Post by ph on Aug 13, 2019 12:16:44 GMT
WOMAD 1992. Rivermead, Reading:
For festivals at this time we kept our baby son, then one, in an old wooden playpen. This caused an unintended attraction amongst our immediate festival neighbours, well the young ones, at least. Each morning, kids, mainly little girls would come to see the 'baby in a cage'
One little girl, of about five used to visit every morning. She said her name was:
'Layla, like in the song!'
She had a big smile and had her hair in two bunches. We took a couple of photographs of Layla, at the playpen with baby Jim inside
Intermission;
Then, 27 years later:
WOMAD 2019, Charlton Park, Malmesbury. Late:
Music finished, near enough. We; Mags and me, were sitting on a bench, the last one before the exit from the arena onto Campsite Road. We were enjoying a last beer before we headed off back to our cloth house
The itinerant energy-ball salesperson was stood at the end of the bench doing stock rotation when a lone reveller, a woman of about thirty summers, or so came up and started talking to her about her wares
After a while the I E-B salesperson left and the L R woman turned her attention to us two, asking our names. We introduced ourselves and asked her name. She said:
'Layla, as in the song!'
A connection sparked in Mags' head and she asked:
'Did you used to go to WOMAD at Reading?'
Layla:
'Yes, I've been coming to WOMAD all my life.'
We asked if she remembers visiting a baby in a cage, years ago, when she was a little girl. She staggered back, her hands over her mouth:
'Oh my god! Yes!'
We spent a few minutes telling her what we could remember of her visits and told her that we had photos of her at home
She told us that she now works for the BBC and we told her that Jim is a music journalist and also works for Songlines as their news editor
We parted and she went off into the night but not before asking us:
'Does he still have blonde hair?'
Jim, although now a dark blond was, when he was a baby the possessor of striking, almost white hair, even his eye lashes were the palest blond. This last question sealed the deal, it definitely was the same person as the little girl of twenty-seven years earlier
As usual, at festivals, we spoke to a lot of people but this was the only one who we exchanged names with. It's a real, extraordinary coincidence that drew us three together that night. The only player not at this meeting was Jim himself
We didn't see Layla again and we didn't exchange contacts. Maybe we'll meet again at a WOMAD in the future, but perhaps not. It would be nice for her to see this post, with the photo. If anyone knows 'Layla, as in the song', who always goes to WOMAD, give her the heads up
For festivals at this time we kept our baby son, then one, in an old wooden playpen. This caused an unintended attraction amongst our immediate festival neighbours, well the young ones, at least. Each morning, kids, mainly little girls would come to see the 'baby in a cage'
One little girl, of about five used to visit every morning. She said her name was:
'Layla, like in the song!'
She had a big smile and had her hair in two bunches. We took a couple of photographs of Layla, at the playpen with baby Jim inside
Intermission;
Then, 27 years later:
WOMAD 2019, Charlton Park, Malmesbury. Late:
Music finished, near enough. We; Mags and me, were sitting on a bench, the last one before the exit from the arena onto Campsite Road. We were enjoying a last beer before we headed off back to our cloth house
The itinerant energy-ball salesperson was stood at the end of the bench doing stock rotation when a lone reveller, a woman of about thirty summers, or so came up and started talking to her about her wares
After a while the I E-B salesperson left and the L R woman turned her attention to us two, asking our names. We introduced ourselves and asked her name. She said:
'Layla, as in the song!'
A connection sparked in Mags' head and she asked:
'Did you used to go to WOMAD at Reading?'
Layla:
'Yes, I've been coming to WOMAD all my life.'
We asked if she remembers visiting a baby in a cage, years ago, when she was a little girl. She staggered back, her hands over her mouth:
'Oh my god! Yes!'
We spent a few minutes telling her what we could remember of her visits and told her that we had photos of her at home
She told us that she now works for the BBC and we told her that Jim is a music journalist and also works for Songlines as their news editor
We parted and she went off into the night but not before asking us:
'Does he still have blonde hair?'
Jim, although now a dark blond was, when he was a baby the possessor of striking, almost white hair, even his eye lashes were the palest blond. This last question sealed the deal, it definitely was the same person as the little girl of twenty-seven years earlier
As usual, at festivals, we spoke to a lot of people but this was the only one who we exchanged names with. It's a real, extraordinary coincidence that drew us three together that night. The only player not at this meeting was Jim himself
We didn't see Layla again and we didn't exchange contacts. Maybe we'll meet again at a WOMAD in the future, but perhaps not. It would be nice for her to see this post, with the photo. If anyone knows 'Layla, as in the song', who always goes to WOMAD, give her the heads up
