Memoirs of the Brightside of the Moon

by Ginger Gilmour

  ***

  It was near the end of the evening when we all gathered again in the studio where Michael instructed us on what we were to sing. David and a technician were in the studio ready to record from behind the glass window divide. Mikes were set. The room was full with everyone in good spirits. The recording began. It wasn't until 1985 that the movie Brazil came out in the cinemas. Terry Gilliam, one of the Monty Pythons, called it part of a "Trilogy of Imagination" and a testimony to George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty Four. It was a satire about the craziness of our awkwardly ordered society and the desire to escape it through whatever means possible. It was not successful at the time, but it's now considered a cult film.

  Monty Python has become part of being English. They were our generation of cultural satirists. Many waited each week, we certainly did, to watch their television series Monty Python's Flying Circus and looked forward to the release of their films. I still have them all on DVD. Eric Idle became a dear friend and we often had sushi together when we were in London.

  When I first arrived in the UK David took me to one. It was like watching a film in another language without subtitles. The humor combined with the accent was beyond me at first. I just sat there in the cinema breathing in all the smoke from the audience's cigarettes. Years later, the silly walk and curry's brain would become part of my vernacular amongst many more like nit, nit. I get it now. And the song at the end of Brazil always reminds me of that firework party at Hook End many years ago.

  CHAPTER 52

  ABOUT FACE TOUR

  1984

  The time was approaching for David to form a band and take About Face out on the road. With the album set to release in the UK on 5 March and in the States on his birthday, 6 March, David was almost certain of who was going to join him. The general line- up with other guest appearances at individual concerts was: Gregg Dechart (keyboards), Mickey Feat (bass guitar), Jody Linscott (percussion), Mick Ralphs (guitar, vocals), Chris Slade (drums), Raphael Ravenscroft (saxophone, flute, keyboards). I went along for the first few gigs in Ireland.

  The first show was in Dublin. When we first arrived, we all went to our rooms for a rest and a shower before going to the hall for a sound check. Mick Ralphs was in the middle of taking a shower when a rather impatient knock came at his door. A man from the hotel was shouting in a rather strong Irish accent as he continued to pound on the door, "Mister Ralphs, Mister Ralphs?"Mick shouted back from the bathroom, "I am in the shower. What do you want?"Well, Mister Ralphs I have ah' telegram for ya." Mick shouts as he gets out the shower, "Can you slip it under the door!"OHHH, NO! Mister Ralphs! I cannot be doin' dat' for it's on a Tray!" Mick's eyebrows raised in disbelief as he wrapped himself in his bathrobe to answer the door. It was one of those unbelievable moments that marked the story of our journey to Ireland. The next stop would be Belfast. We had to walk through the check point Charlie barricades to get to the hotel. Ever since I had arrived in the UK, this situation of North and South Ireland was always in the public conscience. There had always been incidents of IRA bombings or killings every year since I arrived in 1971. However, I was never so close to being in the energy of confrontation between groups of people as I was that day. The smell of possible bombing loomed in my mind throughout our stay. Every corner, I tensed wondering is this the moment? The fear of the reality was so alive in me.

  Despite being an American and raised with the day-to-day tensions of the four fears: IRS, Cancer, Communism, and Nuclear War, I still could not get my head around this situation. The indoctrination did not prepare me for the possible reality. Any moment there could be an explosion. Any moment a person or many could be dead. Their anger and desperation appeared suspended in the air, saturating the walls, hanging on the faces of the people.

  ***

  Many years later, I was to return with the healer and mentor, Lily Cornford, as her assistant treating patients. In fact, we saw at least twenty people per day. I was training with her in the Art of Mental Color Therapy. It is a form of healing based on the healing power of color and Love. I saw another side of the Irish during that week. Lily was so well received, especially when she spoke about the angels and the wee folk, the fairies. The crowd lit up at her lecture each time she spoke of them. It was special to be in a culture that believed that they existed without a doubt. In the evening, they would share stories of their folklore and times when definitely they met with an Angel or two. It was different to the fear of war.

