Just Back From… Dorset

And Surrey…

(Please click on the photographs to enlarge them)

Short stopover en route at Sidmouth on the south Devon coast (The Red Coast).

The OH and I often had a spring break – either April or May. Sometimes heading for Surrey where we would spend time with my daughter and the grandchildren (if they were around) and David would often catch a train to spend a day with his daughter in London or a longer stay at her home in Colchester.

Brewery Square in Dorchester (known to the locals as Dorch) where shops, restaurants, a gym, a cinema, a Premier Inn and residential apartments can be found

This year I had to do this on my own. Thinking about whether I should move nearer to family I chose to stay in Dorchester for a week, the historic county town of Dorset and home of the Victorian novelist Thomas Hardy,  before moving on to Surrey for the early spring Bank Holiday. Dorchester gave me an opportunity to explore some of east Dorset which I haven’t visited in many years. I liked the old part, hated Poundbury (soulless) but wasn’t keen on all the traffic. It does have excellent transport links with two railway stations with a route to Bristol and one to London.

Walk along the River Frome

I walked along the River Frome. I walked around the town. I ate dinner at a lovely country inn, I walked on the Jurassic coast (shingle) had takeaway coffee and ice-cream (not at the same time) visited Wareham and Studland and several gardens. The weather remained dry, though not always warm, and I stayed in a lovely pristine quiet converted stable in the old part of the town. It wasn’t as difficult as I thought it might be. Before I met David I often had solo holidays and even when I accompanied him to conferences I spent many a day exploring on my own. The hardest part is during the evening and eating out alone. I just pretended I was away for work! And ate in the cottage most evenings.

Poundbury – designed by King Charles III when he was Prince of Wales with a mix of Victorian and Georgian architecture. This is Queen Mother Square. It’s a strange place. No road markings and free parking. Lots of cars, hardly any people. Streets were empty, playground was empty. A lot like a film set. But a good coffee shop in the Buttercross.
The Buttercross

Continue reading Just Back From… Dorset

Words on Wednesday

Old Harry Rocks, a series of white chalk stacks located at Handfast Point on the Isle of Purbeck in Dorset, England.

Location: They mark the easternmost point of the Jurassic Coast, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and are situated between the towns of Studland and Swanage and once were connected to the Needles on the Isle of Wight.

#WordlessWednesday

Song Without Warning

This will be the last song from David’s extensive catalogue. It is sad to think that there really are many songs and scraps of words that he wrote that will never be recorded, but I am glad that there are many that he did. I hope you have enjoyed listening to the few that I have picked out and also the ones on Cornwall In Colours and if you do want to hear more then please visit his collection on Bandcamp where you can find all of his albums. No need to purchase them.

“When you’ve written as many songs as I have, and lived as long, and been so obsessed with songwriting, you have to wonder sometimes what will become of them when you’re not around to sing them.”

(Note to anyone looking at this post in the Reader or on a phone you may need to visit the actual site to be able to view and listen to the music track)

Lyrics

Song Without Warning (Words and Music by David A. Harley)

This is my box of dreams, my nest of nightmares
Words and lines and verses in a cage
Fragments of conversation
Thoughts that barely made the page

Some days, I think someday I’ll write them
All the verses in vitro in this room
Someday these little birds will find the way to fly away
They won’t need me anymore and they’ll be gone

Some days I call myself a writer
Though I’m afraid I might have lost the paperwork
Till they tap me on the shoulder and remind me
My poetic licence hasn’t been revoked

When my last song has been written
When I’ve picked out my last chord
My box of dreams will still be here
Overflowing still with orphaned words

For every song without warning
That somehow made it to be heard
There’ll still be all these scraps of recollection
Thoughts and dreams that never found their words

Sometimes I call myself a writer
Though I’m afraid I might have lost the paperwork
Till they tap me on the shoulder and remind me
My poetic licence hasn’t been revoked

credits

from Kitsch and Canoodle, released August 22, 2021
Guitar and vocal by David A. Harley
© all rights reserved

David A. Harley 1949 – 2025

The Road

“In early 2023 an awkward medical condition brought it home to me that perhaps it was time to draw a line under any pretensions I have to live performance, so this version came about because I was trying out live versions that would work well with a single electric guitar for a concert set at the St Just Lafrowda festival in July 2023, my official farewell to the live stage.

I actually said my goodbye to the life of the wandering professional musician in the 1970s, so this is definitely not autobiographical, though it’s a fairly recent song, and it might have described my life if I hadn’t gone in a very different direction.  I strongly suspect that if I’d persisted in trying to play music for a living, the road might well have been the ruin of me. And while my own biographical timeline is very different, I’m not unfamiliar with the psychology of a thwarted career in music.”

(Note to anyone looking at this post in the Reader or on a phone you may need to visit the actual site to be able to view and listen to the music track)

Lyrics

The Road

It’s late and the driver has nothing to say
One more stop ahead
On an endless highway
One more place to be, and nowhere to stay
For the road was the ruin of me
The tour bus, the tranny,
The fluffed chords of fame
The days in the airport, the runaway train
You don’t care for my songs
And you don’t know my name
For the road was the ruin of me

I was never a drifter, I’d no urge to roam
But somehow the tour bus
Became my home
The scenery fades
And the scene is long gone
And the road was the ruin of me
The smoke and the pipe dream,
The whisky, the beer
There’s nothing to treasure
And nothing to fear
There’s no one here now
To send out for some gear
And the road was the ruin of me

The call of the wild,
And the song of the road
The end of the game
And the call of the void
There’s no one to meet
And there’s nowhere to hide
The road was the ruin of me
The heroes and villains,
The bait and the switch
The hole in my sock
And the travelling itch
I’ll never be famous,
I’ll never be rich
For the road was the ruin of me

I drank much too deep at the wishing well
I knew what I wanted but never could tell
Now I’ve only these dreams
And these few words to sell
For the road was the ruin of me
All that I’ve learned is how little I know
All I’ve come home to is a new place to go
And it’s never a place that I wanted to be
For the road was the ruin of me

credits

From Swan Songs released August 28, 2023
Words and music, Guitar and vocal, by David A. Harley.
The guitar was a Taylor T5Z, which generally works well for fingerstyle because of its unusual pickup configuration.
© all rights reserved

David A. Harley 1949 – 2025