Tune bank

I first met Joe, Tim and Pete... blimey, a quarter of a century or so ago. My fellow band member Gina Griffin had known them in Newcastle and seing they were playing a Bristol gig, chivvied me along to it. "Bring your fiddle" she told me. Needless to say, the quality of performance of these 3, their music, humour and their humanity left all in that hall completely gobsmacked, so I couldn't believe my luck when Gina and I were invited to join them for a few post gig drinks and maybe a tune at the house of the gig organiser. "Maybe a tune"!...we settled in that night, to the start what we'd do then for decades to come, seeing the night through to dawn with tunes and chat and with mad mad fun. I remember the kind gig organiser coming down stairs to breakfast the following day and finding us all still there , still playing away, he asked us all if we would please please go away , so we didn't "frighten their children", who'd soon be up for breakfast. Respectful as always, Joe and the boys leapt to their feet to wash up and we made it out of a sparkling kitchen just before the kids appeared. That was the first meeting with the boys and many such nights followed as I moved around different rented houses in Bristol (no correlation... I think). They'd do their gig and then drive to wherever i was currently living, arriving often at midnight, to a table of food, with glasses and ash trays at the ready, they'd carry in their crates of Dutch beer and a variety of obscure instruments and we'd set to, seeing the night through, with songs and tunes, with competitive flour consumption, impressive clog dancing, hair cuts and harmonies, there were always harmonies. When I had the chance to buy my first house, though I was single then , I bought a 3 bedroom one, principly so the lads could stay when they toured the west country and many nights were shared there, with sister Katie, Viv Baker and me. I recall Joe actually embracing the wall and bidding it goodbye after our last tune in one particular house. We went on a political march together I remember, on one of their weekend stays in Bristol. They had a gig they needed to get to that night, but they made time to march with us, to play music as we walked and to wave the banners we'd made between tunes the night before. Time was short, but we reached Park Street where the sit-down protest was held and i remember calling to Joe: "NO, STOP... you'll end up in a police cell... and miss your gig" ...as he effectively re directed several uniformed police by shouting in a deep and authoritative voice, "They're over here" ...abruptly turning 3 officers on their heals who sped past us in the wrong direction, to the gutteral mutterings of a chuffed Joe Scurfield. The 1st month my husband Chris and i moved over to Ireland, Joe and Rianna came to holiday with us in our new house. We'd been planning to play as a quartet for some time, we had some great sets , we talked venues and practiced the nights away. Together we walked to the top of mountain at the back of our house, the 1st and only time I've ever been up there. I couldn't be more grateful for that time together. He was dead the following month. I look up to that mountain top from the kitchen window now and treasure that we all went up there. I've vowed not to climb it again, that's Joe's hill and always will be. We miss him dreadfully. This site is a living thing, understated in its presentation, honest, pure and valuable too. A credit to those who made it and so very appropriate in memory of Joe.