3. The Belle Vue Inn. High Wycombe

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Set back from the main drag in residential High Wycombe there is a local Pub I am inclined to say “Of the first water”.

I have driven up from Somerset with Lydia. We are greeted by a warm, friendly and bubbling atmosphere of the kind one only finds in true local pubs.

The middle-aged clientele seem to have known each other since their school days.

I immediately strike up conversation with Mat who tries to explain the lack of fish and chip shops in the town and offers to take us on a tour to find one that does still exist.

We set off at a generous pace passed a ‘head shop’, which he runs and then the majestic eleventh century church where he tells us he sang as a boy soprano.

The ‘chippy’ is very busy and hot.  In the queue I say to the lad in front that it must be fish and chip rush hour.  He is Drewer and seeing the guitar on my shoulder asks if I’m playing. I tell him and he says the Belle Vue is a great place to play, that he was playing there a week or two ago.

Sam has arrived by the time we get back and we sit around chatting. It’s a while before the music is due to start.

Outside in the smoking area I meet Paul and Nigel. Paul is the second person I meet who tells me he grew up here.

They ask about my music which I have difficulty describing and Nigel assures me that they inside will love whatever I play.

He says that usually the bands here are very loud and that it’s often best to come outside to hear them better.

Nine o’clock, music time, sneaks up on us and though Sam is on first I am keen to dip my toe in the water and sing a couple of songs. The temperature is fine, a few abort their conversations to listen while the rest continue chatting and I hand the proceedings over.

Sam plays for half an hour looking a little quizzical about how he came to be here. He finishes and someone comes to buy his CD.

I start to play at about half past nine, a couple talk loudly, just in front of me to my right. During the next few songs I also begin to feel quizzical, the audience is not an audience as such, no, they are here to meet with their cronies and have a drink, a laugh and pass a pleasant Friday night.  There just happens to be live music here.

Perhaps I have a feeling of respect for the situation or maybe a growing acceptance. As the songs roll by I begin to observe how some songs are more appreciated than others; clearly there is a kind of listening going on.

I go into some really quiet ones, they are truly lullabies I close my eyes and open myself to the song, which seems to come through, rather than from me, I notice how the volume level of talking drops but doesn’t stop. Yes, there is kind of listening, for a moment, no audience no performer, we are all just here.

What happened to time?  It is eleven o’clock.

Sam comes to join me on River Roll and China Ship. The harmony on River Roll is super sweet!

China Ship brings a rousing close to a memorable night.

Alan, whom I have not yet met, the proprietor, later comes and brings me a hundred and ten pounds apologizing for it being such a quiet night, that he was expecting a lot more people.

I give Sam half and I sell a couple of CDs

The Guinness has been flowing, though I never drink more than two pints

On the way home Lydia tells me of what she describes as a beautiful moment where she observes four men at the bar talking, laughing and showing each other photos or video clips on their phones. Suddenly they all stop and stand quietly, looking down during a particular quiet phrase in ‘She’s a Bird’ for a good minute and a half she is struck by the stillness.