Rhyl Folk Club

Our guests tonight were Kimber’s Men, all the way from West Yorkshire. I suppose someone’s got to be from there.

Steve Smith has now been put out to grass, and the new line up includes Lloyd, singing the high harmonies.I couldn’t decide if Lloyd was very tall or the others were a bit on the shortarse side. I suspect he’s also been chosen as a much needed “Babe Magnet” for the ageing boy band.

Alun had asked John if we could have lots of chorus songs, and they didn’t disappoint. A few oldies and a few we didn’t know, but we belted ’em out. There was even some very “ambitious” material.

** Breaking News** – King Charles is said to be distraught on hearing the news of his brother Andrew’s death in a car accident next Wednesday.

Their guitar playing is coming on, although the instruments only came out for one song. “Fast Fret” wasn’t needed on the strings as their fingers were coated in greasy Rhyl chip fat.

As usual, there was plenty of banter – they can take the stick as well as dish it out.

Before we came over from Cheshire, I was wondering if perhaps we’d seen too much of them, having booked them 3 or 4 times in the last few years. No, always a cracking good night. Chances are we’ll see them again before too long.Probably the best fiver’s worth you can get (except possibly “Big Lil” on Burton’s corner).

Back to singers’ nights for a while, with time off for good behaviour on Good Friday.

An unexpectedly high turnout for a wet January night – we must be getting something right. MC of the night Alan was unable to do a Burns set last week but made up for it tonight.

Aaaahh! The soft tones of Michael Hawkins; couldn’t you just listen to him all night?

“The Lock Keeper” is a song written by Canadian Stan Rogers, which I managed to stumble through without too many mishaps. Couldn’t be said of my accompaniment to Lesley’s Dougie Maclean fiddle tune.

The Melania movie, or news of it’s abject failure, has been in the news this week; apparently it’s so bad, if you showed it on a plane, people would still walk out.

“Over the Moon!” is a phrase we’re all tired of from everyone and anyone, footballers to lottery winners. Terence highlighted this in a very entertaining poem.

BMJ were back with thei high energy singalong set. Deservedly Alan gave them a set of three.

“River Run” was Alun’s song from another Canadian, James Keelaghan, about growing old, something we can all relate to.

“Gaffer” was back! No flashy dance moves tonight as he was wearing his drainpipe trousers. Instead we were enlightened as to the causes of WW1.

Today I learned that the average Brit swears 14 times a day. Good to know I’m above average at something.

To Take us up to the break, JW had a set about the lake and swamp formerly known as Cornwall.

The second half started with multicolloured Carole reading 2 of her poems. In contrast to John, these were quiet and gentle.

The calm remained with us as Geoff D sang “The Waters of Tyne”. Before the bridges were built, the only way across the river was in a small boat propelled by a bloke with a pair of whores ( that’s what he said, I’m sure).

Dave, no longer a Rhyl virgin, had cocaine running round his brain. Probably safer than Fentanyl. Rick completed the line up with more fast food containing lots of UPF and calories.

No club next week as it’s first Friday. Singers’ nights throughout the rest of February and Kimber’s Men on March 13th, definitely not to be missed.

A name that comes up quite regularly is John Wright. Sadly no longer with us, many at the club never saw him – here’s a clip.

A big turnout for a glimpse of the new boy band on the block, Cecryn. I got the short straw for MC, so I was a busy lad taking notes, photos and keeping the show going. Surely you couldn’t expect me to be nice to people as well?

Adam had again been first to arrive to help with the set up. We persuaded him to forget his nerves and sing and he kicked off with a selection from “The Sound of Music” **.

There was Robbie Burns from me and also from Geoff.

**Part or all of this may not be true.

Percussionist Emerald had a bloke with a whistle to accompany her tonight; he also read a poem.

Brian had matching shoes and jumper and chorus songs. Dafydd was depressing us with Len Cohen.

The boys and girlls were doing as I’d asked and cutting out long introductions etc as there was probably more content available than time. No memory problems tonight for Mike – yet another lovely set.

Nick Jackson, Alan Manouch and Alun Rhys Jones are three of my oldest and best friends. Doesn’t say much for me really does it? They are now a 3 piece combo and needing a practise audience, volunteered themselves for an extended spot. Begrudgingly, I have to admit that it went down well. Lots of chorus songs and the odd tune. There would be a further slot from them to end the night.

The break. First Easter Egg of the year in the raffle. I can’t believe it’s still over a month to Pancake Day and the supermarkets are already selling flour and eggs.

After the break we had a selection of elderly silver haired gentlemen in need of a haircut. First up was Rick. Barrett’s Privateers and Ghost Chickens in the Sky warmed people up but many still weren’t prepared for what was to follow.

