Memoirs of the Brightside of the Moon

by Ginger Gilmour

  When we returned home to Woodley, word had reached our neighbors. And what turned out to be a potential disaster turned out to be the local comical story of the week or perhaps forever. To them it just added to all the animal adventures we had had over the years in their eyes. It brought back memories of how Blu, our peacock, got away and the whole village was on alert trying to capture him, darting from tree to tree, field to field. Steve and Linda O'Rourke had given him to us for our wedding present with a message CLIP HIS WINGS. David didn't want to and unknown to us peacocks could fly. Therefore, he didn't and the adventure began. He just flew out of our fenced chicken run into the sunset.

  The Algie adventure brought back another animal memory of the time our neighbor's cow got into our garden. Puddy and I had just returned from shopping, greeted in the dark by a rather large cow. We tried to chase it back into the next-door field flashing our coats, our metallic wellies we had just bought from Biba, glittering in the moonlight. Poor cow, we must have been such a frightful sight. We were hooting and hollering like two crazy Halloween figures down the drive.

  We were relieved the cow did make it home, but only after it jumped our five-bar gate like something out of a storybook. Stopping on a dime, its large body just missed the moving rush hour traffic, silhouetted by their lights in the dark. Puddy and I just stood there gasping, as she casually turned right, wandered down the road a bit, then turned into the field from whence it came. Phew, did we need a cup of tea after that one. We giggled at the thought Ahhh, another Animal adventure. Many more were to come.

  CHAPTER 19

  PIGS ON THE ROAD EUROPEAN TOUR

  26-27 January 1977

  The Pink Floyd story was out. Capital Radio Nicky Horne had broadcast an epic documentary over the course of six weeks.

  Each program was 45 minutes long and was the most all- embracing expose of their vision and history to date. John Peel at the BBC jumped in and played the whole album breaking the exclusive arrangements given to Nicky. Even still Animals set the stage to awaken their slumbering public, but often it just brought criticism and conflict instead of enlightenment. Acceptance was not yet to come. It seems to be the way with all visions that challenge the status quo.

  So the Animals tour began, first stop was Germany. The gigs were getting bigger and louder. In addition, as our families grew, our entourage became bigger also. Once again, our personal assistant Warwick McCreddie looked after us. We had Alice and our Nanny, Jeannie with us. We were getting to be a dab hand at moving into hotels with a little one. Bed ready, bottles warmed and dinner was on its way.

  After the first concert with Alice safe in bed, David and I joined the others at a nightclub party, which the promoters had set-up. When we arrived there in a box was a live baby pig shivering as the loud music surrounded him and the strobe lights revealed his form to us. The promoters thought that it would be funny. I freaked! The band told Warwick to take it back to the hotel and arrange for the farmer to pick it up as soon as possible, which meant taking him to his room at the hotel until it was resolved.

  The next morning, Alice, Jeannie and I went down for breakfast and gathered as much lettuce, other vegetables, and bits of fruit knowing that Warwick for sure had not thought of that. We waited until we thought it was a reasonable hour to visit and see how the baby pig had fared. We were probably a bit early, but it was around 10:00 a.m. Poor Warwick was extremely hung over and moaned as he opened the door. Suddenly he gasped and shouted, "OH MY GOD!" as he looked back into his room.

  All the mirrors on the sliding wardrobe doors were cracked. The pig had been snorting at all the other pigs he could see and must have been kissing himself or had an argument to have created such damage. There was excrement everywhere. His room was literally a pigsty! As we looked around, we noticed that our little pink friend had dragged most of his straw out of the box on to the carpet, which Warwick had laid on its side. As he started to put back the straw, he came upon his underpants. The piglet obviously had slept with Warwick's underpants all night.

