Small Hours
Sometime in 1977 John Martyn recorded a piece of music in the middle of a Berkshire field. He recorded it in the small hours and if you listen to the track carefully you can hear the sound of a train in the distance and geese on a nearby lake disturbed by the noise. I have never been to a field in Berkshire in the small hours or at any other time for that matter but nonetheless I have a strange feeling of remembering, of connected nostalgia to the recording John Martyn made there.
It is a feeling that has stayed with me ever since first hearing it, the train has long since passed and the geese are silent. Yet there is something about that it is with me every time I scratch away with pencil on paper, every time I try and connect the thoughts, however loosely and hint at meaning.
