview with a visiting celebrity like Dean Friedman would arrive, virtually unknown by some of my colleagues who were hardly born in the 70s, and who couldnt possibly know of such luminaries in mine and other contemporaries lives. There was an inevitability that I would meet Clifford T Ward. He was born here, lived here almost since birth, having taught in a secondary school in nearby Bromsgrove, some 10 or 15 miles north along the M5 from the city of Worcester. It had been well known for at leat 10 years that Clifford had been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. The disease ravaged his body to such a degree that his ability to sing had long since disappeared. His spirit, though, was most certainly alive and kicking. So when the call came to ask would we like to do a report around a tribute record of his songs he was helping co produce came along, I was on the road before the call had ended. I knew that any lengthy interview with Clifford was an impossibility. just to share a few moments in his company would be enough. And so it happened. Recording took place in a studio in Shrewsbury, quite a few miles away in the neighbouring and equally beautiful county of Shropshire. As I arrived, Cliffords musical friends were listening back to a track recording of one of his songs. Clifford, shaking slightly and being pulled by uncontrollable muscular movement, was still able to offer his critique, from memory a comment about the harmonies, putting his mark on the overall exercise. Our prearranged interview began with all gathered and inclusively, never wishing to embarrass, I managed to gain some contribution from the main man. I sensed that although he couldnt perhaps speak in long sentences, he most certainly was there to be heard. It was in the end a humbling experience. To be there as others, close friends over many years, wanted so much for him to be a continuing part of something he had been part of, had so enriched theirs and others lives by his musical work. A coleague at the station, Mike George once told me that this was one of his top five all time favourite songs. I remember lending him my CD to play on his programme. Its funny what you remember when you hear a favourite song. Just what memories those combinations of music and lyrics can conjure up. Thanks Nick! In 2001 Clifford T Ward succumbed to pneumonia, a complication of his MS. Worcestershire mourned the passing of a favoured son. Me too!
Posted on: Sat, 17 Jan 2015 08:41:53 +0000
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