In 1974, I imagine that I was eager to please fellow Habonim members and had not yet learned how to say "no", which is why I found myself at the end of September 1974 organising a folk club that was to be held once every two weeks on a Saturday night (in retrospect, not the best evening of the week as there would be plenty of competition). I had been approached by a peripheral person (DB) who played the guitar (and in fact showed me the open chords to "Who knows where the time goes" a few years previously) and was interested in having such a club. Again, in retrospect, I was at the centre of Habonim whereas he was not, and so I could arrange this. The club would meet in a basement room in "The Moadon". I doubt that I asked anyone for permission to have the club meet there.
I do not recall now how the club was advertised: presumably by word of mouth, although it wasn't intended to be limited to Habonim members only (and it wasn't: one girl singer who came one night was definitely not from Habonim). I bought a record to be raffled off as well as buying a book of raffle tickets.
Come one Saturday night, a throng of people made their way down to the basement room where I was selling the tickets. The place was packed out. There must have been some 'name' guest although I don't remember who this was; as per a true folk club, members of the audience got up and sang. I even played two songs.
DB and I were very pleased with the success of the evening. I even wrote about it in the Habonim newsletter (under a pseudonym) which would have made sense to fellow members living in London but totally irrelevant to those living in Birmingham, Manchester, Leeds and Glasgow. Flush with funds, I bought a few more records (and taped them): Steeleye Span's "Now we are six" and a Ralph McTell record. Somehow we booked the folk/protest singer Leon Rosselson for the second meeting; his fee was £20. I don't remember how much we charged for admission (£1? 50p?) but this price seemed to be within our budget.
Come the second club meeting: only a handful of people turned up. Despite this, Rosselson demanded his complete fee as agreed; all the profits of the first evening went on the costs of the second evening.
The third and fourth meetings were fairly similar: no 'name' guest, few people. After the fourth meeting, I told DB that continuing was not a good idea and we agreed to cease operations. I might have been out of pocket by a few pounds but this didn't disappoint me. What I couldn't understand was how so many people came the first time and so few the next. The girl who sang in either the third or fourth meeting played "Pinball" by Brian Protheroe, a record that was played frequently on the radio at the time and a song that I liked. Whilst she sang well, her accompaniment was a bit off, so I showed her the correct chords; her response was "how do you do that?" and I presumably replied something like "that's how I hear the song".
I have to admit that I haven't thought about this folk club for years; it was only writing about that first year in London that caused me to remember.
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