The Maltman Prophecies.

Here, I’m going to share with you stories of my day to day life. Stories of my early years too. And I’ll open with a piece I wrote telling how I got back into music and started playing again after losing interest, thanks to one, lovely, wonderful and gentle man. Your all welcome here , so gather round, and read on :

LONDON CLIVE.

Oh man. I just got to thinking about that one person when you were young that would light your day up when they arrived at your house. Maybe a favourite relative or a friend you called aunty or uncle, even though they weren’t related at all.
Mine? well it was a gentleman from London called Clive Pidgeon, yep that’s his name, even that made me smile.

He and his wife Maureen met my mam and dad on a camping trip in the late 70’s and became good friends, we’d go to their house, which was well cool going London way when you lived in little ole Fir Tree. And they would come to stay with us.
And no matter which, I couldn’t wait coz Clive just made me laugh and laugh. His gorgeous London cheeky accent could be enough, but he always took notice of me. You know when your a kid it’s easy for adults to bypass you as a pain, as i no doubt was! But not Clive he genuinely took an interest.

Then as the years passed I wained on playing the keys, just completely lost interest in my teens and I was lost at what I wanted to do with my life, and that’s where that evil bastard depression got in through a gap. But one day when Clive and maureen came to visit, he and i were sat in the dining room where the organ was sitting gathering dust. He asked if I would play, and I said “nah! done with it” he said “go on, make a noise for me, no matter what it is”. So I thought what the hell, I sat and played Green Onions for him. I finished to silence. Then he said, “glenn, please don’t give it up, your good”. He walked away and left me sat there. It doesn’t seem like much but those words hit me like a thunderbolt. Clive was always joking, but this time he was almost begging me . And it was then I got a spark again.

My mam asked “why have you started playing again?” I never told her.

Then I went to the nelson Mandela concert to watch my big musical influence Mark Knopfler and the boys play, and the wonderful gentleman that is Alan Clark was playing piano as usual for Dire Straits and as i listened to his wonderful playing, Clive’s words kept ringing like notes themselves. That was it! I was playing again and I would make it my job, not easy but try I would.
Incidentally while watching the Mandela gig at wembley stadium it was Clive’s house I stayed at after the show, more laughs and a great gig too.

The last time I saw Clive he was so tired on my mam’s couch and he dropped off to sleep, something I’d never seen before. I said goodbye to him and maureen as i was living on my own by then and they were heading home that night. Not long later I was asked by my dad would i like to come with them to Clive’s funeral as he’d died through bone cancer. “Of course!” was my choked reply.

I’ve never cried at a funeral before or since, but I bawled heartbroken at Clive’s.

Clive, thanks for the cheeky london accent, thanks for playing cricket with all the Fir tree kids, thanks for pleading with me with your eyes to keep going, I’m still keeping going and will continue. But only if you keep coming back to me with your funny talk every now and then 😉

Thanks Clive.
GM x