TC Lethbridge | The Sons of TC-Lethbridge

A Strange Day

17th Oct 2003

An essay on an ‘extraordinary’ day by welbourn TEKH

Midnight Ramblers
We heard the sound of feet upon the gravel outside and we both rose to our feet to anticipate the knock on the Jockey House door. Pre-empting the rap, Julian Cope went to answer the door while I glanced at my watch – it was seven minutes past midnight on the morning of Wednesday 11th September 2001. I knew that the day ahead was going to be significant but the immensity of this day could never have been anticipated.

Preceding our visitation, I had been discussing with Julian details of our imminent journey to Cornwall to discuss and record with my friend, the writer Colin Wilson. Colin had agreed to contribute spoken word to a musical project we were about to embark on based upon the archaeologist and mystic T.C. Lethbridge. During the 1980’s, both Julian and I were avid readers of Colin’s work and it was in fact Colin’s 1978 publication ‘Mysteries’ that first introduced us both to the work of T.C. Lethbridge. Like Lethbridge, Wilson had been a motivating and influencing factor in both Julian’s and my own ‘field-work activities’ over the previous decade.

I had first met Colin in the autumn of 1998, after he responded to a letter sent to him by my good friend Simon the Templar. Colin had invited us down to his home in Gorran Haven in Cornwall, which shares with his wife Joy and a menagerie of animals including two dogs and a parrot! Since that initial visit, we had struck up a friendship with Colin and Joy and have since visited them on numerous occasions. Julian had never met Colin before and the evening prior to our visit had been filled with Wilsonian anecdotes, which only added fervour to our imminent visit.

The ‘midnight ramblers’ who arrived at the Jockey House in the dead of night were Doggen and Kevlar, respectively the guitarist and drummer of Julian’s ‘stuporgroup’ ‘Brain Donor’. Previously that evening, they had been recording a ‘showcase’ in London with their ‘other’ band Spiritualized and afterwards, had taken a train journey west to darkest Wiltshire. The journey from Swindon to Yatesbury had been taken by taxi but the final leg of their journey, from Yatesbury Lane end, to Julian’s house had been taken on foot. For to glimpse the stars above Yatesbury gives you a real sense of ‘arrival’ in this open, sacred landscape and after being within the confines of our capital city only hours earlier, Doggen and Kevlar felt a compelling need to experience this extraordinary, duality. For the Jockey house, in which we were all staying, was once their old stomping ground prior to the arrival of ‘the family Cope’.

During their time in Yatesbury, Doggen and Kevlar and their friend Flinton Chalk, had formed the band T.C. Lethbridge and had utilised the nearby John Stewart Hall as a venue for their rehearsals. The results of this musical venture eventually led to the release of the 1995 album “Moonequipped”. Since the acrimonious departure of Flinton, Doggen and Kevlar had been looking for an additional constituent to work with them on a new musical venture. Because of my interest in Lethbridge, Julian had suggested to them that I was possibly the man for the job, and so it conspired, on this starry, autumn night in darkest Wiltshire, we came together to contrive ‘the sons of tc-lethbridge’.

We hung out until the early hours, chatting and discussing the possibilities of this pending collaboration before retiring to our beds exhausted at the possibilities that lay ahead. As I lay in my bed, the fluorescent, stick-on, ‘glow in the dark stars’ above me, illuminated my space and although we had only just met, I closed my eyes convinced that we had the makings of a totally awesome ‘Mid-Lands’ project on our hands.

I woke early the next day, made tea and wandered out in to the garden. The air was now fresh and had that autumn feel to it and I stared up into the ice blue sky, a sky that would later become the backdrop to a world-shattering event.

Kiss and make-up
The morning was taken up by a Brain Donor photo session in Julian’s garden. The make-up was applied and soon, to the surprise of the visiting postman, three, ‘Kiss like’, seven-foot tall rock gods were to be seen strutting around the garden. I assisted by ferrying the five double-neck guitars from the house into the garden; and felt privileged to witness this surreal scene. Katherine Lane-Sims took the photographs that were to later appear in the winter 2001 issue (issue 217) of ‘Guitarist’ magazine. A seasoned photographer, obviously conversant with rock ‘n’ roll exhibitionists, she appeared un-phased at the trio of cartoon characters that posed before her.

