Diary Of A Busker Day 85 Thursday April 21st Winchester High Street (1. opposite WH Smiths, Time: 11:15-1:15pm, 2. corner of Marks And Spencers, Time: 1:25-4:20pm.)
A warm, sunny day and a long session with the only break occuring when I moved from one pitch to the other. Before I set up I take a stroll down the street to see who’s where – today there’s no one anywhere. I decide not to set up down at the corner because it’s too hot! – this is the only spot I play at which isn’t in the shade, all the others up the high street are shaded by the tall buildings on the opposite side of the street.
I’m a few songs in and have just finished La Vie En Rose when a couple in their sixties, listening on my left, come forward. “You play well, but you look so unhappy! You should smile!” says the man. “Well, I’m not unhappy, I’m just concentrating. There’s a thin line between being unhappy and looking concentrated, maybe. And my eyes have always been a bit sensitive to sunlight – they only usually let me out at night, you see!”
After I play The Third Man, another sixties man comes up – “That was played on a zither, wasn’t it? Who did that?” “It was Anton Karas – yes, on a zither” I say. “Yes, and do you know I heard him play in a place in Boscombe about five years ago.” “Anton Karas? In Boscombe? Five years ago you say?” “Yes, about that – maybe a bit longer, but my god he could play!” Well, he MUST have been good – especially good to play in Boscombe five years ago – he’d been dead for twenty!
The workmen are here again in their hole and getting noisier by the day. The concrete saw is being switched on more than usual and they’re not waiting for me to finish a song before they switch it on, which I think is rather rude and I’m becoming annoyed so it’s time to move – I’ve been here two hours anyway. Before I move down the street, I chat to the young guy sitting on the bench opposite holding the Asgard tattoo shop sign. “Are you here all day?” I ask. “No, I do four hours and three tomorrow. It’s not too bad – I get a fiver an hour.” Even I get more than that, usually! “Then what do you do, do you go somewhere else and hold it (the sign)?” “Oh no, I go home and go to bed.”
I go down to Marks And Spencer – there’s a nice breeze now – that’s good, it won’t be too hot. If it’s too hot my fat fingers get even fatter and it’s uncomfortable and difficult to play. So, it’s been too cold for four months and now it’s going to be too hot. Typical. Ten minutes after leaving the first spot and I’m playing again. The security guard from Marks And Spencer comes out and says a nice thing to me. He’s heard the rumour about the license or permit all buskers will have to get to play in Winchester. He thinks the police want to get rid of us and he’s been talking to the blonde WCPSO I see most days I’m out here. “I told them you were the best busker in town and it would be a shame if they got rid of you. I hope it carries some weight” he says. What a nice man!
A woman comes up after La Vie En Rose – I play this a few times today – twice I play it and twice people come up to request it again, which is rare. The woman tells me she likes all the old 50s Rock and Roll singers – Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis – “He had a hard time when he came over here, though” she says, referring to his marriage to his thirteen year old cousin. “Yeah and they’re still alive – most of them. Buddy Holly’s dead, of course” I say. “Yes, it’s funny how alot of them die in plane crashes.” she says. Not really! “…and Little Richard, he’s dead.” “Is he? I’m sure he’s still alive” I say. “He threw himself off a bridge, I thought – in Australia!” “Did he – are you sure?” “Or he threw some of his jewellery off it.” Yes, I think that’s probably more like it.
Near the end of my day a man pulls up in his motorised buggy and hands me a pound coin – “Now, what are you going to play for me – play anything you like, anything you want.” I thank him very much and ask if he knows some titles I do. I don’t think he does. “Oh you just play whatever you want.” He’s got a ‘friendly’ face, this old man and I’m guessing he’s not more than seventy-five at the most. I’m way off. His name is Henry Gray – “that’s G-R-A-Y” he says “…and I’m ninety-nine.” Wow. I think he must be the oldest person I’ve ever met. I tell him he looks alot younger. “Yes, many people say that” he says and he takes off his cap and pats his head of slightly wavy white hair. He’s got more hair and less wrinkles around the eyes than I do! “Yes, I can remember all the songs we used to sing when we were children, from a hundred years ago – all the words and someone from the village I lived in, near Oxford – Islip it was called, came down with a tape recorder and recorded me singing the songs. I remember all of them.” “Really? And you live here now?” “Yes, since 1960, but I’ve lived all over…the village where I lived – Islip had a coat of arms of a man falling off a tree – I – slip, you see?”
Henry now lives in a home and has a man come in with a hot water bottle every morning. He needs one, even in the warm weather. “They’re very good there.” So, what am I going to play for him? Only the song of the day – La Vie En Rose. I play it, looking down at my guitar, concentrating, not ‘unhappy’. After a minute I look up and see Henry smiling and humming along, very quietly. He’s ninety-nine years old and he’s smiling and humming along – that’s what I’m here for!
I chat to Simon the Big Issue seller who prefers to busk in the evenings. “I don’t like it in the day with all the people about, it’s different at night but I get them all coming out of the pubs shouting “Play Wonderwall!” and it’s so easy and boring. But if they shout some song out I don’t know, I just say “You sing it, and I’ll play it” and I can usually pick it up with a few chords and they’re happy, you know – or I play little bits of things, like the Pink Panther one – do do, do do, do do….” The night shift, eh? He’s a braver man than me.
Earnings: £37.69p
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