Keeley Schroder | April Challenge
Writing prompts for every day in April
Day 4: Are you musically talented or musically challenged?
Three Quid And A Dozen Eggs
Then, on one day, or yesterday, the songwriter in me ran away without truly understanding to where, or for what reason. Which is why, late one forgotten Saturday night, I waited for John to finish his gig and explained to him that I had another song.
I told him, this giant of a man reading my lyrics while sitting over a ploughman’s lunch in the Craignure Inn, that I had no musical accompaniment written down yet. He laughed, took the sheet of paper from me, and told me to meet him the following forgotten Saturday.
The Inn is one my father patronized. He played the mandolin while the real island folk danced, women still wearing pinafores, fisherman stamping their feet on the timber floorboards and thumping fists on tables singing a shanty. Dad always said, ‘even husky voices need to sing.’
(All my musical life I’ve recalled dad saying that and when writing imagine such a voice in my lyrics.)
I mean, how is it possible on a blank page to describe this joy? Music flying into the rafters, escaping out of windows, creeping under doors and flooding into the street.
So it was that one day, yesterday, in yesteryear, my lyrics, too, washed out from these windows and across the street.
Lyrics that started:
I can hear the guitars start to play, and very soon they say, I was a fool to turn my love away.
Some weeks later, John sang the song in a cow barn, this time with a new melody. The father of the bride paid him three quid and a dozen eggs.
I stood in the shadows, long after the people had gone, looking down at the piece of paper in my hand. It didn’t matter that Beryl Cox hated my song. I’d never tell her I’d written it anyway. I felt foolish enough without having to suffer the disappointment of the girl who liked me.
Whoever knows what the true sadness is within a song’s lyrics, or what kind of torment is felt in the writing of them?
I crumpled the paper, tossed it to the chickens, and walked home wondering how I was going to achieve anything in life without getting hurt again.
I mumbled the words I’d written on that sheet of paper:
I’ve lost that girl for sure, and now she’s gone, I can’t hold back the tears anymore.
Long John, in the end, moved toward jazz. Me to a cockpit.
John gave me the dozen eggs.
…. the first time I was paid for my talent.
Released in 1967 — In 1968 it went to #1in England. I was 19 years old.
Other wonderful writers engaged in this challenge. Read and enjoy.
If you’re not listed below and wish to be, Why? 😁
Send Keeley Schroder a nudge, you’ll be welcomed.
Adrienne Beaumont | Autistic Widower (“AJ”) | Brett Jenae Tomlin | The Sturg | Vidya Sury, Collecting Smiles | Trisha Faye | Karen Schwartz | NancyO | Katie Michaelson | Bernie Pullen | Michelle Jimerson Morris | Amy Frances | Julia A. Keirns | Ravyne Hawk | Pamela Oglesby | Toni the Talker | Tina | Pat Romito LaPointe | Ruby Noir | K. Joseph | Brandon Ellrich | Misty Rae | Karen Hoffman | Deb Palmer | Susie Winfield | Vincent Pisano | Paari | Marlene Samuels | Ray Day | Randy Pulley | Michael Rhodes | Lu Skerdoo | Pluto Wolnosci | Paula Shablo | Bruce Coulter | Ellen Baker | Kelley Murphy | Leigh-Anne Dennison | Jennifer Marla Pike | Carmen Ballesteros | Marlana, MSW| Patricia Timmermans | Keeley Schroder | And let’s not forget the indomitable, charming, incorrigible, the delightful, yes, please welcome Mr. Harry Hogg
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