Fylde
an Art of Dying fragment
I was taking a Sea Org break. As it happened, I never returned; but for now, it was just a break. A short break to make some money, pay some debts I decided I had, and then return.
It began as a two-months CO FB (Commanding Officer Flag Bureaux, who happened to also be a good friend of mine) approved leave of absence that morphed into an additional LRH approved year, and then a second Prince-approved year, and then my daughter Jenna arrived and soon thereafter the no-children-in-the-Sea-Org edict arrived and fatherly I was stranded ashore while the Sea Org sailed on without me. Oh, well. Probably for the best.
(In the interest of full disclosure let me add that I did, eventually, after nearly thirty years, return to the Sea Org bosom for a short spell — see the fragment called Angry Children.)
Deven, my then (and for the next twenty years) wife, was a U.S. Citizen (still is) and suggested that we would probably have more opportunities to make the money I needed for my debts (for me to know and for you to not) in America, and yes, I agreed: let’s go there.
But even there, how was I to make money? I didn’t have any resources, nor any contacts, nor any particular skills, and neither did Deven — well, she did have some fruitful contacts as it turned out.
One day, the solution walked up and sat down right in my lap (literally), for by this time I had managed, even on my meager (to put it mildly) Sea Org pay — augmented by some extracurricular incomes here and there (for one, buying low and selling high Pulp Sci Fi Mags featuring stories by Our Prince, such as Amazing Stories, Astounding Science Fiction, Unknown, etc.) — yes, I had managed to buy a brand new, wonderful little acoustic guitar called Fylde Ariel.
Fylde Guitars was, and still is, the maker of these amazing acoustic instruments and Ariel (a character out of Shakespeare, as are all Fylde models), the model I loved and managed to acquire — and often placed in my lap and played. She was home to some of my early songs.
Fylde guitars (named after the Fylde coast in north-western England) was at this time fairly well known in the UK, but virtually unknown in the United States, so why not?
Since I had come to know Roger Bucknall, the owner and maker of these amazing instruments (he hated (still does) the term luthier — but that’s what he was, and a great one at that), quite well, why not?
Since I really believed in these instruments, and since I considered myself a pretty good salesman, why not?
Why would I not become Roger’s agent in the United States; why would I not become Fylde U.S.? I saw no reason why not, Deven saw no reason why not, and Roger, bless his heart, saw no reason why not, so the deal was struck: I’d represent Roger in America. He would supply a few samples for me to bring, along with some promotional materials, and I’d have a go at the United States of America.
We had planned to leave for the States just before Christmas, which now gave me almost a month to not only learn all I could about the guitars — all the ins and outs about wood and curing and making them mostly by hand, Roger was very helpful — and also gave me a chance to try to sell a few of them in London before we left.
This is where Susie Watson-Taylor enters the picture, big time. She was, as I mentioned in my Glen Row fragment, Mike Heron’s (of The Incredible String Band) girlfriend, and by now had become a very good friend.
As it happened, she knew pretty much everybody in the London music scene, and gave me introduction to several great musicians, including Pete Townshend (separate fragment), Richard Thompson, David Gilmore and others.
I used my own little Ariel as the sample to show, and if they loved it (which, logically speaking, in my mind, they should) and wanted to buy one, well, we need fifty percent down and fifty percent on delivery.
All set? Yup.
Well, Richard Thompson (of Fairport Convention fame), though a nice enough guy — busy painting some street-level place in London when I met him — was all set with guitars, thanks, and besides, could not try my little Ariel with these hands: holding them up: paint stained, busy brushing walls.
All right, David Gilmore then. Happy enough to see me, and even played my little Ariel a little (like four notes), but no, all set as well. Thanks though.
Big bonus from visiting him in their studio though: I got to see, and hear them record a portion of “The Wall” where they sang three-part harmony under the direction of a musical arranger who indicated when who should come in where — they all stood around, looking up into, a large microphone suspended from above. Amazing to see, and when I hear that very passage of the album, even today I remember seeing it being recorded.
Cool memory but no luck so far selling the guitars.
Next, I saw David Pegg, also of Fairport Convention. Being a bass player, I would have tried to sell him a “Sit Toby” — Fylde’s guitar-sized acoustic bass. I didn’t have a sample to show him, unfortunately, and the outcome was the same: Sounds nice, but all set, thanks.
I possibly saw some other musicians in London, though I don’t remember specifically who they might have been. There was the suggestion, by Susie, that I see Mark Knopfler — she could set it up, she said; but, alas, for some reason or other it never came to pass.
Okay, Pete Townshend next. Susie knew his Road Manager who was more than happy to let me bring my guitar by their studio for Pete to look at and perhaps play.
Pete has his own fragment — read on.
© Wolfstusff
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