  We didn't know whether to cry or to laugh as the pig was running after Warwick as he tried to rescue his knickers. Alice loved the pig and wanted to feed him. We stayed for a little while when Jeannie shrieked and ran out of the door back to our room. She had forgotten that she was washing the nappies in the bidet and feared she had left the water running. I was against paper nappies then and we used cloth ones instead. It was a small attempt to save the trees. So we washed them in the Hotel bidet while on tour. When she got there, the water was running throughout the room and into the room downstairs as well.

  We all left Steve O'Rourke to settle the situation. Between the pigs mess and ours, the hotel was not too happy. Another Rock band destroys a hotel. Actually, the Floyd and their crew really had a good reputation. It was the pyrotechnics that caused a few problems and of course the airplane. But I am foretelling a bit of the future.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE BRIGHT SIDE IS CALLING

  PARIS, FRANCE

  In Frankfurt, the audience had been very violent. They were throwing beer cans and other paraphernalia on stage. Some of the flavor of the Beauty I found in the shows was wearing thin. I was getting a bit battle worn. Life on the road with a child, nanny, and struggling with my diet was proving difficult. We traveled to city after city, from hotel to hotel. The Floyd were used to touring; yet, does one ever get used to it? There is a buzz mixed with hardship being away from home. I hear David's voice singing how he liked to be home.

  After five more gigs, we reached Paris, where the Floyd were to play at the Pavillon de Paris. Roger, David, and I were in one of the cars, which was taking us to the gig. There was a drive to the back entrance that was about a block long, with a brick wall on the left and a high fence on the right, with only room for a car never mind a limo. When we turned into the drive, there were fans waiting, lots of them up to the gate. The driver went slowly into the crowd. There was nowhere for them to go, except on top of the car and squashed against each other, against the wall.

  I started to laugh and laughed hysterically. Roger looked over to David and asked, "Why is she laughing?" David said, "That is what she does when she is extremely panicked." First, I laughed, because I could not believe what I seeing, as the driver kept moving forward. Then, as it worsened, I laughed hysterically because my heart hurt at what I was seeing. They were screaming and banging on the car. Their faces pressed against the windows. Their anxiety was a mixture of excitement that their stars were so close and OH MY GOD I am being crushed. I wanted to get out, but there was no way to do so. I had to close my eyes and hold David's hand tightly. I found refuge against his shoulder until the nightmare was over.

  This was just one of many experiences, which the Animals tours seem to attract. The album and the gigs portrayed this very aspect of our supposed modern culture and our inhumanity. The tour was a reflection of the sorrowful state of what was happening in the world. In addition, the topic played on the stage was also becoming backstage. It was filtering into our home life. However, we continued, concert after concert baby in tow. I often wondered what kept us going, but until the pus festers, a wound cannot heal, I suppose.

  For me, the Beauty of those moments were when the audience and the music was ONE, which overshadowed the pain. But more rough seas were to come. I only wish that I could have helped David more, besides being by his side and raising our children. Reading some of their history now, has opened my eyes more to understand what had gone on with the band, often behind closed doors.

  They were a gestalt in many ways bonded together over the years. The band's inner relationships torn, yet lives entangled. This realization, time and time again appeared only after a crack started to emerge. What once was unity was now becoming shattered. Often the family was a refuge for each of them from the storm, but I wonder if it did not cause a schism in both camps. I believe it did. Our lives had become so big and surreal or maybe perhaps unreal? For sure, it was beyond being a normal exi
stence. Things started to change. Roger's unending pain and anger placed a dark shadow over everything expressed in his lyrics. I have witnessed many times how the music had made his anguish palatable. I saw how David's heart struggled to be heard and Rick retreated into silence, as if they were carrying a heavy stone. And somewhere amongst this turmoil of life, a creative force rose above the storm, touching our hearts out there, on the other side of the wall. Their music brought an archetypal message that one could rise above the challenges of Life to find Beauty waiting.

  Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and convey that message to them, not as a lovesick girl, but me as a woman, who has found the value of Beauty. It wasn't the size of the shows. It was the mastery of being human through transforming ugliness into Wonder and the Beauty of Life. That is what their concerts created for us in the audience. That is what brought people back time and time again. Somehow, in revealing the shadows and the light we found balance, even if it was in the subconscious held in our memories.

