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The Bedford Arms |
Bob, the star of folk music (and his old pal, Mr Dylan)
Bob Davenport’s tales of life in north London influenced some of the biggest Freewheelin’ names in music history, writes Dan Carrier
WHEN one of the world’s best song-writers tells interviewers you are a “massive influence” on him, you could be forgiven for having a spring in your step.
But for Somers Town singer Bob Davenport, 75, the accolade from none other than Bob Dylan is something he is modest about.
Bob, who takes the stage next week at the Old Queen’s Head in Islington for a one-off gig, has met Dylan on a number of occasions, and Dylan recalls meeting Bob when he was working on the seminal 1960s folk album, Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan.
It was around 1962, and the American legend had come to London for the first time. He immersed himself in the British folk scene, jamming with Martin Carthy and, through him, meeting Bob.
In a 1984 interview, Dylan said: “I ran into some people in England who really knew those traditional English songs. I met Martin Carthy, and another guy named Bob Davenport. I learned a lot of stuff.”
The pair were on the same bill at the 1964 Newport Jazz Festival and it cemented their friendship, Bob recalls.
And when Bob takes the stage, it will be a chance to hear a voice that carries within it a key part of Camden Town’s social history: the influx of Irish immigrants into London.
Despite his fame as a singer of Irish folk, Bob is a Geordie who comes from a rich musical heritage – his great uncle George Ridley wrote the Geordie anthem The Blaydon Races.
Growing up in the 1930s Depression-hit North-east meant Bob was raised in a community that relied on making its own entertainment.
“Singing was an important pastime,” he says. “There was often singing at weddings and funerals.”
His mother bought a radio and they would tune into Radio Athlone from Ireland.
“The family upstairs were Irish and they used to listen to the Ceilidh Hour,” says Bob. “You could hear them dancing about upstairs.”
It gave him a life-long love of Irish folk music and when he moved to London in 1953 to work for the Post Office he quickly discovered he could hear the music live.
He says: “I walked into the Bedford Arms and there was this Radio Athlone Ceilidh Hour, but played live. It was amazing and it quickly became part of my life.”
His first public performance came when he sang A Star Of County Down – he was invited up on stage by the resident band, featuring two of Ireland’s best-known musicians, the singer and banjo player Margaret Barry and Michael Gorman on the fiddle.
“Camden Town was great for Irish music back then,” says Bob. “There was the Mulberry Tree, The Camden Stores and the Dublin Castle, all putting on Irish bands.
“Musicians would just turn up out of the blue and join in.
“You could have anything from a three-piece through to 10 musicians all taking part.”
And the Bedford played a key role in the social lives of the Irish community.
“It was a drinking pub, a place for Irish men to socialise,” says Bob. “They would have worked incredibly hard all week and then they would get their suits and ties on for the Saturday night. They’d all be well turned out. It was an incredible time for music.
“The lodging houses they were all staying in were hardly spectacular. Men on the day shift would have to share their beds with people working nights. It was an incentive to get out – and where else was there to go but the pub? The entertainment was brilliant. The musicians about then were some of the best you could hear anywhere, including Ireland.”
And the stalwarts – Margaret Barry and Michael Gorman – were famous back in Ireland. Bob is still stopped when he travels there by people who know he performed with Margaret.
“The characters in the Bedford are legendary in Ireland,” he says.
“When you are in Ireland and you say you sang there, the Irish come up and ask to shake you by the hand. The people who performed at the Bedford are famous over there.”
Bob also appeared at other venues: he played at The Skiffle Cellar in Greek Street. It was as the skiffle craze was dying out and rock’n’ roll was taking its place, but he was well paid for his time.
“We were a three-piece and we got 30 bob to share – 10 shillings each, which was good money,” he says. “The streets were full of musicians.
“You would just have to go down to Leicester Square and there would be groups entertaining the queues for the films and theatres. There was a band called The Happy Wanderers. The police would move musicians on so you had to play while walking.
“I was a student by then at St Martin’s College of Art and I recall hearing this wonderful music coming up Charing Cross Road as the Wanderers did their rounds.”
And Soho was full of cheap basement coffee houses who put on acts.
Bob says: “Musicians would get together and make music. It was at one of these places in Villiers Street where I first heard Tommy Steele. You could spend the whole afternoon in there for the price of just one coffee.
“It was amazing: in the centre of Soho you could rent property very cheaply and it meant the proprietors could put on these all-day, all-night jazz sessions.”
Bob believes an American concept of business lunches killed the entertainment.
“In the 1960s the rents began to go up,” he recalls.
“The expense account did it. The idea of taking people out on the company was an American idea and when it caught on here the cafés and restaurants became more expensive and that killed off the music scene. It was easy on the pocket before then – you could live well in central London.
“I had a place off Goodge Street and I worked in Charlotte Street for a publisher. The rents were reasonable.”
But it was his performances at the Bedford which brought him international recognition. He was heard singing at the pub and it started him off on a series of gigs which included a booking at the famous Newport Jazz Festival – where he appeared alongside Bob Dylan and Joan Baez.
As well as singing traditional songs, Bob has written his own tunes – one, called The Gypsy and The Poacher, has become an important part of Romany culture. Another is about Camden Town, called Wild, Wild Whiskey.
It tells the story of people away from their homes and their loved ones, trying to eke out a living in London and avoid the pitfalls of drinking in the pubs around Camden Town.
The pubs may have changed and the Irish influence grown lesser, but while Bob is still performing, the haunting musical heritage of the area is alive and well.
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