  ***

  After Ireland, David went on tour in Europe, where they all traveled in one of those big buses from gig to gig. One part of him as a musician needed to be out there sharing his music. He loved the buzz and the interaction. The other wanted to be at home. A great composer once said, "You can write the greatest piece of music, but if it is not performed before the people it doesn't exist."This is so true. Performing was and is so very important to the creative process. Just as exhibitions of my art and creativity is essential to me. One is given the ability to create in order to serve and uplift others. For me, it is to remember and to reveal that we are a spark in God's Divine Plan.

  After a while of living out of a suitcase, David began to miss his morning cups of tea and the girls playing around the kitchen table with the dogs. He missed his wife and the warmth of his home. It warmed my heart to hear him saying that in his video of About Face for I deeply missed him too. I was so happy because he was happier. But I missed him.

  At the end of the month, they were to perform in London at the Hammersmith Odeon. We were so overjoyed that he was home again. His lyrics of being Home again captured the truth in his heart. I loved watching the girls jumping into his lap in the morning as he watched telly and read the morning newspaper. Their blonde pigtails catching his face as he tickled them. In fact, our dogs were happy to see him as well.

  ***

  We had two dogs, which we all treasured: our blessed white Alsatian, Joe, and Lisa, a Saluki. Joe was our guardian and friend. Lisa was graceful and delicate, a total contrast to Joe. She could run like the wind, her slender legs reaching forward almost flying along. Historically Salukis were ancient guardians of Egyptian temples. When she sat she would always cross her front paws with her head held high, her long ears gently hanging either side of her elegant nose.

  We had wonderful woodland walks around Hook End, which I so missed when we moved years later. The woodland was a cultivated forest of pine trees. The smell uplifted my spirits each day as we wandered through the scattered rays of sunlight between the branches as the dogs frolicked in the underbrush chasing rabbits. Joe and Lisa were quite the couple. Lisa was so sleek and majestic when she ran ahead of us through the fields of grass. Joe's masculine strength held the fort of protection for the women in his life, that was, the girls, Lisa and me. Many said they were like David and I in the dog world.

  Lisa would eventually die at Hook End and Joe would not be far behind her. It was the end of an era for me, especially when Joe died. He was always there protecting the kids and me. They would lie on him as he sat on the floor in the telly room. He was my buddy. Dr. Sharma said to me when Lisa passed to feel her spirit in heaven since she was everywhere touching my heart. It hurt so much.

  And it was the same again later, when Joe passed over. I felt lost without my canine friends. Something was missing after so many years of them being part of our daily life. Before we all had children, weekends with friends were spent with our dogs walking in the fields laughing as they played with each other. The question was after Lisa and Joe passed, do we start again? We did. We got Lady who was an American cockerspaniel like the one in the movie Lady and the Tramp. She was a birthday present for Alice.

  ***

  The London gig was a happy affair. It was an affair of heart with family, friends and most of all Nick Mason and Roy Harper joining David on stage. What I remember the most was how joyful David moved about playing with such exuberance, smiling. Mick was a great partner for him as they inspired each other to the next riff
. They laughed together as the sounds reflected their mood. It was a pleasure to witness their friendship through the music as they played.

  My favorite song was and still is "Out of the Blue." I remember how touched I was when David first played it to me. To this day, I feel that it's a message from God for us all. It is a message that did come from out of the blue. It holds an archetypal message within its sorrow and pain. It was as though David spoke from the Love deep in his heart as a father and as a man. It is an inner testimony of how he really felt within the shadows of his being. He spoke for all the children, for all the parents, for all of Humanity. Most of all, I wonder was he really writing about the Light? Next stop was Canada then on to the USA. We would meet when they reached the Big Apple and would play at the Beacon Theatre. We decided to take the girls, Alice, Clare, Sara and Annie Rowland, our nanny. My brother Stephen was to meet us at the theatre. I hadn't seen him in years and suddenly my little brother was no longer little. He was tall with the heart of a teddy bear, plus a huge beard and long hair. Goodness. He took me aside at one point and said "Charlie, Mom just told me that your father was not my father." With a lump in his throat he asked, "Charlie, Why? Why, after all these years did she wait until now to tell me?"