The session was running late and as soon as Katherine had captured the photos that she required, Doggen and Kevlar taxi’d out of Yatesbury back to the Spiritualized camp. After a brief lunch, Julian began getting his stuff together for the trip down to Colin Wilson’s. Whilst I waited, I chatted with Julian’s wife Dorian about Colin and my previous visits down to Gorran Haven with Simon the Templar. Out of the blue, Dorian asked me, “Do you think it’s a good idea taking Julian to meet him? After all they are both extraordinary characters.” I must say that this made me stop and think for a while. I had pondered long and hard about this meeting and was convinced that Colin and Julian would get along, for they had so much in common. However, their attitude, approach and appearances were poles apart and as a natural worrier, I pondered on the importance of first impressions. Briefly re-assessing the situation, I assured her that everything would be fine.

I was sitting in the truck ready to go when Julian jumped into the driving seat, although now out of the blue, Brain Donor, camoflage gear, his face was still bright yellow! Dorian’s words came flooding back and I began to feel a little edgey!

Where were you?
We had said our goodbyes and were seat-belted up and ready to go when Dorian called us back into the house to witness a breaking news story on TV. It appeared that a passenger airliner had accidentally crashed into the northern tower of the world trade centre. We were aware that we were running late but felt compelled to rush inside and witness these tragic scenes.

The reporter was trying to confirm whether this was some tragic accident or a terrible act of terrorism. We didn’t have to wait long for confirmation, as before our very eyes a second plane ploughed straight into the second tower. But to Dorian, these weren’t just scenes of a distant tragedy, for New York was her home-town and she still had family and friends there, many of whom worked in and around the World Trade Centre.

We stared mortified, at the screen as the television re-played the moment of impact of the second plane. I have often witnessed tragedies on television and have always felt ‘removed’ from the horror by the fact that the events were far away, but today, the enormity and scale of this devastating act struck a chord and although thousands of miles away, I felt vulnerable and shocked.

We realised that we were running late and after Dorian reassured us that she was ok, we climbed back into Julian’s jeep and set off on our journey. Cocooned in the truck, I tried to get the radio in the vehicle to work, but no amount of ‘jiggling’ could get it to operate so we journeyed on with the images we had just witnessed buzzing around our heads.

No words could conjure up the emotions that were being experienced around the world at this very moment in time. Someone on the TV had mentioned the ironic similarity between the unfolding events and the film ‘Independence Day’ but this was like nothing ever contemplated in real life or the cinema. As a child I had been fascinated by ‘Thunderbirds’ and in one particular episode, an airliner is wedged into a giant skyscraper awaiting ‘International Rescue’ to arrive and sort the shit out. During play, I had often re-created these scenes with a ‘Lego’ airliner and ‘shoe-box’ towers. But, unlike in ‘Supermarionation’, there was to be no ‘International Rescue’ and no happy ending here.

Roadhouse Blues
It was strange driving along the A5 in our news-free, isolation capsule. I watched the faces of fellow motorists, all tuned into their radios engrossed in the unfurling events. By the time we had reached the A35, we had somehow sorted the events in our heads. The initial shock was over and through our conversations; we had somehow made sense of the happenings. This was until Julian’s mobile phone rang. It was Dorian, explaining that other civilian airliners had gone ‘missing’ and America was bracing itself for further attacks. This was now getting scary.

Inside the vehicle we were isolated, in here there was a certain order, the steady hum of the engine provided a reassuring calm. But outside, outside there was chaos. We pulled over into a petrol station for fuel. Fellow drivers were eager to share the latest news of the unfolding events. It is strange, that in the event of bad news, people become more open and are willing to share information with people they wouldn’t normally give the time of day to. They always say ‘bad news travels fast’ and this certainly was the case here as the world was presented with a ring-side seat to this atrocity. Maybe it is purely a basic survival thing that unites people in times of danger and with modern communication systems, the danger, although the other side of the Atlantic was too close for comfort.

Back in the jeep we drove west in brilliant, autumn light. Dorian rang again, a third plane had now ploughed into the Pentagon - America really was under attack. She explained that precautions and evacuations were taking place in Canary Wharf and other commercial centres in major cities around the world. Here in an un-Romanised part of England I felt kind of safe, away from the big cities that were obvious targets for the terrorists but I then felt ashamed for having these selfish thoughts whilst others were suffering.

We had arranged with Colin and Joy that we would be with them at about 5.00pm. As it was now well past that time and we still had an hour-or-so driving ahead of us, I rang Joy on Julian’s mobile. Joy and Colin, like the rest of the world, were glued to their televisions and she gave us the latest low-down on events. A fourth passenger plane had now crashed and although no collateral damage had occurred, the enormity of this human tragedy was increasing.