“Gaffer” rarely descends from his cave up on the Orme, but ventured down to join us.I cannot describe the set. To say he sang two songs wouldn’t come close. His athleticism belies his age. Choreography was by Darcey Bussell.

Poor John W had to follow that. In a state of shock he missed a verse from a song he’s sung hundreds of times. Carole brought some semblance of normality back to the proceedings with two of her poems.

Dave was new to us and borrowed Arthurs backing band for “Galway Girl”. It was great, don’t be so nervous next time. Arthur joined the ladies to complete the line up of floor spots with a rousing set.

We’ve paid good money to pro turns at the club who frankly couldn’t hold a candle to Cecryn (apparently Welsh for “curmudgeon” very apt). They rounded off a memorable night in style sending us home with one hand on the radio and one on the wheel. This is dangerous and probably illegal.

Ok, so I finished a bit late, but I wasn’t going to short change anyone who’d turned up to perform and who were without exception, excellent. No one left before the end, despite being constantly abused by the MC. Pete couldn’t believe it had only cost 3 quid! Back to a normal singers’ night next week. Any volunteers for MC?

Firstly, a big “thank you” to Adam who was already setting tables out when we arrived at 6.30.Fred has a contract (signed 20 years ago) to model for Head and Shoulders adverts, so he’s away with Lesley filming. Alan Manouch was threatened with a Chinese Burn, so he agreed to MC for the night, selflessly putting himself on first.

If you’re a “Stone Hugger”, you would really have enjoyed Barry’s first poem. His song seemed to be lacking something, possibly his tambourine basher.

After a protracted discussion about Lord Franklin seeking the back passage, Brian (who had obviously been plundering the Mike Hawkins song book) got on with the song. I thought lead poisoning took several months or years to kill you; how much tinned food did they have?

If the Flanders and Swann weather song, courtesy of Dafydd wasn’t depressing enough (but uncannily accurate), the poem about the soldier with PTSD would push you over the edge. Later our other poetry reader, Terence, was in a slightly more cheerful mood, so we were able to put the razor blades away. I suppose there was nothing about working in the cotton mills that wasn’t depressing, except the hooter at the end of the day.

There was a short delay while we played “Hunt the Finger picks” with Alun. Worth the wait for “Language of the Heart”. “Slip slidin’ Away”? – too many notes and too much reverb.

Poor Mike had to hurriedly rearrange his set, which had earier been plundered. “All things are quite silent” got off to a bad start, with an “oh, shit” and a glance at his scrap of paper. Otherewise a lovely set, as you’d expect.

This left Lesley and myself to finish round 1; mainly Scots stuff.

In the news this week – Robert Jenrick, MP for Newark, became the only MP whose constituency is an anagram of his description. Donald Trump ran the N Y marathon in record time says, “No big deal, I aced it”. Next week we have a singers’ night, enhanced(?!) by an extended spot from “Cecryn”, a selection of elderly gentlemen seeking stardom in their twilight years. Should be fun, don’t miss it, still only three quid.

With the weather having probably deterred a few, it was a bit quieter night, but more of an intimate night among friends.

Lesley P was still crying off with her cough, so Fred was solo. A gag straight from a Christmas cracker.

Dafydd read Leonard Cohen surrealism. We could use this photo below to monitor the progress of the cracks in the wall; maybe run a sweep on the day it’s going to fall down?

A couple from me withe the promise of “Hollands Meat pies” later. Greggs! Not in the same league.

Alun started off the New Year with a few words of the Dalai Lama. He had added a new (crap) verse to “The Blackbird”, a song composed almost totally of euphemism and innuendo.

Terence had lots of Edward Lear nonsense. Why did Shakespeare write a whole play about him? (the King, not Mr. Cavanagh).

It was the time of year for Mike to sing “The month of January”. Not a happy story. “30 days hath September………except January which has 56”. Always seems that way, we’ve only had a week, and it already seems never ending. A bad month to go “dry”.

There had been no Phillishave in Alan’s stocking this Christmas. “The Yew Tree” is a Battlefield Band song. describing the history of Scotland in the tree. There was no mention of Mel Gibson shouting “Freedom!” while being disemboweled.

Predictably entertaining poems written by Barry, before his melodeon tune was enhanced (some would say overshadowed) by Emerald’s exquisite tambourine bashing.

Earlier in the day, some of us had been to the funeral of Chas Jenkins. A club member for 30+ years, Chas could not get to the club as often as he’d have liked due to his commitment to Rhyl Scouts on a Friday evening. A more gentle, kind and funny guy you will never meet. He will be greatly missed, and thoughts are with Jan and the family. He can bore the arse off the angels with that awful “…push the damper in” song.