  ***

  I was rather taken back at the news. It appears that after leaving my father she met the love of her life. (She thought) She was a fragile soul, alone in the world after leaving Daddy. She always had been alone. Her mother, my grandmother, was the youngest of twenty-two children in Boston. During the war, food was short and the girls sold their hearts for extras. My grandmother then went on to have four children, which she eventually put into a Catholic orphanage. She was a prostitute. My mother was four years old and her stories of that time were rather bleak. She had to scrub the floors, even at four - No time to be held - No time to be a young child. If she wet her bed, the next night the nuns would put her bed with her in it out on the balcony in the freezing winter. As the snow fell, she shivered with panic and fear of freezing. Their intention was to stop the problem. Did it? I wonder.

  She didn't get out of the orphanage until she was twelve. There were several tries to have someone adopt her, but all failed. Her life became the life of an orphan scrubbing the floors and going to mass and whipped on the head if she fell asleep. Where was the Christ spirit then? She has passed over now. Just before, she said that she was grateful for the nuns because they did give her Christ; therefore, she forgave their trespasses. She had traveled far to reach that point of insight and True Christian Love. She had lost her way for a while. Felt guilty about her divorce and having a child out of wedlock. She hated Christianity for a time, but had returned. She could finally find peace.

  When Mom met my Dad, he was so handsome and in the armed forces. He and his family gave her the care of a family she had never had. She often says how close she was with Nannan who took her in like Mother Hubbard adding her to her flock. Mom did not have a strong constitution and suffered from colitis. All of life's challenges brought anxiety and fear. A pattern, that became a challenge for her throughout her life.

  After she married Dad, her doctor recommended that she got pregnant to stop her bleeding. By the time my sister Donna was born, she felt very isolated. The closeness she shared with my Dad had left. Tired and alone living on very little, she decided to leave. She went to live with her sister, Dot, in Connecticut when she met her next love. He worked in a circus. But it didn't last. He left her pregnant.

  I pondered what Stephen had just told me, as we stood outside the Beacon in the afternoon sunlight. I thought, well at least, Stephen was born from Love. Over the years, more would be revealed about this affair. I partly understood my mother's dilemma for in those days it was not acceptable to have a child outside of wedlock; therefore, she made up the story that my dad was Stephen's Dad.

  Sadly and consequently, for me, the lie made each phone call and vacation with Dad a problem in regards to ever mentioning Stephen. The years of covering Stephen's hurt as he pleaded to speak to his dad came flooding back. I was young but the eldest. He would tug on my sleeve, "Charlie, Charlie, I want to talk to Daddy!"My heart went out to him once again as he shared his new heartache.

  CHAPTER 53

  BABY BROTHER STEPHEN

  During a quiet moment in the afternoon, when the girls were having a nap back at the hotel, my mind wandered back to the day in my childhood when we arrived in Connecticut, after the long train ride from Philadelphia. Donna and I had no idea where we were going or that we had a brother. It was late. Donna and I had fallen asleep in the back of the taxi on our way from the train. Mom and Aunt Dot gently woke us up from our slumber carrying us in their arms. Upon entering the small modest house that was to be our future home, a cry greeted us and woke us up.

  It was a little baby in another room. Donna and I were looking perplexed, wondering who was in the room. My mother knelt down while holding both our hands and said, "Girls you have a little brother. His name is Stephen. It has been a long day so let me take you to your room. You can meet him in the morning." He was a bonnie lad and giggled a lot. We grew quite close, the three of us. The only problem was that my father did not accept that he was his father. This confused us for Mom insisted that he was.