The final part of journey was spent in silence, somehow it felt wrong to be embarking on this project on such a tragic day. Both Julian I felt a need to be back home with our loved ones, surely this was the only place to be in such circumstances? It was only the fact that these events were happening thousands of miles away that reassured us everyone back home would be ok. But as we drove further and further west, the events seemed eerily too close for comfort.

Rock ‘n’ Roll
We arrived at Colin and Joy’s eager for news. Previously I had pondered on how to introduce Julian, I knew that both he and Colin would have plenty in common and that conversation would flow, but with the events of the day foremost in all of our minds, an ice-breaker was not required. By the time we positioned ourselves in front of the Wilson’s television screen, both towers had already collapsed. Sky Television, repeatedly replayed the moments of collapse and the enormity of the event was difficult to comprehend. As I sat engrossed in the flickering images, I realised that Julian was in the Kitchen making himself known to Colin and Joy.

The Wilson’s have lived in Gorran Haven since the late fifties in relative, self-imposed isolation. After the success of ‘The Outsider’ in 1956, when Colin was catapulted into the media spotlight, he moved away from the glare of publicity that followed his success and chose the peace and quiet of Gorran Haven as his residence. As he later explained to us that evening, his home had not only been bypassed by the popular culture of the nineties, eighties, seventies but also the sixties! Therefore the appearance of a six-foot, rock ‘n’ rolling, ‘long-hair’ with a yellow face in his kitchen was quite a revelation! Dorian’s words hung in my head but after two or three glasses of wine, the whole day had become too surreal for even me, the world’s greatest worrier, to even give a hoot!

Dorian’s initial concerns were unfounded, as we all sat down to eat and chat, with the television acting as a constant, background reminder of the world ‘out there’. Colin and Joy’s home, just like our vehicle was a place of isolation, but unlike the vehicle with the dodgy radio their home had the facility to allow as much of the outside world in as they desired. But today, the world of rock and roll had arrived through their front door.

During our conversations about our Lethbridge project, Julian had to pause to acquaint both Colin and Joy with rock ‘n’ roll terminology. ‘Axe’, ‘power-trio’ and ‘speed-metal’ are all terms that the Wilson’s are hopefully now conversant with. During Julian’s Teutonic explanation for the choice of name for his latest project ‘Brain Donor’, I considered this to be the appropriate time to enlighten Colin and Joy on Julian’s yellow face. I explained to them about the photo-shoot that had taken place with the double-neck guitars earlier that morning in Julian’s garden. This story enhanced further the explanation of the Dutch thunder-god ‘Donner’ - he of the double-axe! Joy was very polite, saying that she hadn’t really noticed the yellow fisog but Colin, in his usual honest style, did admit to wondering what the ‘jaundiced’ appearance was all about.

Chalet stay or chalet go?
After lengthy discussions, Julian and I retired to the chalet in the garden where we had planned to spend the night. We had arranged with Colin to do our recording in the morning. I had prepared a selection of quotations taken from the works of T.C. Lethbridge and Colin had agreed to recite them with a view to us using them at a later stage in our project.

Once in the chalet, we immediately turned on the television. A constant loop of the day’s events was being transmitted on every channel. The focus of the broadcasts had now turned to revenge and Afghanistan was singled out as a likely target. The world called out for restraint and this evening, under the brilliant, star-lit sky of Gorran Haven, we both felt a long way from our homes. We sat ourselves down in chalet to watch the day’s events. I pondered on the events at the end of the world.

For both of us the detail of the day needed to be absorbed. We had both been ‘out-of-touch’ for about four hours on our way down here and somehow, had felt ‘cushioned’ from the day’s events. Now it was time to absorb the enormity of what had taken place. I watched for a while before heading off in to the night to find a phone box. Gorran Haven is so isolated that even mobile phones don’t function here. I called my girlfriend Sue. It felt strange being so far away from the people that you love on such a tragic day. She too had been oblivious to the events in New York until our daughter Katie had drawn her attention to the fact that all the kids programmes had been cancelled due to an ‘air crash’ in America. The dismay of missing your favourite TV programmes was to be experienced a year or so later due to the death of the Queen Mother. Life really is a bummer when you’re seven!

Back in the chalet we prepared for the night. Julian chose the double bed in the other room and chose to sleep in it the wrong way round and positioned his ghetto blaster near to his head and fell asleep listening to ambient metal. The previous night, I had fallen asleep in a kind of fairy tale world, staring up at artificial, fluorescent stars, which resembled the interior of some Pharaohic tomb. But from my bed in the chalet, I was able to see out through the open kitchen door out onto the real stars that shone above the ocean. For on this night, the world, like me, was falling asleep under a very different sky.