Memoirs of the Brightside of the Moon

by Ginger Gilmour

  In Carnegie Hall, even the ladies room reeked of opulence of the Twenties with mirrors and gold everywhere. The stage had a circular part, which could rise from below. Arthurmade sure to use it. The music began and the Floyd seemingly appeared from below, it was an awesome moment. Out of the darkness emerged the sound of "Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun." I can still hear Roger hitting the Gong somewhat quietly. Rick's melodic playing with the repetitive thumping notes of David's guitar held us hypnotized. The lights alternated from red to blue and back again. The tone of Roger's voice piercing the air merging with David's "Ah-Ah-Ah" created a sound, transporting us to being in an Egyptian Tomb. Nick kept it all in a continuous beat eventually building the pace. Red beacons swirled as Roger returns to the Gong madly beating it. The Gong sets alight with the crashing sounds. The audience gasps, holding their breath within the tension, listening. The music drifts and falls upon us, while the only light is the flickering Gong that shaped the band's silhouette. The celestial sounds took us further to the "Heart of the Sun." As the song quietly ends, the next one, "Atom Heart Mother," begins. *** As I write this from my flat in the UK, overlooking the Arun Valley, I am listening to it once again. Its mastery moves me. Their ability to give us an experience with subtle transitions, creates such Beauty. However, it would take years for the world to understand them, especially the press. Now their music is often likened to classical Rock 'n' Roll, our modern version of Beethoven or Tchaikovsky. On this morning, Clare called from Florida as she does every day before taking our granddaughter to school. Before hanging up they sing in chorus. "One, Two, Three, Nana we love YOU!" Today she called earlier so I asked if she would like me to read the first few segments of my book. She asked, "What book?" I said, "My life story." As I read it to her, I could tell that she was captivated. As an adult, she has never heard the beginning of the romance of her mother and father. She asked, "Will you share our stories too?" I said, "Of course, for this is my journey of self- discovery and the beauty of life. With every pregnancy, with every child I learned more about Love, which guided me to my next step. Each one was special. Each touched such wonder as you came into the world. It was as though the universe stopped to Honor your entry. Of course, I would share that! And Clare I just wanted to let you know that often I shouted from the top of the world, and said, "God, thank you for giving me the opportunity to birth such wonderful children." My heart rejoices with the Love for them.

  After she rang off, I realized that in that conversation I was writing this for my children, for David and for the world. With the hope that we would all dare to trust our hearts, create Beauty and Love one another. For me that has become the best thing to share in Life. Love and Beauty, for they are the bridge to God, but building it has not been easy. It did get a bit rusty and hard to maintain at times. Throughout the years, Life was not without its challenges but it was Love and Beauty that healed our wounds time and time again. Some say it is the crack in the wound that lets the Love return. I often feel the light shining out and love returning.

  CHAPTER 4

  JOURNEY TO ENGLAND

  We were somewhere between Cincinnati and Washington DC, driving to the gig. I was sitting on David's lap in the back seat when Steve O'Rourke turned around and said to me, "Well, Ginger are you coming with us back to England?" I turned pink at the suddenness of the question when I looked at David. He said, "Do you want to?" I nodded, "Yes," as I placed my head upon his shoulders. Dreams upon Dreams were coming true. Soon I shall see the house across the waters with the white doves.

  The moment came to live another dream ... to live in England. It was really happening. We were on the plane. We held hands throughout the journey. Watching a movie to pass the time. Sleeping, occasionally, in each other's arms because the flight was through the night. Morning came with the smell of coffee and bacon. I rubbed my sleepy eyes as I looked out the window at the new country I was about to know. It was like a patchwork of color and extremely green despite the winter. Lines of colorful houses wound round the edges of the streets below with little chimney stacks and grey smoke. Swimming pools were nowhere in sight.

  Warwick, a friend of David's, picked us up from Heathrow. He also cared for David's home, doing odd jobs, when he was away on tour. I found out later from Warwick that he had expected a different woman. He almost blew it by saying her name, but David had anticipated this so he quickly introduced me. The story from Warwick went like this, "The Man needed a Maid." Like the song from Neil Young's Harvest. Well, Love got there first, I thought.