  By the divorce agreement, Dad was awarded regular phone calls and visits on school holidays. In addition, in the summer holidays, we were to go with him for the whole vacation and Stephen remained at home with Mom. He and Agnes used to drive up from Philadelphia to visit on Easter and Christmas and stay in a local motel for a few days. Their car was always laden with presents, which brought back memories of Nannan and Poppop. As we got older this giving of many presents eventually got smalleras did the visits, except for the summer.

  As Stephen got bigger and could speak, he would often pull on my jumper while I was on the phone with Daddy. "Can I speak with Daddy, too?" Every phone call was like that. I became my brother's ambassador with my dad. "NO!"Daddy would shout hearing Stephen's plea in the background. "I will not speak with that Bastard! He is not my son." My heart hurt with the strength of his words.

  My brother would cry as I hung up and I never told him at the time what I had to endure over and over. He never heard those words. It continued for us during the summer holidays. My mother insisted that my dad was Stephen's father. The conflict went on for years until I just stopped asking, listening, or saying anything about it. Now, more of the story is emerging, another chapter in our lives to reconcile on that day in New York.

  Fortunately, Mom did meet another man who really became the love of her life and did stay with her. He was a Coast Guard Medic, Italian American and looked like Omar Sharif. His name was Ronald Messura. He became a father to us all, especially for Stephen. We were close. He took on Mom's three children and went on to have two more, Toni and Marcus.

  Our family moved each time a transfer came in or when he had to do a new course or his rank upgraded. We went from coast to coast from base to base. He eventually became a Chief Petty Officer and highly respected amongst his men. My special delight was on the weekends when he taught me to play Chess. He taught me strategy with each game. We laughed. I took it seriously for I wanted to win. My mind was activated, which helped me in my school lessons. But of course, this was after the football match. *** The girls awoke from their naps and David still hadn't left for rehearsals, when the question arose of how and when we could arrange for Annie to go see the concert. David asked Stephen if he would babysit. Stephen said, "Sure,"since he was in town for a few days. Later I brought to David's attention that as the girls did not know Stephen I thought it best for Annie to come home at midnight. They both agreed.

  Later, David rang to let me know that there would be an after gig party at a place called the Sanctuary. My heart froze with unexpected and irrational panic. The hairs on my arms rose as he continued to tell me the plan and its location. It came as some intuitive warning. These kinds of impressions were new to me. It was so scary and powerf
ul that I had to take notice. I shared it with David, who said for me not to be so ridiculous. It would be fine.

  I checked with a few New York friends about the place. It was a converted chapel on 43rd street and 9th Ave., made into a discotheque as part of the global party culture. This dance fever was rampant from NYC to London. The movie Saturday Night Fever, went far to inspire and encourage the trend of dance culture clubs. As I loved dancing and in response to David's reaction, I decided to give it a go, but the queer feeling stayed with me.

  The gig was good and we got into our cars to make our way to the Sanctuary. There were long queues trying to get in so getting through them required assistance when they saw their stars. We entered the doorway and were ushered up some metal stairs, which previously had been the bell tower. We passed what had been the main chapel. The door was open.

  I couldn't believe what I saw; many people gyrating upon the altar with strobe lights accentuating their movements to the loud pulsating music. It was so primitive even blasphemous. When would there be a blood sacrifice, I asked myself, feeling awful at the sight? As we climbed the stairs to the converted clergy rooms on the next floor, I suddenly felt sick.

  We continued on to a long room, which was used for private parties. Along one wall were wooden bars, serving drinks and on the other side were half circular cubicles covered with leather and coffee tables. Through the aircon system, they were pumping incense that normally burned during mass. Throughout my childhood, I always associated this scent with going to church. Being used in this way was disturbing. It seemed sacrilegious and the feeling of sickness persisted. It was a long night waiting for midnight, having shallow conversations with people I did not know. I did not drink and the sparkling water did not help my nausea.