The next few weeks will be Powell free, but we’ll get by. Singers nights for the next 2 weeks with the 23rd being augmented by an extended spot from “Cecryn”.

This is it. The last blog of 2025. A nice turnout, with people from afar as Cheshire and Vancouver.

Fred and Lesley; you’ve no idea of the work this pair put in. First there every week, carrying chairs and tables from the other end of the building, last to leave and soooo much more. The club would struggle to carry on without them – a big thanks to you both.

I sang of Good King Herod, and Terence spoke of a baffled turkey. A Joni Mitchell song from Mike this week; not his usual style but he predictably did a stunning job with it.

More of the spoken word from Dafydd. His tale of the oik of a kid who ruined Christmas for the others by telling them Santa didn’t exist. Reminded me of my big brother.

With the final of “Strictly” probably being imminent (I won’t be watching it), Dave and Rose were reeling off the names of dances (pun was accidental – I’m not that sharp). Dave had boil washed his guitar, judging by it’s current size.

Tracy, the fruit of their loins, was making her debut appearance at Rhyl. Lovely voice. I can say with a degree of certainty that this was the first Muppet Christmas Carol song to be heard at the club.

Barry read his own version of “The Snowman” from his “illuminated manuscript”, not as cheesy as the Raymond Briggs tale.

As you know, I don’t do religion, but Alun’s “Deep Midwinter” is simply gorgeous. Makes Lesley’s Christmas every year.

The Break. What a raffle. Look what you could have won!

Warbie won the malt. I suppse he deserves it. There were almost as many prizes as tickets. Lots of butties, things made from pigs, mince pies. Probably shouldn’t have had tea before I came out.

This year I sent cards to some neighbours. Messages like “To the arsehole with the horrible yappy dog. Have a thoroughly shite Christmas” and signed it from the bloke with the noisy motor bike.

Brian had to regain everyone’s interest after the food and the gambling. I always enjoy his piece from the Sheffield Carol tradition. Kevin knew what he had to sing if he wanted his dangly bits to stay where they were.

Helen’s appearance from the far side of Canada waas an unexpected treat. That girl can bellt out a song!

“Mary’s Boy Child” from Geoff is another of those festive regulars we all love.

Last, and certainly not least were the Warbies. Two Christmas poems from Carole before John wound us up for the year with his regular closing song from his own club. Can I have your shirt when you’ve finished with it John?

We’re having a break, back on January 9th, a few pounds heavier. Enjoy your break and lets hope that 2026 isn’t the total shitshow that 2025 was. I look at the news every morning to see if he’s dead or been sectioned; you know who I mean.

A quiet night in terms of numbers, but plenty of entertainment – no Christmas songs, thankfully, as it’s far too early for stuff like that.

When we arrived, Fred said he’d been “humping tables”; he’s uploaded it to YouPorn if you’re interested in that sort of thing.

We had two cracking sets from Dave and Rose. After playing that banjo with the enormous neck, Dave can now scratch his left ankle without bending down.

Terence read Rachel Reeves budget in Gruffalo style, better than the leaked original. A couple of songs from me and the lovely “Hector the Hero” from Lesley, now back on 2 legs.

“Loch Tay Boat Song” from Geoff P and the best version of “Matt Hyland” that you’ll ever hear from Mike.

“Make or Break Harbour” is a Stan Rodgers song about the demise of the fishing industry in Canada, sadly a world wide phenomenon, made worse by the fact that it was written in 1976. Nicely sung and played by Geoff D.

Kevin had obviously been listening to his Alarm LP this week, with a selection of their songs. Hopefully he’ll be back next week with “Fairytale in New York”

It’s our Festive bash next week with butties and some raffle prizes that you will be wanting to win. Not to be missed.

On a very sad note, I have to tell you that we lost Chas Jenkins this week, after a long drawn out illness. One of the loveliest human beings I’ve ever been privileged to meet. Chas and Jan had been club members for decades, but their Friday commitment to Rhyl Scouts made it difficult to actually get to the club nights. Thoughts are with Jan.

Hopefully I’ll now be able to return to the weekly blogs. Last week while you were enjoying yourselves down at Ffordd Las, I was watching multi millionaires urging people who could ill afford it to shell out £20, albeit for charity (ok, I switched it off).

Last night we were treated to our special guest, Steve Tilston. Steve hasn’t been to the club for about 20 years. Time has been fairly kind and, although he’s gone grey, he still has a fine head of hair and, I suspect, all his own teeth. He also still has the charisma and the voice. Guitar playing is also every bit as good.