  It seemed as if we drove through the countryside for ages until we finally turned into the drive. David got out and opened the white five bar gate. Before me was the house with the white doves that flew into the sky with the sound of the approaching car. As we went down the drive, we passed a large cluster of Lilac trees and a Mulberry tree with a few outbuildings behind them. David had a small Mock Tudor Home with stables and barns. A duck called Digby, a city cat called Gretel, which he inherited from Toni Howard. A slightly deaf white cat called Naomi and a retired Shire horse from Whitbread,'s called Vim. Vim was really tall, massive and gentle. I had never stood next to a Shire. I had only seen them pulling carts loaded with beer barrels on telly.

  My English adventure had begun. The fridge was the size of an American dishwasher. Rather small, I had to stack all the leftovers and shopped very cleverly to fit it all in. Fortunately, there was a cold pantry, which eventually I learned how to use. Warwick and David were little terrors some evenings after I had gone to bed. They would poke holes into the cling film that I had carefully covered the plates of food in order to reduce the risk of food poisoning. Naughty boys! They were stoned.

  We were not alone long for Pete Watts, his engineer and road manager, came to stay with his new girlfriend Patricia Gleeson, known as Puddy. Peter had decided to leave his family. He was married to Miv and had two children Naomi and Ben. Naomi has become a famous film actress and Ben a well-known New York photographer. At the time, we only heard unpleasant stories about Miv, which seems to be the way when couples separate, sadly.

  Miv actually was to become one of my best friends years later. We have shared friendship, moments of creativity, and stories of the joy and tragedy in life's journey since. She is still a special person dear to me who not only has supported the healing of my heart but also inspired me to discover, Who I was meant to be creatively. We laughed. We cried. We shouted often in despair but the giggles won out. She is a treasure of Beauty, a Diamond in my box of memories.

  The snow came and then Christmas. Puddy, Warwick and I spent a lot of time in the kitchen playing cards and getting high. David and Peter spent a lot of time in his studio, which was downstairs next to the living room getting high. I was used to having at least $1000 per day modeling, but had no savings or income, as I had not foreseen this adventure to England. Puddy was the same. To have to be dependent on our men in a foreign culture without a work permit was a rather difficult period.

  We occupied ourselves by taking cuttings from various houseplants of friends we visited. The kitchen was full of them. Eventually, I asked David if I could start modeling again. He was spending so much time in the studio and on tour that I had very little to do and our passion was a cooler flame. Perhaps returning to England, back into his culture and old patterns of behaviour influenced this. I was vulnerable but besotted with my love for him and did my best making Woodley our home.

  I was a great cook so that helped. I became very creative and learned to cook Indian curries and Japanese, which I had never had until I came to the UK. Unfortunately, after Puddy and Peter left, I was alone with the BOYS - David's friends from Cambridge. Most evenings I got stuck doing the washing up and keeping them filled with Tea as they smoked their spliffs and watched telly. Not for long though. Eventually, I got them plastic gloves, an apron and had them do their share.

  From January through February, the Floyd went on tour in England. I stayed home for many gigs. Television programs
did not come on until after 4:00 p.m. by which time it was dark. We didn't have curtains or double-glazing so the winter winds would howl through the lead light windows. I sat shivering with a blanket around me and several jumpers. I was not used to being in the elements indoors. I sat each evening in David's high back leather chair watching whatever was on. There were only three stations: BBC 1, BBC 2 and ITV at the time. It was snowing and a blizzard was happening outside. Brrr.

