June 21, 1990
St. Catherine's Hill, Winchester
Almost nobody knew about it -- but that wasn't really Robyn's fault. To celebrate the summer solstice (and because it seemed like a good idea beforehand), Robyn Hitchcock elected to play on the top of St. Catherine's Hill, overlooking the city of Winchester (easily overlooked, unlike the hill). He told Laurence, and dropped a card or two through record shop doors in London -- not Tower Records, naturally, but Vinyl Experience and Plastic Passion -- hoping that a few faithful fans would chance across the notice.
The notice said "unless it rains". And being the middle of the English summer, it was raining. (This is why I didn't tell you about this before -- we didn't expect anything to happen.) But Laurence phoned Robyn at lunchtime on Thursday and persuaded him that the sun would shine. A few phone calls later, and several
vehicles were converging on the water meadows of Winchester -- then more water than meadows.
Phil and I arrived at about 4:00 p.m.. Robyn had promised to turn up at around 7:00 to check the hill out, and start playing at 8:00. We met Laurence at the rail station, and headed for the ring road. After an embarrassing half-an-hour driving around, we found the lay-by at the end of the motorway...and The Hill. You can't miss it, it looks just like a hill....
Satisfied that the Hill existed, we returned to the city centre (which isn't all that interesting). It's rather like Cambridge, set in more interesting countryside. At 6:00, we left Laurence waiting for Sally and returned to climb the Hill. It was cold, and gale-force winds were threatening to transport us directly to Southampton faster than the 5:30 from Waterloo (which isn't supposed to stop -- but did yesterday, because Sally got off).
Meanwhile, we had explored the top of the Hill. A couple of thickets provided shelter from the wind, and a pattern had been carved out of the turf beyond. By the time that we got back to the path, Laurence and Sally had arrived. John and Jacqui arrived ten minutes later -- Jacqui from Cardiff, and John from Oxford. "Is he here yet?" they asked. We waited, wishing that we had brought some food.
About 7:00, about thirty kids arrived. Average age of ten, I'd guess. A youth-club leader with a beard climbed the Hill carrying an umbrella stand, and disappeared beyond the trees. There was a signal, and the kids ran up the hill to look for the stand. They all disappeared. Two students arrived from London -- Paul and Emmy. My friend Guy arrived soon afterwards, followed by two fans who looked to be in their thirties. Nobody else appeared.
About 8:00, we began to get worried. Was this Robyn's plan? To dispose of his most ardent followers by leaving them to die of exposure on a windswept Hill in Hampshire? We stood facing the wind, like something out of Close Encounters (but without the helicopters to chase us down). Laurence decided to go and phone Robyn to find out what was going on. Five minutes later, Robyn and Cynthia appeared at the bottom of the hill -- Robyn dressed in an enormous black coat with fashionable rivets up the back, Cynthia wrapped for warmth.
Robyn and Cynthia climbed the Hill with Laurence and Sally in hot pursuit. Robyn said hello, and asked how long we'd been waiting. He then looked at me and asked "Are you Jim? I got your letter in Minneapolis. Good to meet you," put down the guitar and shook my hand. I'm glad to say that I didn't say
anything dumb this time. Almost fell over -- but that might have been the wind. "Anyone seen Morris?" he continued, and then a red Renault 5 pulled into the lay-by (far below).
Cynthia and Sally went off to scout the thicket for a suitable location while we waited for Morris to carry his bongos up the hill. The sun almost shined, but then disappeared altogether. We left Laurence to direct Morris, and walked across the Hill to the shelter of the trees. Two American students appeared and joined us. Let's see, that makes how many? Robyn, Cynthia, Morris, Laurence, Sally, Jim, Jacqui, Phil, John, Guy, Paul, Emmy, the two older fans, and the two new arrivals. Fourteen altogether.
The clearing in the middle of the larger thicket was pretty messy, so we went beyond to the pattern/maze cut in turf. Robyn thought this would be a good place -- no wind, and with a view. But Cynthia wasn't too keen on the insects that were sharing our shelter, so we moved onto the lee side of the Hill, looking down on Winchester Cathedral and the rest of the city (where the first streetlights were appearing, beneath an overcast sky heavy with the promise of rain).
"This'll do," said Robyn, and we all sat down. Guy and Laurence set up their walkpersons, but the wind was such that the tapes will probably be dreadful. Morris unpacked his bongos, and they began. The male new American, who we were all tiring of already (but perhaps that's unfair -- but he reminded me of the asshole at the Borderline gig who kept shouting "Buck! Get your ass out here," while Robyn was playing) shouted, "Robyn, tell us something about Winchester," and Robyn responded quickly with an explanation that