  They say that life only gives you what you can handle. Well, this was a big one. Much given, but with it came the burden we carried. Some days I just wonder, could it have been different? Maybe the path was laid before us that we were destined to walk. The tide was turning. The program set. The Bright Side was calling us to go forward.

  CHAPTER 21

  FLOYD BECOMES CECIL DEMILLE

  WEMBLEY EMPIRE POOL

  1977

  We had returned from Europe, with a few days at home, before the Floyd's five gigs in the UK at the Wembley Empire Pool. We had bought a property on Mc Gregor Rd., near Portobello Rd. in London, which there were three flats. We kept the top floor flat as a London bolt-hole. In the middle flat we had an elder sitting tenant, Mrs. Hammond. We were obliged to allow her to stay, until she had passed over or was too ill to live by herself. We had no problem with that. She was such a dear. When we were updating the flats, she wanted to stay on her electric coin fed meter. So we waited to do her portion of the building as not to disturb her.

  David had contracted Tonsillitis upon our return. Different to America, British children do not have their Tonsil or Adenoids removed. David would often have infections, but this time I presumed it started because of the previous gigs in Germany. They had to substitute the dry ice with smoke and as a result, it entirely covered the stage, the band and the audience below. It was hard to breathe and dried out their throats. And who knows what else it affected.

  When we got home, we took David to a specialist who works with opera stars. His treatment was very effective, required a few visits and allowed David to sing. A special lozenge was the remedy, which was an essential in our home medicine cabinet for years. I remember even sending some to Paul McCartney for which he was extremely grateful. He was struggling for his Wembley gigs at the time as well.

  We left Alice at home with Warwick's sister, Winsome and Peter Mount with whom we considered our second family. David and I stayed at McGregor Rd., a sweet one bedroom modest flat arranged over three floors with a kitchen on the top floor. It was petite but very serviceable for weekends away. Emo was living on the first floor, and, of course, invited to all five shows. It turned out to be Party Time every night.

  It was a relief to be back home with an English audience for they were much more held, absorbing the music. It always seemed they allowed the notes to enter and dance around their being. Or were they stoned? More than 10,000 came each night and more hopefuls lingered outside wishing they were there too. The Financial Times called the Floyd the modern day Cecil DeMille as Animals was more theatrical than ever before. The music floated from behind the inflatables as the show went on.

  By the fourth night, I was feeling rather frail around the edges. I said to David, "I really can't do another late night." He agreed, but when we got home, Emo had invited everyone over and the party was in full swing. After a while I gave in and asked David if we had any "Coke?" He said "No,"but he knew someone who did. He took me down to our bathroom where there were two ladies laying down lines. David asked if they would give me some for he had already had some a few moments before.

  He left me there and went back to the party. I had a few and started back up the stairs to find him. As I passed our bedroom, I noticed he was lying there in the half-lit room with the door open. An energy of Love took over, but as I came close, I felt I had to vomit. I ran to the window, which was half-open. Leaning out I vomited into the night. I felt like my guts were being yanked out. My head was exploding. Finally, it stopped and I lay down next to him.

  I felt shaken but a type of euphoria was taking over. I asked David in a more intimate moment what was that they had given me. He didn't know but it felt good. He hugged me and I fell asleep in his arms. Later I found out it was heroin! That was the last thing I would have EVER taken if I had known. It was a violation of my freedom of choice. Maybe they were unaware that I didn't know. And I didn't know that London was moving away from cocaine to snorting heroin.

  From then on, I learned to ask more questions about what I was taking. That experience served to lay down the foundations to quit taking drugs. One good seed planted for the future and one bad seed put away and forgotten. For whenever something was too great of an emotional shock to face, I went into a form of Amnesia. Just like I did when my father took us away from my mother. Mother? What mother. Heroin? What heroin? Life went on.

