This the second of my musings on this year's Wainwright Prize Short list, and I don't often splay a book out like this for your delectation but first things first with The January Man, A Year of Walking Britain by Christopher Somerville, and this delightful dust jacket...
The artwork is by Carry Ackroyd and this is one of those book covers that dawned on me as I read, realising that I was traversing the months across the jacket, written as they are chapter by chapter as Christopher Somerville 'walks' his father's life. Interesting that Carry has another book jacket on the Wainwright short list too, more about that one soon.
I was always going to love a book of memories, written by someone of my era (almost, Christopher Somerville four years older than me) and with the narrative structured around the scaffolding of a folk song.
Cue more diversions as I seek out renditions of The January Man. I knew I had heard it sung by Bert Jansch back in the day (I eventually find it on the Moonshine album) and more recently by Rachel Unthank & The Winterset (now The Unthanks) on Cruel Sister..
'Oh the January man he walks abroad in woollen coat and boots of leather
The February man still wipes the snow from off his hair and blows his hand
The man of March he sees the Spring and wonders what the year will bring
And hopes for better weatherThrough April rain the man goes down to watch the birds come in to share the summer
The man of May stands very still watching the children dance away the day
In June the man inside the man is young and wants to lend a hand
And grins at each new comer...'
'The book follows a circle of walks around Britain, month by month through the course of a year, recording the nature, people, weather, landscape, music, and local traditions I came across, and whatever else called out to me along the way. It’s also a very personal account of a post-war father-son relationship, exploring the character of my father John, and the long walks we shared over many years which brought us closer together.'
'In the springtime of hope after the war young parents wanted to make everything perfect.'
'We didn't have an inkling of how the war had stayed bubbling under the post-war lives of our parents' generation until, much later, hesitantly and by modest degrees, some of them began to talk about it.'
'And in July the man in cotton shirts he sits and thinks on being idle
The August man in thousands take the road and watch the sea and find the sun
September man is standing near to saddle up and lead the year
And Autumn is his bridle.'
'The guitar was the instrument that liberated my whole generation of would-be music makers who never learned to decipher the dots...'
'The man of new October takes the reins and early frost is on his shoulder
The poor November man sees fire and wind and mist and rain and winter air
December man looks through the snow to let eleven brothers know
They're all a little older...'
And the January man comes round again in woollen coat and boots of leather
To take another turn and walk along the icy road he knows so well
The January man is here for starting each and every year
Along the way for ever.
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