Forty five minutes of excellent floor spots got the juices flowing, before Steve’s two 45 minute sets.

A scouser by birth, he had a misspent youth, learning guitar when he could have been out with his mates playing footie and trashing phone boxes.

With years of songwriting behind him, he obviously has a large back catalogue from which to choose. Lots of newer songs, but he was never going to be able to leave without playing “Oil and Water” and “Slip Jigs and Reels” (this with ARJ on accordion). How does anyone have the vision to write a song like that? For the benefit of Birthday Boy Silas, this is what a 10 shilling note looked like.

Guitar was predictably awesome. Much was played in standard tuning, but where “knob twiidin'” was involved, this was done quickly and unobtrusively. Perhaps a minor point, but excessive retuning can prove irksome.

All too soon, we were on the way home. We don’t have all that many guests at the club, but you must admit we make up for that with quality. Thanks to Steve for braving the Black Friday traffic (what a con that is!) to give us a memorable night’s entertainment.

John’s Top Tip…………..Start preparing for Christmas early by falling out with family and friends now!

Rugby to watch this afternoon on S4C – wonder how that’ll turn out? No club next Friday but we’re back on the 12th for a singers’ night and again on the 19th for our Xmas bash.

For those unable to get there last night, as Jim Bowen would have said, “Look what you could have won”.

A nice sized crowd welcomed our guest for tonight, our old chum Terry Hiscock. Sorry we were a bit late arriving but the A55 traffic was some of the worst I’ve ever encountered (half term, but it’s October!). A plethora of top notch floor singers provided the warm up, plus me. Rachel and Glenys both got “Happy Birthday”, although it transpired that it wasn’t Rachel’s birthday at all, she probably said it was to get people to buy her drinks.

Terry has been booked for 4 years in succession; singer, songwriter, guitar player, lifelong West Ham supporter and all round nice guy.

90% of his songs were ones wot ‘e ‘ad rote, with the odd addition of chorussy things such as Buddy Holly’s “Everyday”.There are plenty out there who think they can write songs; few get close to Terry’s calibre, and even fewer of those can keep an audience captivated for 90 minutes.

Alun joined him for “Sweet Marie” – Mr H knew he’d be walking back home if he hadn’t sung that one.

Not like you John, being nice about someone! I hear you cry. OK, he left a nice bottle of wine in the room before he left; I’m easily bought. I’m sure we’ll be seeing him again before too long. What a thoroughly enjoyable night, thank you Terry, on behalf of all at the club.

Clocks go back tonight. If you forget, or you are one of those who refuse to alter their timepieces, we start at 8.30 next week, but for everyone else it’s singers’ night at 7.30. I often wish my clock could take me back to a time when people, especially politicians, had moe morals, values and kindness.

We saw him, we heard him, we touched the hem of his garment and were healed. It was our chum Terry Hiscock back again.

It’s pretty obvious why we’ve booked him 3 years in a row since our first meeting on Zoom in lockdown. Singing his beautifully crafted songs with intricate but sympathetic guitar accompaniment (take note Alun, not too many notes!) and charming us with his stories . The gags need a bit more work Terry, I’ll e mail you a few.

What’s this John! I hear you cry – being nice, not your style. Don’t worry, he gets plenty of stick off me at other times.

Songs about pretty much everything you could think of, from being almost killed in the London tube bombing to songs about musicians, including Robert Johnson, the blues singer who allegedly sold his soul to the devil. Which brings me to……..

The blues part 6 (final chapter). Miscellany.

Blues beverages include whisk(e)y, bourbon, dirty water, warm flat beer and nasty coffee. Not Earl Grey or green tea, Perrier, Moet & Chandon or Pinot Grigio.

Good Blues deaths can include being shot or stabbed by the woman you cheated on, drug overdose ( especially in a grubby motel room) or the electric chair. Death while skiing or undergoing cosmetic surgery don’t feature here. If you any form of internet access, you cannot truly sing the blues.

Looking back over my past 30 years at the club, I would put Terry in my top 6 “turns”, alongside Dave Burland, the (original) John Wright Band, Jez Lowe, Kimber’s Men and, though I don’t like to admit it, Keith Price.

A memorable night, finishing off with “Where are you now, Sweet Marie”. A big thanks to Terry for travelling to Rhyl to play for us again. I can’t upload video on to this site but I’ll put a link to a YouTube clip on the end.

Andrew forgot to mention that next week is first Friday of the month so THERE IS NO CLUB ON THE 2ND AUG.

As many of you know, someone at the club has been going out of their way to piss me off, so I’m taking a couple of months away, hopefully see you mid September. Here’s Terry.