  One evening, a man wearing a black coat peered through the living room window where I sat. He was tapping on the pane to get my attention. I absolutely freaked. My mother raised us in an environment, which meant that we were frightened to be alone especially in the country. Every night she would go around to each door and window checking to see if they were locked. Here I was alone in a foreign country with no curtains and no idea who to call... not even the police. He knocked and shouted through the howling wind, "Miss I have brought you your water container." YIKKEES! The local pipes had frozen and we were temporarily having problems with our running water. As a result, I had to bring in buckets of water from outside in the freezing cold constantly. I wondered what planet I had landed upon. UGH. Sadly, that was not the only adjustment I had to make. There was no power shower. Just a hand held one, placed upon a Victorian fashioned bracket at the top of the bath. The water pressure was not like America either. I called home crying, seeking her love, "MOM!" I was discovering that it was a misconception that the English and the USA both spoke the same language, had the same sense of humor, used the same measurements for cooking and on top of which their money was so different. They drove on the other side of the road and we were miles from anywhere. "Mom, they don't even have a large fridge!" I exclaimed. Despite it all - What have I done? - never entered into my mind. Thank God.

  The adventure was still special. There were just a few bumps along the road getting used to it. I was getting a new set of tires and a new road map. I was still young, adaptable and in love so it was easy to make it my home. This was never in any of my Sociology books. In fact, the thought of leaving the States didn't enter my mind except in my dreams. In fact, I have found that the manifestation of the dream is still different from the dream.

  Every Monday we went over to Jenny and Steve Marriott's (Small Faces and later Humble Pie) cottage to pick up our shared house cleaner, Liezel. We would arrive early, have some tea and a spliff. Jenny was beautiful, a picture of a Classic English Beauty. She worked close with Ossie Clark, which inspired me deeply. David had met her years ago when he drove Ossie's van. Jenny's clothes drifted as she went in and out of the kitchen. She was the first to educate me about Art Nouveaux. Her taste was impeccable. In fact, a year later we had a stall together selling antiques in Antiquarius on Kings Rd when it became necessary that I needed a job. Not being married did create some problems trying to get a visa so that I could work.

  Jenny and Steve had an English garden full of Foxgloves, Hollyhocks and Roses straight out of Beatrix Potter. They had lots and I mean LOTS of fluffy cats who all used to come to me to play except one. Eventually our house became the same. We had up to 17 cats at one time, mostly kittens. I was helping a woman who had a cat rescue center, which was always over full. I tried hard to fit in with the quiet nature of Jenny and most of the women I met. It was difficult for it was against my American nature. Fortunately, I was a shy person but a firebird inside. It was a challenge to integrate in itself never mind in a foreign culture.

  ***

  A house full of cats was not dissimilar to my childhood. I was always bringing home stray animals including many rabbits. We kept them under the house because we had a crawl cellar. We lived on a Navy housing estate while my stepfather did a year of isolated duty in Libya. He was a medic. Every morning before school, we had to run around all the houses and gather the ones that had got away. We didn't have much money so our make-shift cage allowed them to burrow under the wire and get out. It was fun.

  This period of my childhood required for me to pick up my brother, Stephen, from school and prepare the dinner. Our duties also included cleaning the house. Most days consisted of building tents with all the sheets and blankets with the help of the neighborhood children. When it was time for my mother to return home from work we would stuff everything under the beds and sofas. It must have been a mess but what could a working mother of little means do? I experimented with different ways of cooking. Some dried out because I put them in the oven on low at lunch and went back to school. I was still learning. I thought my dinners were good. No one ever complained unless I had burned it. My mother was always encouraging me to continue. The most memorable was when I changed the colors of the food as a Biology experiment. The mash potatoes were royal blue; the cheese sauce fuchsia; the chicken bright green and the peas were black. Needless to say, their response was a giggle.

  ***

  One day I had gone around the corner from David's house in Roydon to our little neighborhood shop, Mrs. Little's. She was a wonderful lady. Rose Little was her name and her husband was Stan Little. She became my gran across the waters. We would go there for little things and it was the post office too. This day she said to me holding out this little creature in herhand, "Ginger, look. Isn't it sweet? Someone is going to put it down." It was a Billy Goat. Well I immediately called David and asked if I could bring it home. "Please, they are going to kill him?" He said rather reluctantly, "Yes, ok." In fact, David was amazing, He got a tiny Johnny Walker bottle he had brought back home from our trip in the states. Found a teat from somewhere, filled it with milk and would sit in his favorite chair feeding Billy who rested upon his chest.