  Fortunately, life was to provide the tools needed to release that subconscious pattern many years later. When I was to meet and have the good fortune to be analyzed first by Werner Engle in NYC, then Gerhard Adler in London until he passed away. Mrs. Adler, his wife, took me under her wing after his death. They were highly respected in their field of Jungian analysis and I am grateful to have known them. This is a story that I shall share with you later.

  CHAPTER 22

  ANIMAL FARM COMES STATE SIDE

  IN THE FLESH TOUR, U.S.A

  The tour started in Miami. The warmth of the balmy air was refreshing, as back home, April showers were preparing for spring .We had some time to swim in the ocean with Alice, as she loved the water. There were a few technical problems getting the Pig to be present and it was suspended from a pole as a last minute solution. The highlight of the show was when the pig was set on fire, which was not quite what the crew intended. Fortunately, they were on the case and no one was injured. However, it did set alight a few other fires, namely Roger's and Steve O'Rourke.

  We flew everywhere in our private airplane, a 737 Jet. Long gone were the times when we had to walk through airports, wait in lines, check in, and airplane food. Nope, not any more. Our cars would drive up to a small terminal and our personal road manager organized our bags as we made ourselves comfortable inside. Life on the road had become a very complicated affair; families traveling with children and nannies, more equipment, friends, movie stars, fans surrounding us whenever they could find out where we were. We checked into hotels with aliases to insure our privacy that worked sometimes.

  The gigs were becoming a blur as we traveled from state to state. The size of the lorries increased and so did the number of road crew. In the past I knew all their names. Now some were familiar while others were hired "Humpers." The stadiums were so big that they needed strong Herculean men to get all their speakers up there. Nick referred to them as the "quad squad,"the SAS of humpers. The organization of the whole tour was a feat of great proportions.

  As our journey took us through the south, I remember being amazed at what Americans thought was their architectural heritage. I say that, because of what we saw when we went to see some of them, where their history supposedly happened. We visited one that was just a small pile of stones in the middle of the prairie. There was though a parking lot full of tourist buses, a gift shop and, by the way, they didn't fail to charge an entry fee. We left a bit cynical remarking under our breath, "Perhaps we should tell them to go to Europe to know more of their heritage." But I do know as an American, what we dream is as much a reality as
a building.

  Phoenix, Arizona was our favorite city to enjoy. We played in the desert with land rovers, went surfing in the artificial waves and the Floyd had the best time driving madly on the circuit. There was time to frolic and sit in the motel jacuzzi. One of the most unforgettable memories was the morning when David drove a motorbike through the dining room on a bet. We were all having breakfast when Evil Knievel Gilmour came riding in from the outside terrace, passed our table, out the main door, through the lobby and out of the motel. He parked the bike and returned for breakfast. Nobody said a word. The waiters and all the diners just went on with their day. Business as usual seemed to be their motto. We traveled like a pack struggling sometimes to keep a smile covering our exhaustion and late nights and frivolity. The constant reminder of the growing conflict within the band took energy from us all. Maintaining anger takes a lot of energy, you know. We put on masks to hide the pain. We were becoming alienated, not only from the audience with the band behind the headphones, but also from each other. Food on the road left us empty with its non-dairy creamers and dried up sandwiches in the dressing room. Tour catering was in its infancy, so for the crew it was burgers delivered. Bottles of Evian began to appear, but I am sure we were all dehydrated.

  Finally, we reached California, where it was less like a conveyor belt of Joneses. Friends and family were appearing amongst the waves of the audience. At the time, the band was finding it a challenge to adjust to the large stadiums of nameless faces. Security and safety became more of an issue as the number reached beyond 80,000. I spent most of the concerts in the middle of them at the mixer. Often what the band felt was a bad gig, I discovered that I had a different impression, as I bounced into the dressing room full of Joy. A cloud fell upon me as I went into the changed atmosphere. I recovered my composure and silently poured myself a drink.