Covering English Folk Music in the 1960s

My home town of Rugby’s enduring legacy will always be the fact that it gave birth to a certain game involving an egg-shaped ball.

It was also the birthplace of First World War poet Rupert Brooke. Back in the 1960s, I would often walk past his former home in Hillmorton Road, wondering where his life might have taken him had he not succumbed to septicaemia following a mosquito bite while on his way to the ill-fated Gallipoli campaign.

But if the floppy-haired scribe had somehow survived the horrors of the First World War, it’s entirely possible that he might have been around in the late 1960s.

And had that been the case, he would not have had to walk far before encountering a pub that was holding a weekly folk music session.

In those days, Rugby was alive with all manner of traditional music-making. But it wasn’t just home-grown talent that appeared on rickety stages in smoke-clogged backrooms where the beer-stained carpets stuck to the soles of you shoes.

Increasingly, as the decade wore on, quite a few top names in the world of folk also visited.

What made this all possible was the fact that Rugby’s geographical location at the hub of the then emerging motorway network made this Midlands town easily accessible to travelling artists.

But while rock was taking off in the local Benn Memorial Hall and other large venues, the smaller hostelries were playing host to the gentler sounds of traditional music.

It was the era of the ‘Folk Revival’ and this broadly meant that all manner of folk music was acceptable. Although on occasion, there might be murmurs, and even hostile heckling from the more intimidating hardcore unaccompanied singers, usually to be found lurking at the back, or occasionally down at the front, glaring at some hapless soul singing a Leadbelly song.

But unless the club was designated strictly ‘traditional’ then the repertoire might be very eclectic indeed. Most guitarists seemed to play flatpick style in the manner of the Dransfields, although a few would have then known that the technique actually originated in the Appalachian Mountains, and had been made relatively famous by the Carter Family’s recordings of the 1920s and 30s.

The material, too, was not only varied, but in the main generally welcomed by the crowd. In fact, there was everything from jug band and Delta Blues to Scottish and Irish, with most things in between.

It might be the city blues of Josh White’s Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out one minute, and Martin Carthy’s Higher Germany the next. Yes, it really was come all ye… well, most of the time, anyway.

I was a young trainee reporter on the broadsheet Rugby Advertiser in those days and had been given a whole page to fill every week with entertainment news.

There were many column inches of copy to find and it was not long before I discovered that the burgeoning folk scene was a rich seam just waiting to be tapped.

By this time, Rugby had become a hotspot for folk music. I remember interviewing the late Alex Campbell at the Clifton Inn folk club, and have fond memories of talking to Dave Turner, a visitor from Nottingham, whose sharp humour almost belied the fact that he was also a great guitar picker and slide blues player.

Then there was the Prince of Wales pub folk club, perhaps a more modest affair, but nevertheless one that proved popular with fans and floor singers alike.

But the epicentre of Rugby’s folk movement was indisputably Ye Olde Red Lion, on the corner of Sheep Street. Run by master of ceremonies Graham Oliver, for three gig-packed years during 1968-70, the pub’s upstairs room rang to some of the best acoustic sounds around.

And when Graham announced that he was putting on a mini-festival, I said that I would be only too glad to help.

The week before the show, the Advertiser carried my article under the headline ‘A folk bonanza’. And what a night it was, featuring not only the great Alex Campbell, but also Coventry’s Idiot Grunt Band, then phenomenally popular in Rugby.

The other half of the band was completed by another Coventrian, Rod Felton. The duo’s material mainly comprised American country blues and in particular ‘jug band’ material, which allowed the playing of all sorts of makeshift instruments such as kazoos and whistles.

Both Armstrong and Felton were hardened veterans of the Coventry and Rugby folk scene by this time, and featured a great deal of self-deprecating and topical comedy in their act.

According to a post I recently came across on the internet, Graham Oliver made a recording of the Grunt Band’s set that night. That’s a collector’s item if ever there was one.

Later on, during the 1970s, I had a guitar-playing friend in Leamington Spa who owned what was arguably one of the best instruments of its type known to man, a fine looking specimen made by Rob Armstrong.

Rob would go on to become renowned as one of the finest luthiers in Britain, making bespoke instruments for many of folk music’s top performers.

My friend’s instrument rang deep and clear, a veritable cathedral of wood and wire. No wonder then that Rob’s name would go on to be revered throughout the acoustic playing world.

Glaswegian Alex Campbell was a fine traditional singer and guitar player, but his weakness was whisky. I remember talking to him at the Clifton Inn folk club, where despite plainly being half-cut, he regaled me with stories of his life on the road and his friendship with the legendary Ewan McColl.

The drink may not have killed him but it certainly didn’t help. He died in 1987, a legend in his own liquid lunchtime.

Another luminary on the Rugby folk scene in those days was former Rugby High School girl Maggie Gibson, of Bilton Road. She was instrumental in bringing about the Rugby Rag folk and blues festival, a three-day event in September, 1969, held in a field at Rainsbrook, on the outskirts of the town.

This featured an entire day given over to folk music. The list of artists was mind-blowing by any standards – among the acts appearing were The Strawbs, Roy Harper, Ralph McTell and Magna Carta.

The Grunt Band had a starring role at this festival, too. I remember how they carried on their set deep into the night, even as the heavens opened over Rainsbrook, such was their popularity.

Elsewhere during this momentous period, other Rugby venues hosted many of the artists whose names are now legendary, performers such as John Martyn, Diz Disley, Derek Brimstone and Vin Garbutt.

During my days as a reporter in Rugby, I can just about remember interviewing the mother of one of Magna Carta’s musicians who lived in the suburb of New Bilton, although it is a rather hazy memory. This was the 1960s, after all.

Elsewhere, there was a folk club held weekly at the Denbigh Arms in Monks Kirby. This was just a hop, jump and skip over the fields from Rugby, and I often attended the sessions, usually to write about whoever was onstage that night.

When I look back, it really was an incredible time, an era when Rugby’s young people were absolutely spoiled for choice when it came to entertainment.

Whenever I think about my old friend and that fine Rob Armstrong guitar, I also cast my mind back to those fabulous nights at the Rugby area’s folk clubs when drink, music and goodwill flowed in equal abundance.

So the next time you visit, or think of my home patch, forget about that funny egg-shaped ball for just a moment… and perhaps reflect on the days when folk music was really the only game in town.

[Editor’s note: John Phillpott is the author of Go and Make the Tea, Boy!, a memoir of his days as a young reporter.]

Author: John Philpott

Author and journalist John Phillpott has written for many newspapers and magazines during a career that spans more than 50 years. His latest book Go and Make the Tea, Boy! is a memoir of his days as a young reporter.