  As Billy grew older, we had to move my plants from the floor higher because goats do like to eat them. However, it was not long before he would jump up on the tables, reach up and eat the hanging plants! Eventually we had no choice but to put him outside in the garden. He was so cute. Goats jump with such happiness, sideways sometimes. Watching him was a source of laughter for us. Sadly, he started eating all my tulips we had gotten from Chelsea Flower Show. Jock, our Scottish Gardener and David's mum, Sylvia, and I had the most glorious time picking out tulips the year before at the show but Billy ate them all. Therefore, he just had to go in the field with Vim.

  David had let another family, the Robinsons, board their horses in the other stables in return for taking care of Vim. Billy had a great time until his horns grew. As David did not favor having the chap's horns cut off, we kept them. Unfortunately, Billy started chasing the girls who were often seen running for their lives towards the paddock for safety. Billy thought they were playmates and did not mean them any harm. He had grown up with them. They were his friends. Sadly, his horns were rather sharp. Sometimes, he would get them caught in the tails of the horses and last seen being dragged across the field. Eventually, he reached manhood and started to smell. Goats smell from a great distance. So we had no choice other than to find a goat farm that would take him. As far as I know the story ends happily ever after with Billy chasing the female goats and sowing his oats.

  CHAPTER 5

  TO MODEL OR NOT TO MODEL

  Time passed and I got used to my new home. David agreed for me to join a modeling agency and it wasn't long before I got a few modeling jobs. One year I was the face of Leichner Cosmetics. I looked like a Hollywood Star from the days of Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield. It seemed I was being typecast as either Hollywood glamour star or the innocent girl next door. Once a male model pushed me around Hyde Park in a wheelbarrow for a shoot. Then I was taken to the seaside in the blazing sun wearing a fur coat baking. What Fun. Keep smiling. LOL.

  On the day of the Leichner shoot, my journey home on the train was interesting with all that makeup and false eyelashes. My piano lessons were with a local elder piano teacher that day, so I was rushing home. I had gotten back just in time. My lesson turned out literally rather touchy! All had been going good until this day. David had the famous poster of Marilyn Monroe where her skirt is blowing up showing her
legs. The piano teacher was obviously unfamiliar with the picture because he approached me with the question, "Is that you?" During the lesson he stood behind me and tried to make advances as he reached over to turn the music score. I was shocked as his hand touched my breast. I turned around glaring. Standing up, I demanded for him to leave. He never came back. I always found it difficult when men projected their desire upon me. It was as though they entered into my being and took something with them without my permission.

  Storm Thorgerson, of Hipgnosis, asked me to be on the cover of one of Al Stewart albums, Modern Times. I knew Storm well since he did the Floyd's album covers and was an early Cambridge friend of David's. The photo shoot was in the garden of an English Manor House early in the morning. Al Stewart was sitting in a Cord Automobile owned by Jimmy Page from Led Zeppelin. I was wearing a sequinned maxi slinky dress in the likeness of a 20s Hollywood Star with a lynx fur coat. I was running away from him after the night before, pretending it was warm but it was not. Early morning shots were always my least favorite. The lighting was great, but it was cold! One of the most illogical castings was for a job at the London Playboy Club. When we first arrived, they led us into the Playgirl dressing room. Buxom bunnies surrounded us. The stylist came in with the clothes we were to wear. We had to pretend that we were gambling at the roulette table. It was ridiculous. I just did not understand why they chose me, as the stylist insisted that I should stuff my bra with tissues to give me more cleavage. While the other female model who was rather well endowed, received tape to strap her down. Then they put her in a motorcycle jacket. What was that agency or client thinking? It was the same in America. I grew tired of being in the line-up, a number being spoke about and judged: her breasts are too small; hers are too large, the legs are not quite right. Turn your head this way. Look up. Waiting for hours. Getting cold. Good pay, but in England the stardust finally wore off. I gave it up. I had to do something to get a visa in order to stay in the country so I went into the antique trade with Jenny Marriott. We got a stall in Antiquarius on Kings Rd selling Art Nouveaux antiques and other objects of Beauty.